The Islamic Middle East,700-1900: Studies in Economic and Social History 0878500308, 9780878500307

Table of contents :
Contents
List of Contributors
Preface
A Note on Transliteration and Orthography
Introduction—Technology, Land Tenure, and Rural Society: Aspects of Continuity in the Agricultural History of the Pre-Modern Middle East
Part I: Land and Society in the Middle Ages
1. A Medieval Green Revolution: New Crops and Farming Techniques in the Early Islamic World
2. Some Technical Aspects of Agriculture In Medieval Egypt
3. Levantine Sugar Industry in the Late Middle Ages: A Case of Technological Decline
4. Landholding in Seventh-Century Iraq: Late Sasanian and Early Islamic Patterns
5. Arab Settlement and Economic Development of Iraq and Iran in the Age of the Umayyad and Early Abbasid Caliphs
6. Law and Economy in Ifriqiya (Tunisia) in the Third Islamic Century: Agriculture and the Role of Slaves in the Country’s Economy
7. Socioeconomic Structure and Continuity: Medieval Spanish Islam in the Tax Records of Crusader Valencia
8. Reflections on the Role of Agriculture in Medieval Persia
9. Monetary Circulation in Egypt at the Time of the Crusades and the Reform of Al-Kamil
10. Strategic Implications of the Slave Trade between Genoa and Mamluk Egypt in the Second Half of the Thirteenth Century
Part II: Historical Demography
11. Archival Sources for Demographic Studies of the Middle East
12. The Area and Population of the Arab Empire: An Essay In Speculation
13. The General Mortality of the Black Death in the Mamluk Empire
14. Birth Control and Middle Eastern History:
Part III: Land Tenure and Taxation in the Pre-Modern Middle East
15. An Economic Model for Ottoman Egypt: The Economics of Collective Tax Responsibility
16. The Development of Agricultural Production in Nineteenth-Century Egypt: Capitalism of What Type?
17. The Beginnings of Commercialized Agriculture in Iran
Part IV: Society and Economy in the Pre-Modern Middle East
18. Village and City in Egypt and Syria: 1500-1914
19. Economic Relations between Damascus and the Dependent Countryside, 1743-71
20. The Economic Crisis of Egypt in the Eighteenth Century
21. The Tunisian Fellaheen in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries
22. Merchants and Artisans and the Developmental Processes of Nineteenth-Century Iran
23. The Western Presence in the Arab Middle East at the Dawn of the Twentieth Century
24. Socioeconomic Change in the Middle East since 1800: A Comparative Analysis
Index

Citation preview

THE ISLAMIC MIDDLE EAST, 700-1900

Princeton Studies on the Near East

THE ISLAMIC MIDDLE EAST, 700-1900: Studies in Economic and Social History

A.

edited by L . Udovitch

THE DARWIN PRESS, INC. Princeton, New Jersey

Copyright© 1981 by All rights reserved.

th e darwin press , in c .,

Princeton, N.J. 08540

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, by any means, electronic, me­ chanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Main entry under title: The Islamic Middle East, 700-1900 “Grew out of a research seminar and conference on the economic history of the Middle East that was conducted at Princeton University during the spring and summer of 1974.” Includes index. 1. Near East—Economic conditions—Addresses, essays, lectures. 2. Islamic Empire—Economic conditions—Addresses, essays, lectures. 3. Africa, North—Economic conditions—Addresses, essays, lectures. I. Udovitch, Abraham L. HC415.15.183 330.95601 79-52703 ISBN 0-87850-030-8

CONTENTS Contributors............................................................................................. 8 Preface........................................................................................................ 9 A Note on Transliteration and Orthography.......................................10 Introduction—Technology, Land T enure, and Rural Society: Aspects o f Continuity in the Agricultural History of the Pre-Modern Middle East A. L. Udovitch.................................................................................... 11 Part I: LAND AND SOCIETY IN TH E MIDDLE AGES.................27 Medieval M iddle Eastern A griculture and T echnology.... 28 1. A Medieval Green Revolution: New Crops and Farming Techniques in the Early Islamic World Andrew M. Watson............................................................................. 29 2. Some Technical Aspects o f Agriculture in Medieval Egypt Hassanein Rabie..................................................................................59 3. Levantine Sugar Industry in the Late Middle Ages: A Case of Technological Decline E. Ashtor............................................................................................. 91 Land T enure and T axation ...................................................... 133 4. Landholding in Seventh-Century Iraq: Late Sasanian and Early Islamic Patterns iMichael G. Morony............................................................................135 5. Arab Settlement and Economic Development o f Iraq and Iran in the Age o f the Umayyad and Early Abbasid Caliphs Ira M. Lapidus.................................................................................. 177 6. Law and Economy in Ifriqiya (Tunisia) in the T hird Islamic Century: Agriculture and the Role of Slaves in the Country’s Economy Mohamed Talbi................................................................................ 209 7. Socioeconomic Structure and Continuity: Medieval Spanish Islam in the Tax Records o f Crusader Valencia Robert 1. Bums, S.J.......................................................................... 251 8- Reflections on the Role o f Agriculture in Medieval Persia A. K. S. Lambton.............................................................................. 283 Society and Economy................................................................. 313 > Monetary Circulation in Egypt at the Time o f the Crusades and the Reform o f Al-Kämil Claude Cohen...................................................................................315 *0. Strategic Implications o f the Slave T rade between Genoa and Mamluk Egypt in the Second Half of the Thirteenth Century Andrew Ehrenkreutz.........................................................................335 5

6

Contents

Part II: HISTORICAL DEMOGRAPHY........................................347 11. Archival Sources for Demographic Studies of the Middle East Daniel Crecelius.............................................................................. 349 12. T he Area and Population of the Arab Empire: An Essay In Speculation Charles Issawi..................................................................................375 13. The General Mortality of the Black Death in the Mamluk Empire Michael Dois...................................................................................397 14. Birth Control and Middle Eastern History: Evidence and Hypotheses B. F. Musallam............................................................................... 429 Part III: LAND TENURE AND TAXATION IN THE PRE-MODERN MIDDLE EAST..............................................471 15. An Economic Model for Ottoman Egypt: The Economics of Collective Tax Responsibility Bent Hansen...................................................................................473 16. The Development of Agricultural Production in Nineteenth-Century Egypt: Capitalism of What Type? Roger Owen....................................................................................521 17. The Beginnings of Commercialized Agriculture in Iran V. F. Nowshirvani.......................................................................... 547 Part IV: SOCIETY AND ECONOMY IN THE PRE-MODERN MIDDLE EAST.............................................. 593 18. Village and City in Egypt and Syria: 1500-1914 Gabriel Baer....................................................................................595 19. Economic Relations between Damascus and the Dependent Countryside, 1743-71 Abdul-Karim Rafeq.......................................................................... 653 20. The Economic Crisis of Egypt in the Eighteenth Century André Raymond................................................................................ 687 21. The Tunisian Fellaheen in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries Lucette Valensi............................ 709 22. Merchants and Artisans and the Developmental Processes of Nineteenth-Century Iran A. Ashraf and H. Hekmat................................................................725 23. The Western Presence in the Arab Middle East at the Dawn of the Twentieth Century Dominique Chevallier..................................................................... 751

Contents

7

24. Socioeconomic Change in the Middle East since 1800: A Comparative Analysis Nikki R. Keddie............................................................................. 761 Index.................................................................................................. 785

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Following page 64 PLATE I: Description de l'Égypte (État Moderne, Planches), II, “Arts et métiers,” PI. VIII (1). PLATE II: Description de l’Égypte (État Moderne, Planches), II, “Arts et métiers,” PI. VI (4). PLATE III: Description de l’Égypte (État Moderne, Planches), II, “Arts et métiers,” PI. VI (1). PLATE IV: Ibn al-Razzâz, Al-Jàmï bayn al-'ilm wa al-'amal, MS., fols. 220v, 222v, 224v. PLATE V: Description de l’Égypte (État Moderne, Planches), II, “Arts et métiers,” PI. V.

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS A. Ashraf Social Planning Bureau, Teheran E. Ashtor Hebrew University Gabriel Baer Hebrew University Robert I. Burns, S. J. University of California, Los Angeles Claude Cahen University of Paris Dominique Chevallier University of Paris Daniel Crecelius California State College, Los Angeles Michael Dois California State University, Hayward Andrew Ehrenkreutz University of Michigan Bent Hansen University of California, Berkeley H. Hekmat University of Teheran Charles Issawi Princeton University Nikki R. Keddie University of California. Los Angeles

A. K. S. Lambton University of London Ira M. Lapidus University of California, Los Angeles Michael G. Morony University of California, Los Angeles B. F. Musallam University of Pennsylvania V. F. Nowshirvani Yale University Roger Owen University of Oxford Hassanein Rabie King Abdulaziz University, Mecca Abdul-Karim Rafeq University of Damascus André Raymond University of Provence Mohamed Talbi University of Tunis A. L. Udovitch Princeton University Lucette Valensi University of Paris Andrew M. Watson University of Toronto

Preface T he essays comprising this volume grew out of a research seminar and conference on the economic history of the Middle East that was conducted at Princeton University during the spring and summer of 1974. Interest and activity in the economic and social history of this re­ gion—from the rise of Islam to pre-modern times—is a compar­ atively recent phenomenon. It is only in the past several decades that a sustained scholarly effort has been under way in relation to this period of historical studies of the Middle East. As the number of its practitioners is not very great, it was possible to secure the par­ ticipation in this conference of most of the American, Middle Eastern, and European scholars doing research in this field. The purpose of the seminar and conference at Princeton was not, however, to achieve a sampling or a survey of the general state of the field. Rather, it was intended to focus scholarly attention on a number of key questions that were felt to be of central importance to the economic history of the Middle East, questions in need of greater scholarly scrutiny and relevant from earlier to later periods. The principal themes selected by the conference participants were: 1) the agricultural history of the Middle East; 2) the historical demography of the area; and 3) the social contexts of its economic life. A special Ford Foundation grant to the Princeton University Pro­ gram in Near Eastern Studies made possible the convening of the conference in June 1974 and contributed toward the expenses of preparing this manuscript for publication. In the course of the long gestation of this volume, the help of sev­ eral people deserve grateful mention: Grace Edelman and Mary Craparotta, whose contribution was much more than secretarial and administrative; Lois Gottesman and Ralph Hattox, for their help in preparing portions of the text for publication; and Warren Feldman, for his work on the index. A special word of appreciation is due to Lawrence Conrad for his exceptionally able and conscientious editorial assistance.

A NOTE ON TRANSLITERATION AND ORTHOGRAPHY The transliteration of Middle Eastern languages has raised special difficulties in the present collection of essays, for in a work of such diverse content, rigorous consistency is not always in the best interests of clarity. In this volume we have followed, with only minor excep­ tions, the transliteration systems established by the Library of Con­ gress and have attempted to render all names and terms into standard forms that will be clearest to the reader. For well-known places, and for words for which standard English forms have evolved, diacritical marks have been omitted entirely, i.e., Basra, Khurasan, Damascus, ulema, feddan, rather than al-Ba$ra, Khuräsän, Dimashq, ‘ulama’, faddän. More specialized terms are transliterated and italicized when they first appear in an essay.

Introduction Technology, Land Tenure, and Rural Society: Aspects of Continuity in the Agricultural History of the Pre-M odem Middle East A. L. Udovitch The following reflections on certain continuities exhibited by the agricultural history of the pre-modern Middle East are in lieu of a general introduction to this collective volume. All of its chapters are rich in new and stimulating insights into the economic and demo­ graphic history of the Middle East and North Africa from the advent of Islam to the eve o f our contemporary era. A comprehensive elab­ oration of these new ideas and their placement within the context of earlier research would have resulted in a book-length essay. In­ stead, I have chosen to focus on only six of this volume’s chapters (those by Professors Ashtor, Lambton, Morony, Owen, Rabie, and Talbi) and to elaborate upon their contributions to the history of Middle Eastern agriculture. Agricultural Techniques and Rural Society Detailed and precise information concerning agricultural prac­ tices and techniques in the Middle East during the Middle Ages is hard to come by. O ur sources from the period are, by and large, focused on a narrow range of medieval urban, political, and religious life in which references to rural and agricultural realities are quite casual and sporadic. Nevertheless, a heightened interest in recon­ structing these aspects of the medieval rural reality has begun to yield some encouraging results for some regions of the Islamic world. This is true, most notably, for the Iberian peninsula as exemplified most recently by the excellent work of L. Bolens ( Les méthodes cul­ turales au Moyen-Âge d'après les traités d'agronomie andalous: tradition et techniques, Geneva 1974). Medieval Egypt was the other area for which we could expect a fuller picture of daily and seasonal agri­ cultural practices and of the ecology of rural life. By sifting through an impressive array of Arabic source material from the Islamic pe­ riod, Hassanein Rabie has compiled an admirable survey of these aspects of medieval Egyptian agriculture. T he overwhelming impression of the material gathered by Rabie

12

The Islamic Middle East, 700-1900

is the unexpected complexity and variety of agricultural implements and practices and an equally unexpected complexity of the social, fiscal, and political institutions involved in the cycle of agricultural production and administration. These complexities were simul­ taneously a response to the ecological circumstances of medieval Egyptian agriculture and to the political and financial requirements of the state and served to maximize agricultural productivity with­ out disrupting either the traditional rural social patterns or the po­ litical-military structure. Even the fairly regular rise and fall of the Nile required elaborate human institutions to exploit its annual floods efficiently. The clean­ ing and maintenance of irrigation canals, large and small, the con­ struction and care of dams, both local and regional, depended on an efficient and conscientious administration. In the case of the great dams, this involved large expenditures of time, labor, and money and considerable administrative effort. Rabie estimates that 120,000 men were needed annually for the maintenance of dams, which were indispensable to the irrigation network of the Nile Valley and, consequently, to the well-being of the state and its peasants. When these major projects were not accomplished or not accomplished well, the consequences for the harvest and pro­ ductivity were immediate and devastating. It is for this reason that in normal times the sultan of Egypt frequently entrusted this respon­ sibility to high-ranking and trusted amirs. This vital extension of the political-military governing elite into the very core of the technicalagricultural domain is not one that we normally associate with the medieval Islamic political system. This is but one—rather prominent and maybe even obvious— example of the centrality of the political factor on the agricultural history of Egypt and of the Middle East. In an entirely different ecological context, that of medieval Iran, Professor Lambton has similarly shown how the maintenance of the irrigation system upon which agriculture depended imposed “a certain pattern in society” and constituted a motive force toward dependence on the state. “The very fragility of the irrigation system on which agricultural prosperity depended thus paradoxically contributed to political stability.” Lambton goes on to describe how the administration of the irrigation system had a profound impact not only on the prospects of political stability or turmoil, but also on the formation of groups and institutions in rural areas. Thus, in medieval Iran as in medieval Egypt, politics and the state occupy a position of centrality for agri­ culture. The reverse, of course, was also true; agriculture was ceil-

Introduction

13

(rally important for the prosperity of the state. The full scope of this interdependence was by no means restricted to the manage­ ment o f irrigation and water distribution systems, but extended to virtually all significant aspects of medieval Islamic rural life. Rabie’s survey of medieval Egyptian agricultural technology pro­ vides additional information for a more nuanced description of the social morphology of the countryside. The cultivators of the soil were not one undifferentiated mass, and they differed with respect to their ownership or access to the land. Frequently, peas­ ants owned neither the oxen nor the plow with which they cultivated. The plow, for example, was hired out in Mamluk times from peas­ ants who did own one, for four dirhams per day. The same was pre­ sumably true for the large number of specialized implements for plowing, leveling, digging, harvesting, etc., that are described and explained in Rabie’s chapter. This phenomenon implies not only the probability of a high degree of division of agricultural labor but a widespread social and economic differentiation of the peasantry as well, based on their ownership of implements and work animals. It is not only rural social differentiation that can be inferred from Rabie’s meticulous rendering of agricultural technology in medieval Egypt. Variations of soil types and their use for different crops com­ bined with the variations in the annual level and duration of the Nile floods required a rather elaborate and flexible administrative system. Each year when the water receded, a local fiscal agent ( dalil) prepared a new tax assessment, which was adjusted to take into ac­ count a large number of annually changing circumstances. This presupposes rather complex local/rural administrative arrange­ ments and is a considerable refinement over our block notions of medieval Islamic agricultural taxation. The variety and fluctuation in the social and fiscal aspects of rural life in the medieval Islamic world generally is a theme to which we shall have occasion to return presently; this feature of rural life stands in paradoxical juxtaposition to the continuity—one might even say immutability—of agricultural technology. The plow used by the peasants of Mamluk Egypt was virtually identical with the one por­ trayed on Pharaonic wall paintings and the one encountered by the French expedition at the very end of the eighteenth century—a re­ markable continuity of three millennia or more. The same is true of other Egyptian implements and practices and, in a less striking manner, of the agricultural technology in many other regions of the Islamic world from medieval times to the nineteenth century.

14

The Islamic Middle East, 700-1900

centuries, this technological conservatism that persisted in the face of numerous and important changes in the economic and political environment o f the Middle East and its neighboring areas, has yet to be adequately studied and explained. It does seem, however, that over the course o f its pre-modern history, the internal, microagricultural structures of the Middle East followed a very different rhythm from that o f its urban political structures and of the shifts— sometimes quite abrupt—in the demand of the national and inter­ national market. T he interplay, during the later Middle Ages, of technology, inter­ national commerce, and the Mamluk state is the theme of Professor Ashtor’s study o f the Levantine sugar industry from the beginning of the thirteenth through the fourteenth centuries. Although it is not, strictly speaking, concerned with the agricultural sector, it is concerned with a product derived directly from the raw material produced by Syrian and Egyptian agriculture. Sugar cane was one o f the major crops cultivated in Syria and especially in U pper Egypt. Up to the end o f the fourteenth century, refined sugar was a prom­ inent item in the export trade of Egypt and Syria. Although dwarfed in magnitude by the burgeoning East-West spice trade, it was never­ theless in terms of volume and cash value a significant component o f Levantine export trade. Ashtor estimates that by the end of the fourteenth century, the value of refined sugar exports to Europe alone amounted to 50,000 gold dinars; and this figure does not include the considerable quantities exported to Byzantium or to the regions east of the Levant. In a seminal article on the economic decline of the Mediterranean region in the late Middle Ages, Claude Cahen points to the chronic inability of the Islamic areas o f the Mediterranean littoral to produce agricultural surpluses that would sustain manufacture and export. Islamic commerce in the Mediterranean in the later Middle Ages, he argues, was based largely on transit trade, o f which the most prom­ inent example was the Levantine trade with Europe in spices and other eastern products. T he Levantine sugar industry, as recon­ structed in Ashtor’s chapter, constitutes an instructive exception to Cahen’s observation. This industry was entirely indigenous to Egypt and Syria. Until the end of the fourteenth century, all phases of the sugar refining industry—from the cultivation of the sugar cane through the various processes of its refinement, production, and distribution—were indigenous to the Levant. T he profits from its sale on the internal and external markets remained within Syria and Egypt and were

Introduction

15

not, as Ashtor points out, without importance in terms of Egypt’s balance of payment position in international commerce. Sugar re­ fining is one of the very few examples in the medieval Islamic world o f the vertical integration of agriculture and industry, in which the production of an agricultural surplus commodity gave rise to an extensive industrial system that was able to compete, for a time, at least, successfully on the international market. At various points during the Middle Ages, a number o f similar Middle Eastern indus­ tries, such as textiles (particularly linen) and paper, flourished briefly in trans-Mediterranean commerce. Yet, in none of these cases were the various areas of the Islamic Mediterranean able to sustain and maintain their initial advantages in the face of competition emanating from other geographical regions, most particularly Western Europe. Successful foreign competition did not completely suppress any o f the medieval Middle Eastern industries. Its effect was rather a considerable reduction in their volume of production, their virtual elimination from the arena of international trade, and the reversal o f the trend from one o f exportation to importation. The processes and variables that emerge in the rise and decline o f the Egyptian sugar industry are, with some variations, also evident in the cases of medieval Middle Eastern textile and paper produc­ tion. O ur comparatively abundant information on the sugar in­ dustry thus makes it possible to view it broadly as a paradigmatic case study for other medieval industrial sectors as well. The profile and chronology of the Levantine sugar industry can be summarized as follows: Up to the end of the fourteenth century, Egypt and Syria were major exporters of refined sugar to Europe. At the beginning of the fifteenth century, the Sicilians and Cypriots developed improved techniques for producing higher quality sugar at a lower cost, resulting in a contraction of sugar production in the Levant as evidenced by a precipitous decline in the number of active refineries. By the middle of the fifteenth century, Levantine sugar could no longer compete on the international market. It had been displaced by European sugar, which was already being exported to the Levant. Economic problems resulting from a lagging industrial technology were further aggravated, especially in Egypt, by a political structure in which the requirements of commerce and industry were a low priority. Lower production resulted in lower revenues to the Mamluk state, which led to increasing and arbitrary state intervention into the Egyptian sugar refining industry. By use of discriminatory tax­ ation, confiscation, fines, and outright coercion, the control of the

16

The Islamic Middle East, 700-1900

sugar industry and its profits passed progressively from the mer­ chants and entrepreneurs to the Mamluk amirs and members of the royal family. Ashtor traces the various stages of increasing inter­ vention by the sultan and amirs into the previously “free” operation of the sugar industry, leading ultimately to its monopolization by the state. (It is worth noting that, at approximately the same time, the infinitely more profitable spice trade was subject to a virtually identical process of state absorption.) The reversal in the primacy of production and trade in refined sugar between Europe and the Levant in the later Middle Ages took place at a surprisingly rapid rate. It occurred within a matter of only a few decades, and the decisive elements in this switch were the improved technology and organization of the competing Eur­ opean producers and traders. In assuming haphazard control of the Egyptian sugar industry, the governing Mamluk elites did not seek greater efficiency or expansion of production. Their reaction to diminished revenues was to squeeze the sugar industry in order to generate rapid, short-term profits and income for the state ap­ paratus. The response was to maintain the threatened profitability of sugar production by monopolizing the control of the market and reducing free competition, and thus removing incentives for tech­ nological improvements. That is, the preference was to accept a reduced scale of production while controlling the market and dis­ tribution, rather than to promote expansion of production under normal market conditions. Ashtor’s description and analysis of the fate of the Levantine sugar industry during the late Middle Ages provides an interesting and salutary historical perspective on some of the recent discussions of the relationship in modern times between the economies of Europe and the Middle East. I doubt that anyone would seriously main­ tain that the economy of fourteenth- and fifteenth-century Egypt could be characterized as a “dependent economy.” Yet the com­ mercial demand emanating from Europe and pulsating across the Mediterranean profoundly affected not only medieval Egyptian economy, but also the economies of other Islamic polities on the southern and eastern shores of the Mediterranean. This impact of foreign trade and European international demand extended into the agricultural heartland of the Islamic regions of the Mediter­ ranean and is not a new phenomenon. Between the eleventh and fourteenth centuries, Egypt was Europe’s source for such agricul­

Introduction

17

tural raw materials as flax and sugar cane, just as in the nineteenth century Tunisia was a source for wheat and olive oil and Egypt for cotton. By the fourteenth century, or even earlier, textiles manufac­ tured in Europe were competing with and undermining the indig­ enous industries of North Africa and the Middle East, and by the mid-fifteenth century, as Ashtor has demonstrated, European sugar was rapidly displacing the local Levantine product in Egypt and Syria. One cannot and should not press this parallelism between the Middle Ages and pre-modern times too far. Nevertheless, Ashtor's analysis of the decline of the late medieval Levantine sugar industry does point to some suggestive continuities. Environmental and geographical factors, such as the scarcity of energy sources (rivers, brooks, combustible materials), which may have been decisive in the fate of other pre-modern Middle Eastern industries, played hardly any role in the eclipse of the Levantine sugar industry. Mo­ tivated by its need to compensate for declining revenues, govern­ ment intervention into the sugar industry tended to reduce com­ petition and hence reduce incentives for technological innovation. T he fiscal and political structure o f Mamluk Egypt, involving tem­ porary tenure of agricultural fiefs with its attendant instabilities, made it difficult to form large capital accumulations; it encouraged calculations of short-term gain and discouraged costly investments in technological innovation. In addition, technological change was, in many circumstances, perceived as a threat to established, vested social, political, and economic interests. Refusal, for cultural reasons, by the Mamluks to adopt firearms almost until the end of their rule is a striking example of such resistance. A similar reluctance to in­ troduce and accept new ways of doing things may have been a factor in the technological stagnation of sugar refining in Egypt and Syria in the fifteenth century. In addition to the convergence of these structural features of Mamluk society, Ashtor contends that the demographic contrac­ tion of the Levantine population during this period was the decisive factor in causing its industrial decline. He further contends that this is part of a general historical pattern in which technological ex­ pansion occurs or is at least encouraged by demographic growth and that, conversely, demographic recession discourages and makes less likely any technological progress or innovation. The empirical truth o f this correlation has yet to be demonstrated; but even if it

18

The Islamic Middle East, 700-1900

is true, the precise linkages between demography and technology remain to be established and spelled out. T hat the demographic contraction of the Islamic world in the fourteenth and fifteenth cen­ turies provided the general backdrop for its economic and political history is, I believe, incontestable. However, it does not by itself explain the reaction of Islamic societies to the economic, commercial, and technological challenges with which they were confronted at that time. Europe, as well, shared with the Middle East (and, indeed, with most of the rest of the world) the same major demographic movements of the period, but its response in terms of technology and of economic life generally was quite different. While according due recognition to the external circumstances affecting the economic life o f the pre-modern Middle East, explanations for its particular configurations in technology, in agriculture, and in commerce are more profitably to be sought in the internal dynamics of the society, in examining its social structure and social relations and especially the interaction between these and its political institutions. Land Tenure and Rural Society Certainly one of the major unanswered questions of the history of the Islamic Middle East—and particularly of its economic and agricultural history—is the nature of its land-tenure system in me­ dieval and pre-modern times. In spite of its importance to an under­ standing of the structure of society and politics, this question has received only intermittent and sporadic attention, and its definition and characterization have turned out to be rather elusive. In one way or another, this question is significantly present in all the chap­ ters of this volume dealing with the agricultural and rural aspects of the history of the area throughout the centuries. It is one o f the threads running through the papers, from that of Morony on preand early Islam through those of Owen, Valensi, and Nowshirvani dealing with the past two centuries. The question is complex and still requires a clear formulation; it relates to the peasants’ relation­ ship to the land he cultivated, to the internal organization and dif­ ferentiation of rural communities, to the relationship of these com­ munities to the state, to their local heads, to their fief holders, taxcollectors, and tax farmers. These relationships are important to clarify because they affected not only the mechanism of revenue collection and transmission, but also the daily, seasonal, and annual rhythms of agricultural life as they interacted with both the natural environment and the state’s political and social environment. From the medieval period onward, we do not possess for the Middle

Introduction

19

East the kind of general paradigm that, for all its nuances, local varia­ tions, and exceptions, explains and organizes our view of the agri­ cultural history of Europe from the emergence of feudalism through its breakdown and transformation into a system of private landownership integrated into a capitalist market economy. For the Middle East, we have no such clear paradigm as yet. For historians of the medieval Middle East, the principal question has been: What constituted ownership of land? That is, the conceptual continuum along which this discussion has taken place has been the nature of ownership—who owns and controls and transmits control o f the land from one person or from one generation to an­ other—and scholarly views range from those who contend that all land was essentially the property of the state to those who tend to see the land as individual private property in terms of sale, inheritance, lease, etc. Morony’s paper is a contribution to this discussion. In it, he at­ tempts to establish some order in our understanding of the con­ fusing, often contradictory, data regarding land tenure, categories o f land, and agricultural taxation in the first several decades of the Arab-Islamic hegemony over former Sasanian territories. It is not surprising that by examining the pre-Islamic practices of land tenure Morony has found—as has been the case with respect to many other social, economic, and political institutions—a measure of continuity in problems, patterns, and practices of land tenure and taxation. Already in Sasanian times we encounter a “mixed” system of landownership, a coexistence of private landed property with various types of state-controlled land that persisted into Islamic times; and the system o f sale or transfer of lands as it existed under the Sasanians was not immediately affected by the Islamic conquest of Iraq. In those areas of Iraq that witnessed a transition from a pastoral to a sedentary agrarian system, there was a tendency to treat land as common village property. Already in pre-Islamic Iraq, small, in­ dividually owned parcels of land were rare; the prevalent unit of ownership was that of fairly large estates. Therefore, there was no independent landowning peasant class. Agricultural labor was perform ed by peasants attached to individual estates who leased their land from the estate owners under various forms of tenancy. This variety o f types of landholding suggests the existence of several sets of significant relationships in analyzing and understanding the nature of land tenure in Iraq during the medieval period: that be­ tween the Islamic state or its representative (e.g., fief holders) and

20

The Islamic Middle East, 700-1900

to the local “landowner.” The traditional terms of the discussion of medieval Islamic land tenure along the continuum of absolute state ownership as opposed to private ownership cannot adequately accommodate the many varieties of land tenure we encounter in the medieval Middle East. Any new definition of the terms of this discussion will have to concede an overall state claim (although not necessarily ownership) in terms of revenue and taxation while taking into account different types of control and internal organization of agricultural land, such as private ownership of small or large estates, communal or tribal ownership, and direct state control. In the western areas of the medieval Islamic world, in Ifriqiya (Tunisia), just as in Iraq, we confront a mixed, diverse situation with respect to land tenure. In his chapter on the agricultural country­ side in Tunisia in the early centuries of Islam, Professor Mohamed Talbi concludes that the land register of Ifriqiya emerged profoundly transformed by the tumult of the Islamic conquest. The partial redistribution of lands in Ifriqiya did not follow any well-defined principle or legal rule but was governed by what Talbi calls “the immediate situation.” (The same, incidentally, was true for the changes that took place in Syria and Iraq immediately following the Islamic conquests.) Conditions and practices of the preceding period, the new needs and perceptions of Islam and the Arabs, prag­ matic considerations, and local conditions of the moment were all factors that contributed to the new configuration of landownership in Ifriqiya. Much of the land was left to its previous owners. Abandoned land, or land whose owners were dispossessed, was distributed to leading members of the conquering army. These latter estates be­ came the property of the grantees and were not subject to periodic redistribution, as was the case with the later iqtâ‘ system. They could and were passed on by inheritance from one generation to another. Thus, in the first period of Arab-Islamic rule in North Africa, private ownership of agricultural land predominated. The range in the size of agricultural units was broader than that which we encounter elsewhere in the Islamic world. Large and middle-sized estates coexisted with many small holdings belonging to an independent peasantry. The relative importance of each of these categories is unknown, but the acceptance and persistence of different patterns, without one or another type becoming pre­ dominant or l>eing imposed on the agricultural and political life

Introduction

21

o f Ifrïqiya, is significant and is very different from the pattern that characterized the agricultural development of incipient feudalism in Western Europe. In Ifrïqiya, unlike other areas of the caliphate, we observe the development of a less-centralized type of state struc­ ture, with fragmentation descending to regional and local levels. One of the most significant consequences of the variety of sizes of landholdings was their effect on the personnel and status of the cultivators. To quote Talbi: “This inequality was also reflected in the methods of farming. We have evidence that the large and me­ dium-sized properties were cultivated mostly by slaves; only the cultivation of the small holdings really necessitated calling upon a free labor force.” Having established the use of slaves in agriculture in Ifrïqiya in the early Islamic period, Talbi tries to use this fact to explain some of the political-military history of this period. For example, he suggests that one of the important incentives for the conquest of Sicily and for the frequent raids on various Christianheld Mediterranean islands was the acquisition of slaves. A combination of strong private ownership of estates with large numbers of slave laborers plus availability of horses constituted not only an economic unit, but also, if needed, an organized unit of power. According to Talbi, this served to a considerable degree to limit the central government’s monopoly o f coercive power especially with respect to taxation. Independent landholding combined with a source of dependent manpower that could be armed conferred a degree of local political independence on the rural areas of Ifrïqiya in the first Islamic centuries. This is an exceptional phenomenon in the history of the medieval Islamic world, one rarely encountered in the eastern part o f the caliphate or in North Africa in later periods. The great diversity of the agrarian society of Ifrïqiya also expanded the range of relationships between the rural and urban areas. “If the humble peasants were tied to their plots on which they pain­ fully subsisted, the large and medium farmers divided their lives between their estates and the city, where they often spent the better part o f their time.” Estates seem to have been administered in a variety of ways: some owners took an active personal role, others worked partially through agents, and others functioned completely as absentee landlords. This pattern in which large- and middlelevel landowners spent time both in the countryside and in the cities is one for which we find only scant evidence elsewhere in the medieval Islamic world. Nevertheless, this evidence from Ifrïqiya should

22

The Islamic Middle East, 700-1900

alert us to some revision o f the traditional view o f the rural sector in the medieval Islamic world. Not all the surplus o f the country­ side ended up in the cities in the form of revenues. A larger pro­ portion than we previously suspected was consumed, as the data from Tunisia in the ninth to eleventh centuries suggests, in the rural areas. This suggests, further, that the balance of economic exchange between the countryside and the cities, while heavily favoring the latter, was not as lopsided as we might have thought. Ashtor’s data, for example, show that while a large majority of Egypt’s sugar re­ fineries in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries were situated in large urban centers, a far from insignificant number were located in the rural towns of regions in which sugar cane was grown. In a slightly earlier period of Egyptian history, we find a comparable situation in the rural areas in which flax was grown and traded. There are similar examples from other regions o f the medieval Islamic world; all of which suggest that the economic as well as the social character of the rural sector was more complex and nuanced than has hitherto been thought. Agriculture and the State T hat the economic life of virtually every historical group was em­ bedded in a specific system of social and political relations may seem a rather self-evident, even banal, insight. Nevertheless, it bears em­ phasis and elaboration with respect to the Islamic Middle East, where, in the interaction of economic, social, and political factors (to the extent that these can be identified as discrete elements), it is the latter that inevitably have primacy. In one way or another, the primacy of politics over economics in the historical development of the Islamic Middle East is a theme that is explicit or implicit in many of the papers dealing with agriculture. This problem is confronted most directly and explicitly in Professor Lambton’s chapter on the role of agriculture in medieval Persia. The role of the state in the agricultural life of the Islamic Middle East varied, as Lambton points out in her introductory remarks, according to political circumstances—frequently distant from its border—and according to broad historical processes, such as pop­ ulation movements and secular demographic trends. In all of these varied conditions, the political factor was not only constantly present, but its presence was prominent and the nature of its presence sig­ nificant for the fate of agriculture. There was an interdependence,

Introduction

23

a kind of symbiotic relationship between the Islamic state and its agriculture. A prosperous, thriving agriculture contributed sig­ nificantly to the well-being of the central government just as a stable, reasonably efficient and enlightened political organization was vir­ tually indispensable to a properly functioning agriculture. In this dialectical relationship, it was politics that predominated while the state institutions, however informal, constituted the significant var­ iable. The centrality of the political factor extends beyond the simple provision of security in rural areas. This was, of course, a basic re­ quirement. In the Nile Valley as in Persia and North Africa, agri­ cultural areas were vulnerable to the incursions and exactions of non-sedentary groups, to local insurrections, and to invasions and disruptions originating in distant places. This was as true o f the eighth-century Middle East as it was of the eighteenth century. Pre­ vention and control of these menacing possibilities were usually beyond the power of peasants or of any group in the rural sector. Ultimately, these threats could be regulated only by the central au­ thority. The Arab conquest of Iran was not accompanied by a spread of nomadism or by a recession of agriculture. As in Iraq and North Africa, however, it did result in new ownership in some areas and some Islamic adjustments. Even though political circumstances militated in favor of the predominance of larger estates, the latter coexisted simultaneously with smaller estates, often merely units cultivated by an individual, independent peasant proprietor. In spite o f their very different ecologies and pre-Islamic administrative legacies, the landholding patterns of medieval Islamic Iran are rem­ iniscent of those described by Talbi for Ifriqiya from the seventh through the tenth centuries. T here were, undoubtedly, many local and regional differences in the details of the agricultural profile of these two areas, as was surely the case between other geographical sectors o f the medieval Islamic world. The continuity common to them all was a diversity and a resistance to the dominance of any unitary system of land tenure. “T here is no pest worse for the crops than the tyranny of kings.” This quotation from a twelfth-century work epitomizes not only the medieval perception of the intimate link between a just govern­ ment and agricultural prosperity but also the judgm ent of modern historical scholarship. As Professor Lambton formulates it: “The

24

The Islamic Middle East, 700-1900

crucial matter was strong government, and when this was joined with good government, prosperity ensued.” Political stability and the security that derived thereof were conducive to agricultural specialization and profitability. Under such conditions, the agri­ cultural sector could thus respond to the varied demands emanating from urban centers and augment and stimulate regional and inter­ national exchange and commerce. Examples drawn from the agricultural hinterlands o f provincial centers such as Nishapur, Isfahan, and Bayhaq demonstrate, for Iran, the relationship between a strong central administration and the prosperity of its agriculture. On a more comprehensive scale, the interdependence of political institutions and agriculture is one of the major relationships that shaped the history of medieval Iran. So, for example, Lambton relates the severe crises o f the ninth and tenth centuries to a ruinous decline in the agricultural sector as a result of the fragmentation of political authority and the introduction and misapplication o f the iq(a* system. With the advent of the Seljuqs, Iran’s situation improved because the relationship between good government and productive agriculture was well understood and well applied. T he Mongol domination of Iran brought with it a changed perspective. T he fortunes o f the agricultural sector de­ clined as those of pastoralism rose. This reversal took place not for economic but for political reasons. In the pre-Mongol period, po­ litical power was secured and enhanced by a prosperous, well-admin­ istered agriculture, whereas in the context of the Mongol state struc­ ture, leadership and power were enhanced by providing greater pasturage area to the tribal units that constituted its military support. Continuities in Pre-M odem Middle Eastern Agriculture For a variety of reasons, and primarily because of the richness and accessibility of source material, studies on the economic history of Islamic Egypt as compared to other regions of the Islamic Middle East seem to be over-represented in this volume. And while, for reasons of geography and ecology, Egypt’s economic history is quite specific to that country, it also shares with other regions of the Middle East some fundamental problems o f economic and social develop­ ment due to the similarity (not identity) in the structures o f their economies, societies, and politics. In his chapter on agricultural production in nineteenth-century Egypt, Roger Owen exposes a number of these questions in their

Introduction

25

Egyptian context. His starting point is the paradoxical juxtaposition o f two sets of facts about nineteenth-century Egyptian agriculture: on the one hand, its tremendous expansion, especially in the culti­ vation o f cotton and other cash crops and its integration into a national and international market; while on the other, the stability of the internal organization of agricultural production, which changed but little, and, indeed, exhibited significant resistance to change. This dichotomy between the external and internal contexts of Middle Eastern agriculture figures, perhaps less prominently, as themes in the papers of L. Valensi on Tunisia and V. Nowshirvani on Iran. And many o f the attendant problems connected with this apparent anomaly o f a radical change in the agricultural “superstructure” without any perceptible related change in its “mode of production” are also prefigured and echoed in the papers o f Ashtor (adjusting to technological change); Rabie (continuity of agricultural tech­ niques); Morony and Lambton (primacy of political considerations in the organization of land tenure); and Baer and Hansen (ruralurban relations). Owen’s goal is to examine the main features o f nineteenth-century agriculture to see “how they are fundamentally related” in order to determine what deviant form of capitalism these constitute. In the course of this exploration, he highlights problems and processes of great intrinsic interest for Egyptian history, of significance for the whole Middle Eastern region in the nineteenth century as well as in preceding centuries. First, the primacy of political, as compared to economic, forces in bringing about some of the major transformations in nineteenthcentury Egyptian agriculture. T he transition from state to private ownership o f most agricultural land occurred at the initiative of the state. T he establishment o f large estates and the consequent creation of a class o f landless peasants came about “not in the development of local market forces but in an exercise of state power.” Similarly, the coercion exercised upon the service tenants was, until the 1880s, political rather than economic in nature. While the specific content of agricultural policies and enactments may have varied considerably over the different regions of the Middle East and during different historical periods, the degree to which institutions governing all aspects of agricultural life were shaped and determined by political rather than economic considerations—and the degree to which economic process factors were absorbed and compressed into a po­

26

The Islamic Middle East, 700-1900

litical framework—is nevertheless quite striking and to be considered as one of the prominent characteristics of continuity in the history of Middle Eastern agriculture. Another important structural feature of Middle Eastern agri­ cultural life exhibiting an enduring continuity is the extent of the unidirectional flow of the agricultural surplus from the countryside to urban areas. Owen tells us “that Egypt’s most important source of capital accumulation (i.e., agricultural revenue) was in the hands o f a class that habitually spent its profits outside the rural sector.” What was true of nineteenth-century Egypt was also true, with some modifications, for fourteenth-century Egypt and was also true in a large measure for most other areas of the pre-modern Middle East. Other continuities of Middle Eastern agricultural and economic life are evident in Owen’s treatment of Egyptian agriculture. For example, once agricultural estates grew too large, they could not be administered efficiently or profitably. The problem of establishing and maintaining large economic enterprises, whether in manufac­ ture, in commerce, or in banking, is one that was chronic to pre­ modern Middle Eastern societies. The fact that one can point to so many continuities is not at all to be construed as meaning that things remained the same and that nothing changed. Much, indeed, had changed. However, these continuities do draw our attention to a crucial fact about the economic life of traditional Middle Eastern societies, one which Polanyi and others have referred to in other cultural contexts: That the economy of this society was embedded in a comprehensive social and political framework that produced similar patterns of economic activity and interaction throughout successive periods of Middle Eastern history.

Part I: LAN D A N D SO C IE TY I N T H E M ID D LE AG ES

Medieval Middle Eastern Agriculture and Technology

1 A M edieval Green Revolution: N ew Crops and Farming Techniques in the Early Islamic World Andrew M . Watson Arab geographers, authors of farming manuals, and other writers from the tenth century onward tell of great changes that came over the countryside of the early Islamic world either before or during their time. Most notably, many new crops were grown and new tech­ niques of growing both old and new crops were introduced. Though unfortunate gaps in the available sources do not allow us to plot accurately the progress of these changes through time and space, it seems likely that their spread began at the time of the Arab conquests or shortly afterward and was largely completed by the end of the eleventh century. By then, at any rate, agricultural changes had touched places far and wide, affecting to varying degrees, often profoundly, almost every part of the Islamic world. So impressive was the transformation of agriculture in so many regions that one is justified in using the term—alas, so hackneyed—agricultural revo­ lution. Though it was not to be a permanent revolution—since later cen­ turies saw the undoing of much that had been accomplished—it was in its day an impressive achievement, deserving of study for its own sake. It seems all the more important when we bear in mind that it was a prerequisite to the flowering of the early Islamic economy. I Feed, m oreover, on every kind o f fruit And walk the beaten path o f thy Lord.

Surat al-Xuljl (XVI), ()9.* *Manv people have kindly helped me in the research for this paper. I am especially grateful for assistance from the late Professor C. A. Ashley. Prolessors Claude Cahen, Thomas Click, K. F. Helleiner, Martin Klein, Michael Marmura. Pedro Martine/. Moniâvez, Roland Portères, Vivi Täckholm, G. M. Wickcns, and M. and Mme. Thierry Bianquis, Dr. Lisa Golombek, Dr. Hans Helbaek, Dr. J.-J. Hemardinquer, and Dr. Roger Owen.

29

30

Land and Society in the Middle Ages

Central to the agricultural revolution was the introduction o f many new crops into the early Islamic world and their widespread dif­ fusion. We have been able to study in some detail the diffusion o f seventeen o f these: rice, sorghum, hard wheat, sugar cane, cotton, watermelons, eggplants, spinach, artichokes, colocasia, sour oranges, lemons, limes, bananas, plantains, mangoes, and coconut palms. In addition to these, many other useful plants were diffused in the same period: food and fiber crops besides those studied in our re­ search, as well as plants grown as sources of fodder, spices, condiments, medicines, narcotics, cosmetics, perfumes, dyes, nuts, and wood. Many new garden flowers and ornamental plants were also introduced in roughly the same period. Finally, it seems certain that many new strains of old and new plants were developed and diffused.1 To give only a few examples, Jähi? (d. 869) states that in the market o f Basra were to be found 360 different kinds o f dates, while in the following century Ibn Wahshiya says that the varieties o f dates in Iraq could not be counted. Ançâri, writing of a small town on the North African coast about the year 1400, says that in the immediate vicinity were produced 65 kinds o f grapes, 36 kinds of pears, 28 kinds o f figs, 16 kinds o f apricots, and so forth; in describing the different kinds of citrus fruits found in Egypt in the beginning o f the thirteenth century, ‘Abd al-Lapf, a physician from Baghdad, states that “these combine with one another to produce an infinity o f varieties.“* Even when they do not approach infinity, the exact figures should not o f course be taken seriously. What seems certain, however, is that the range of useful plants available to the cultivator—and to the consumer—was very greatly increased in the early centuries of Islam by the widespread diffusion of new plants and by the development o f new strains. T he new crops were of diverse origins, but on their way into the Islamic world most of them passed through India and were often “ennobled” there.3 One group came from the great centers o f origin of cultivated plants lying farther to the east in Assam, Burma, Southeast Asia and the Malaysian Archipelago. It included rice, colocasia, the coconut palm, the sour orange, lemon and lime, and very probably sugar cane, bananas, plantains, and mangoes (though there is some possibility that these last four plants were actually first brought into cultivation and “ennobled" in India). T he entry of these crops into I ndia cannot be precisely dated, partly because some arrived in prehistoric times and partly because the Sanskrit and Vedic texts, which may testify to an introduction in historical times, cannot be dated accurately. It seems likely, however, that the movement began early in the second millennium b .c ., gained momentum during the next

A Medieval Green Revolution

31

millennium, and continued into the early centuries of the Christian era. Another group o f crops reached India from Africa. In addition to several crops which do not concern us here, this group included sorghum and very probably also cotton and watermelons (though it is possible that these last two were developed out of plants once native to India but now extinct). Traveling along the “Sabaean Lane," these plants moved up the east coast o f Africa, probably across the southern shores o f Arabia, and into northwestern India.4 In India itself another o f our plants—the eggplant—was first brought into cultivation and a num ber o f varieties were developed, probably during the first millennium b .c . In thus domesticating, improving, and diffusing these and many other useful plants, as well as in other ways which will become apparent later on, ancient India played a crucial role in the development of Eurasian and African agriculture in general and in the agricultural revolution of the Islamic world in particular.5 From India, these plants were diffused eastward and westward during the first millennium of the Christian era, leaving behind as evidence o f their westward passage many linguistic chains o f plant names that start with the Sanskrit or Vedic words, pass through Persian and Arabic, and reach into many o f the languages o f Europe and Africa. This westward movement began, but did not progress very far, in pre-lslamic times. Probably some of the crops moved into the Sasanian Empire in the fifth, sixth, and seventh centuries; these may include sugar cane, rice, sorghum, eggplants, bananas, and plantains. Cotton and rice were probably grown in the Jordan Valley in prelslamic times. Since, however, sources which throw light on late Sasanian agriculture are few, uninformative, and of difficult inter­ pretation, we cannot be sure that even this limited diffusion from India occurred in pre-lslamic times. But as much else was transmitted from India into that essentially syncretic civilization of the Sasanians, it does not seem improbable that at least a few of our crops were also diffused. Another westward movement out of India, which passed along a more southerly route, probably also occurred in pre-lslamic times. Moving along the Sabaean Lane, but in the opposite direction to that of the earlier diffusion along this path, several of our crops may have spread to Arabia Felix before the time of Muhammad, and one or two may even have penetrated as far as Ethiopia and Nubia. These may include bananas, plantains, cotton, and sugar cane, though so little do we know about the crops of pre-lslamic Arabia and Ethiopia that we cannot be sure that any of these crops were introduced there.6

32

Land and Society in the Middle Ages

Felix seems plausible not only because o f documentary and archeo­ logical evidence but also because the climate o f South Arabia favored such crops, because irrigated agriculture was widely practiced in this region in pre-Islamic times, and because many trading voyages linked India and the Persian G ulf to South Arabia. After the rise and spread o f Islam, this movement from east to west gained momentum. Some o f the crops may have been obtained by early Muslims in the lands o f the fallen Sasanian Empire and dif­ fused westward from there. More, however, were probably found on the Indian subcontinent, where the new province o f the Sind, conquered in 711, gave early Muslims a foothold in a part o f India where most o f the new crops were already known. In the transmission o f these crops from India into Persia and Mesopotamia, an im portant role was probably played by the sailors and merchants of Oman and Siraf who plied between India and the headlands o f the Persian Gulf.7 Oman itself may have been a halfway house in which these Indian plants were acclimatized before being passed on farther to the north and in other directions as well. This hypothesis receives some con­ firmation from Mas'üdî, who writes that after the year 912-13 the sour orange tree and the “round citron” (which may be the lemon tree) were brought first to Oman, where they were planted, and then to Basra and other parts o f Iraq; from there, he relates, they passed into Syria, Palestine and Egypt, where they were previously unknown. In another passage, Mas‘üdî states that the caliph alQ ähir (932-34) im ported sour orange trees from India via Oman and Basra.8 These introductions o f the sour orange tree were probably not the first (Ibn Wahshiya, writing ca. 904, stated that the plant was already known in Mesopotamia)9, but Mas‘üdï’s accounts may well give a true picture o f the path followed by many plants in their west­ ward progress. Again, the statement by Abü Hanlfa al-Dlnawarl (d. ca. 895) that the banana tree was native to Oman, though it is in­ correct, may indicate the source from which the Persians and Iraqis received this plant.10 From Iraq and Persia, all the crops received from India (and spin­ ach, which originated in Persia) were diffused westward and had nearly all arrived in the most westerly parts o f Dâr al-Isläm by the tenth or eleventh centuries.11 T he eastern part of the Islamic world was thus the gateway to the west for all the crops of the agricultural rev­ olution except mangoes and coconut palms (which could be grown only in tropical or subtropical climates). T here were a num ber of

A Medieval Green Revolution

33

stages along the route to the western reaches o f the Islamic world. The crops probably first arrived in the Jazira, where some o f them may have been acclimatized only with difficulty; they then, as Mas‘üdî suggests, were probably carried to the Jordan Valley, the Levantine coast, and Egypt. From their footholds on the southeastern shores of the M editerranean, the crops spread still farther to the west: across the Maghrib, into Spain and Sicily, and from one Mediter­ ranean island to another. A nother possible route started in India, passed through Arabia Felix, and thence up the Red Sea or down the valley o f the Nile. Nothing is known about the passage o f our crops over this route. But many o f the new crops may have been introduced into southern Arabia and thence into the upper Nile region in the centuries immediately before and after the rise o f Islam, and many of the new farming techniques may also have appeared there very early. It seems plausible, for instance, that the Yemenis who came to settle in Egypt, the Maghrib, and Spain, bringing with them their irrigation laws and administration, transmitted parts o f the agricultural rev­ olution to the West at the time o f their m igration.12 Arabia Felix played a role in the diffusion of some o f the new crops over another route: southwestward into Ethiopia, along the east coast of Africa, into the islands o f Zanzibar and Pemba, and quite possibly into Madagascar. T he exact importance o f Arabia Felix in this trans­ mission into Africa is not certain, but it seems likely that many o f the crops which were acclimatized in southwestern Arabia were then passed further to the west and south by sailors o f the Hadram aut and the Yemen who sailed along the east African shores.13 However, some o f the plants may easily have been carried into these new regions by other agents traveling the same or different routes: by Omanis and Sïrâfis who, from perhaps as early as 700, traded over this coast, found­ ing colonies in Somaliland in the ninth and tenth centuries and at Kilwa in the eleventh century; by Persian merchants and settlers who, in the course o f various migrations from the time o f H ârûn al-Rashïd (786-809) onward, established colonies in Zanzibar, Pemba, and Kilwa; and by Indian sailors from Dabhol, the “Wadebuli,” who arrived on the coast o f East Africa at an uncertain date, brought by boats whose sails were said to be fashioned from palm leaves.14 Here, as elsewhere, there may have been many successive “intro­ ductions" o f crops. Many o f the new crops were noted in different parts of East Africa from the tenth century onward, first by Arab geographers and travelers and later by Portuguese explorers. Among

34

Land and Society in the Middle Ages

the crops they mentioned are sorghum (some of the varieties improved in India), sugar cane, sour oranges, lemons, limes, mangoes, coconut palms, cotton, bananas, plantains, colocasia, eggplants, and probably rice. From the east coast o f Africa, some o f these plants may have been taken to Madagascar, which Arab traders frequented (and the his­ torian Mas‘QdI visited more than once). Linguistic evidence suggests this direction of flow in a num ber o f cases: the various names of sor­ ghum in Madagascar (for example,hova ampemby) suggest an introduc­ tion via Pemba,19 whereas the Arabic origin o f the names o f certain o f the plants in some of the Malagasy languages speaks for a trans­ mission from peoples who spoke Arabic or Swahili. T hat some of these crops also reached Madagascar directly from Indonesia is not impossible: they may have come in the course o f undatable but prob­ ably pre-Islamic migrations which led to the original settlement o f the island or through later direct contacts with Indonesia, which continued at least until the thirteenth century.16 But it seems probable that many of the crops first reached the island by traveling along the northern and eastern shores o f the Indian Ocean, carried by agents who may have been Indian, Persian, or Arab. Some o f the crops also moved into West Africa in medieval times. For this diffusion the evidence is partly documentary, since certain of the crops were seen by Arab travelers in West Africa from the fifteenth century. For a num ber o f crops, there is also linguistic evidence pointing to an Arab introduction: the names o f a num ber of the new crops in the languages o f the interior o f West Africa seem to be derived from their Arabic names.17 Thus, it is almost certain that in medieval times, West Africa received cotton, colocasia, bananas, plantains, sour oranges, and limes. It may also have obtained sugar cane, Asiatic rice, and varieties of Indian sorghum, though the exist­ ence o f indigenous rice and sorghum makes it difficult to date the arrival o f new varieties from the east. T he new introductions were all the more precious since the range of crops previously available was limited, and many of these gave little nourishment in relation to the amount of either land or labor required. Indeed the introduction of agriculture into the forested regions of West Africa went hand in hand with the introduction of the new crops: sugar cane, colocasia, bananas, plantains, and citrus fruits.16 Some of the crops may have come across central Africa from the east coast; we think it unlikely, however, that many crops moved over this route, which was unimportant for either trade or migration.

A Medieval Green Rei'olution

35

Possibly some o f the crops did travel over the Nilo-Chadian route, stretching from the White Nile across the savannah lands into West Africa—a route along which there was considerable movement of men and goods from about the year 1000 onward.19 But most of the crops were probably brought from the Maghrib over the caravan routes which crossed the Sahara. A few appeared relatively early: in areas influenced by Islam, converts almost immediately began to wear clothes, as their religion enjoined, and soon cotton came to be grown to cater to a growing dem and.29 But for many crops, the dif­ fusion seems to have been difficult and slow. T he Sahara, that barrier which prevented the transmission o f the plow to any part o f subSaharan Africa except Ethiopia, was one obstacle. Others were prob­ ably the still heavy dependence of the area on hunting and gathering and its relatively primitive agricultural practices; the multiplicity of tribal and linguistic groups; and the limited penetration of those unifying factors which helped to create an efficient medium of dif­ fusion in other parts of the Islamic world—the Islamic religion, the Arabic language, and trade.21 In time the new crops also moved northward into Christian Europe through Spain, Sicily, and Cyprus. Some may also have passed from the Muslim to the Christian world via Byzantium or the Crusader kingdoms; but contrary to commonly held views, there is no evidence to support such a thesis, and a num ber o f factors make these latter regions unlikely intermediaries for the transmission of our crops.22 Whatever its routes, the diffusion into Europe contrasts strikingly with the earlier rapid movement across the Islamic world. It began late— many centuries after the crops had reached the frontiers o f Christian Europe—and proceeded slowly. Spinach was one of the earliest crops to be received into Europe, but it did not appear until the thirteenth century, whence it seems to have made rapid progress. Sorghum, too, is mentioned in Italy by the end o f the thirteenth century. Sour oranges and lemons spread slowly through parts o f Italy and perhaps Spain in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, but they were o f limited use. Hard wheat probably appears in the fourteenth century. Rice was not grown on the plains o f Pisa until 1468 or in the Po Valley until 1475. Only by the later part of the fifteenth century and throughout the sixteenth does Christian Europe show itself more receptive to these and other exotic plants, many of which were intro­ duced as oddities but soon came to be used on a wider scale. T o account for the slowness of this diffusion into the Christian world several factors may be suggested: the lack of skills of the

36

Ijin d and Society in the Middle Ages

European peasantry', which may have been a serious barrier since some of the crops were difficult to grow; the lack of agricultural manuals which could teach Europeans how to grow the new crops; the inability of feudal landholding arrangements to receive certain of the new crops, particularly specialty crops; the limited use of irri­ gation in European agriculture and in particular the near absence of heavy or perennial irrigation; and the lower population density of medieval Europe, which made it unnecessary, and perhaps uneco­ nomic, to find ways of getting very high returns from the soil. The unfavorable climate of Europe also placed a northward limit on the diffusion of some crops, and may have delayed their introduction into certain regions until hardier varieties were developed. But the importance of climate seems in many areas to be secondary. In Sicily, Spain, and the Crusader kingdoms, the Christians con­ quered lands in which the new agriculture had already been prac­ ticed for some centuries and where probably all the new crops (except coconut palms and mango trees) were grown. Yet, with the exception of a part of the coastal plain in the Holy Land and some o f the lower Jordan Valley, these crops—often previously grown on a wide scale— tended to disappear from the conquered regions as a type of land use was introduced that centered on grazing and the cultivation of wheat, barley, and the traditional crops of European agriculture. Thus we find, in the first half of the thirteenth century, Frederick II of Sicily sending to Tyre for experts in sugar production, the sugar industry having apparently died out in Sicily.23 In the following century, Jaime II of Aragon sent to Sicily in an effort to reintroduce sugar and cotton cultivation into the lands he had conquered; but it seems unlikely that his mission was altogether successful, since sugar growing did not revive (on any scale at least) in Sicily until the fifteenth century.24 In the same way, many of the other crops— especially those which were difficult to grow—seem to have disap|K*ared from the land which the Christians recaptured from the Muslims. Lacking skills, incentives, favorable attitudes, and receptive institutions, Christian agriculturalists seemed unable to accept the new crops even when they got them on a platter. The contrasting |x*rformances of Europe and Black Africa, on the one hand, and the Islamic world, on the other, suggests that the unusual receptixity and powers of conduction of the latter deserve more stndx. In particular, more attention should he given to the main

A Medieval Green Rei'olution

37

corridor of Islamic diffusion—agricultural anti other—with its openings in India, Persia, and Iraq in the east and its termini in the western Maghrib, Spain, and West Africa. T he importance of this route becomes all the more evident after the rise o f the Abbasid dynasty in the east. In their capitals at Baghdad and Samarra, Abbasid caliphs and their courts consciously imitated Indian and Sasanian ways, introducing into Mesopotamia a taste for new cuisine, rare plants, learning, and much else that had come from farther to the east. In turn, the Abbasids were copied by other rulers and their courts in the west: for instance, the Tulunids in Egypt, the Aghlabids in Ifriqiya and Sicily, and the Umayyads in Spain. Rulers and their courts were then aped by wealthy merchants, high administrators, and landowners, and to varying degrees by those farther down the social ladder. T he diffusion which was stimulated in this way was no doubt increased by the large amount o f travel by all classes of people back and forth across the Islamic world, easterners taking with them to the west the habits of their homelands and westerners who visited the east acquiring there new ideas, tastes, and objects which they brought back home. T he migration of eastern peasants and farmers over these routes may also account for the westward diffusion of some of these new crops, particularly seed and root crops which were relatively easy to transport. Rulers who sent out expeditions to stock their botanical gardens with rare plants probably also played a part. In any case, whoever the carriers of the new crops may have been, it is clear that by the ninth century there had been created an efficient medium o f diffusion which traversed the entire breadth of the Islamic world from the eastern extremity to the western. Over it were to travel not only the new crops, irrigation technology, and farming techniques of the agricultural revolution, but much else that was to contribute to the “orientalization” of the western parts o f Där al-Isläm. serving at once to unify the Islamic world and to set it apart.25 II T h e first step to a successful harvest is to e n su re th at the e a rth accept the seeds. T h e n follow irrigation, the blowing o f winds, the heat of the sun and th e o th e r things . . . lb n W ahshïya, The Xabntean Book of Agriculture

3H

Land and Society in the Middle Ages

The spread o f the new crops over very large parts of the Islamic world was in itself a striking change in agriculture, especially as some of the crops became, for smaller or larger regions, o f great economic and dietary importance. But along with the crops came changes in farming techniques which affected not only the land on which these crops were grown but much other land as well. Together, the new crops and the new farming techniques resulted in such far-reaching changes in land use that they must be considered revolutionary. One of the more important changes in technique was the extension and improvement of irrigated farming. T hough they also affected tfie growing o f traditional crops, advances in irrigation went handin-glove with the spread o f the new crops. As most o f these had originated in or near the tropical rain forests of Africa, India, and Southeast Asia, they could be grown only with difficulty in the climate of the Middle East and the Mediterranean, where rainfall was not only low but also undependable. Sugar, cotton, rice, bananas, citrus fruits, colocasia, and mango trees normally require very heavy water­ ings throughout the year, and necessitated artificial irrigation in the climatic conditions of the Islamic world. Moreover, many of the new plants needed water at times of the year when, in earlier ir­ rigation systems, little or no water was available. Even such crops as sorghum, hard wheat, and watermelons, which in some regions at least could rely wholly on rainfall and water stored in the soil, gave much higher yields if they were irrigated at key periods. Many of the crops of traditional agriculture also did much better when irrigated for part or all of their growing season, and these also came to depend on irrigation more than in the past. T he changes in irrigation which made possible the spread of the agricultural revolution on a wide scale were themselves in some sense revolutionary; at least, they were a more radical departure from the past than is generally realized.26 Although the Arabs conquered many areas which had known irrigation in pre-lslamic times, the systems they inherited were generally inadequate for the new agri­ culture. In the main, earlier irrigation consisted in the temporary trapping of rain or flood water and its channeling by gravity flow onto the land. Therefore the land was watered only during the rainy or flood season and perhaps for a short time afterward, and only those lands benefited that could be reached by gravity flow. T o these general limitations, there were certain exceptions. Some devices for lifting water were known in regions the Arabs were to dominate.

A Medieval Green Revolution

39

especially Persia and the Nile Valley, but not, it seems, used very widely; long underground canals, known as qanàt or kàrîz, which connected deposits of ground water to surface canals, were used in pre-Islamic Persia, Oman, and parts of the Levant.27 By and large, however, the technology in use brought little water to the land. A second difficulty was that nearly everywhere the pre-Islamic irrigation systems had fallen into disrepair and had often been abandoned in the centuries before the rise of Islam. Natural disasters, misgovernment, faulty administration, falling populations, and a breakdown o f security all contributed to an important shrinkage in the area of irrigated land and a decline in the quality of irrigation.28 Before the agricultural revolution could move into most areas, therefore, and certainly before it could have an important impact, there was a need for radical changes in the irrigation systems to which the Arabs fell heir: extensions in the area of irrigated land, increases in the amount of water reaching the land in a given period of the year, and a lengthen­ ing o f the season of irrigation to cover, if possible, the whole year. By the early part of the eighth century there are signs from many parts o f the Islamic world that these changes were occurring. The old irrigation works were almost everywhere being restored. In Iraq, for instance, there was much reconstruction of irrigation works under the viceroy tfajjäj (d. 714); in the Diyala Plains, at least, and probably over a much larger area, the restoration of the Sasanian system seems to have proceeded through the late eighth and early ninth centuries, though the area may not have had as much irrigated land as during the peak of Sasanian prosperity;28 in Egypt, the work of bringing back into cultivation abandoned lands was begun by Qurra ibn Sharik (709-14) and continued through most of the eighth and much of the ninth centuries; in Spain, too, we learn of similar initiatives. At the same time, land which had never before been irrigated—which had never been cultivated, or which had long been abandoned—was endowed with irrigation systems: there is evidence for the extension o f irrigated farming from practically every part o f the Islamic world in the early centuries of Islam. And finally, on old and newly irrigated land the quality of irrigation was improved, often markedly. Progress in irrigation was made possible by a heavier reliance on ground water from wells, aquifers, and springs, whose flow varied much less through the year or from year to year than did that of rivers or streams; by more use of storage de­ vices such as improved dams and cisterns; and by greater use of a

40

Land and Society in the Middle Ages

profusion o f lifting devices—scoop buckets, troughs, wheels, etc., operated by hum an, animal, and water power—irrigating land that earlier systems had not reached, and prolonging the irrigation season on other land. In ways such as these, therefore, an environment was created into which new crops could be received on a wide scale and in which the traditional crops could be grown with strikingly better results. T he productivity of land and probably o f labor thus rose. T he improvement o f irrigation, combined with new crops, led indirectly to an increase in productivity through the opening o f what was virtually an entirely new growing season. This in turn allowed much heavier cropping o f the land. In the traditional agriculture o f nearly all Islamic lands—Arabia Felix is the one exception—crops grew in winter, and in the summer the land usually lay fallow. Indeed, the fallowing o f the land was carried still farther in most areas, since much land was cropped only every second winter: the long period of rest, which am ounted to roughly seventeen months in every twentyfour, was deemed necessary for the soil to regain its fertility and mois­ ture.30 But because many of the new crops were native to hot regions, they could be grown best, and often only, in very hot weather. T hus rice, cotton, sugar cane, eggplants, watermelons, hard wheat, and sorghum were all sum m er crops in the Middle East and the Medi­ terranean basin.31 Several other new crops which we have not been able to study—henna and indigo, for instance—were also grown in the sum m er.32 Many o f the new crops thus allowed the early Islamic cultivator to make land and labor productive during a season when, in earlier practice, they had lain idle. At the same time, the am ount of fallowing was reduced to a minimum so that more crops were yielded from almost all types of irrigated land. Where soil and water were adequate, the land was cropped two and sometimes three times a year without any fallowing—a highly intensive system o f agriculture which, like the new crops, seems to have come to the Islamic world from India. But elsewhere, in places with weaker soil or inadequate irri­ gation, there appeared a great variety o f less intensive rotations which nevertheless cropped the land more heavily than in the past and brought from it higher—often much higher—outputs. These rota­ tions could use both new and traditional crops, and both irrigated and dry seasons.33 Even on completely unirrigated land, the early Islamic world saw an intensification and expansion of land use. Here, too. fallowing was reduced and sometimes suppressed as more complex rotations were

A Medieval Green Rei'olution

41

introduced. Again, the new crops played an important role, since some o f them, if started in the season of the spring rains, could mature in a summer that was hot and dry. Sorghum, for instance, though it requires moderate amounts of water around and after planting time, produces best results in a dry heat. Watermelons and egg­ plants can also give satisfactory yields with very little water. Some of the new crops were also helpful in pushing back the frontiers of dry farming into areas which in earlier times had been thought too arid, too hot, or too infertile to be cultivated regularly or at all. Thus sorghum not only tolerated great heat and drought but did well on hard or sandy soils which other crops found inhospitable; according to the farming manuals, it even helped to improve these soils. Hard wheat and watermelons also withstood considerable heat and could grow on sandy soils. Again, sugar cane, coconut palms, colocasia, and eggplants could be grown on soils that were saline. They thus made possible an extension of cultivation into swamp lands along sea-coasts and at the mouths of rivers, into lands watered by brackish springs, and into lands which after centuries of irrigation had become too salty for other crops. T he extension of agriculture into new re­ gions and its intensification elsewhere were also favored by techniques of soil improvement. T he manuals speak of many methods of im­ proving, indeed changing, the quality of the bad soils. As Ibn Wahshiya remarked, “the earth does not keep one form, but changes over time."34 Changes in the quality o f the soil, he adds, could be effected by the cultivator. Different treatments were proposed for earths which Ibn Wabshiya categorized as “saline," “sweet,” “bitter," “acid,” “foul,” “delicate,” “dayish,” “sharp,” “heavy,” and “astringent." Such treatments usually involved the addition of other kinds of soils, appropriately chosen, as well as the right kinds of animal and green manures, correct watering, much plowing, and the choice o f suitable crops in the early years of cultivation.33 While some of the techniques clearly required a considerable investment and must therefore have been uneconomic for large areas where extensive, dry farming was to be practiced, others were simpler and may well have contributed materially to the expansion of early Islamic agriculture into lands which had previously been untilled. Using land of all categories—good and bad, irrigated and un­ irrigated—to the full or nearly full potential depleted the soil of its fertility and, in the case o f unirrigated land, o f its moisture; such heavy cropping could be continued over the years with satisfactory

42

Land and Society in the Middle Ages

results only if strenuous efforts were made to maintain the produc­ tivity of the soil. On this subject, the manuals of farming had much to say. They spoke of using dung o f sheep, goats, pigs, cows, horses, mules, buffaloes, gazelles, wild and domesticated donkeys, pigeons, doves and wild birds, as well as night soil, each with its peculiar virtues and uses. O ther animal products recommended for certain soils included blood, urine, and powdered bones, horns, and ivory. Veg­ etable matter of many types was also to be used where indicated— for instance, sediment from olive oil, lees, straw, husks, leaves, rags, shavings, different kinds of ashes, and unused parts o f the plant which was to be grown. Mineral matter also had its role: the manuals recom­ mended adding different kinds of soil, gravel, “dust,” chalk, marl, lime, crushed bricks, or broken tiles.36 Again, the manuals urged much plowing (normal and deep plowing), hoeing, digging, and harrowing, both at the time o f planting and during the shorter periods when the land was at rest; turning and breaking the soil were seen as partial substitutes for both fallowing and fertilizing, and on occasion pref­ erable.37 Finally, the choice of the right sequence o f crops was im­ portant since it was understood, dimly at least, that crops depleted the soil to different degrees, at different levels, and o f different nutrients; it was also known that some crops restored nutrients to the soil or improved its structure. The possible combinations o f ways of caring for the soil were thus almost infinite. T he treatm ent de­ pended on the type of soil and crop. Though some methods con­ tained an element of superstition, and some were perhaps harmful, there is little doubt that on balance they were enlightened. T o the extent that they were followed, they served to maintain and perhaps to improve the fertility of the soil—to increase in yet another way the output o f the land. One final way in which early Islamic farmers were able to increase soil productivity was through a closer matching of crops to soil, climate, and water. In doing so they had more scope than their predecessors, for they had more crops to choose from: there were all the crops o f traditional agriculture; there was the apparent profusion o f new strains of these, some more versatile or more productive than the older strains; and there were the new crops which were being intro­ duced. T he enlightened Islamic agronomist also understood m ore about the requirements of these crops than had his predecessors. He identified many different kinds of soil, each suited to particular kinds of plants, and differentiated them still further by taking into

A Mediei'al Green Revolution

43

account the soil’s moisture and temperature through the growing season. He had a more sophisticated understanding of the effects of climate on plant growth, which took account not only of rainfall and air temperature but also of the effects of various winds. He also considered the influences of different kinds and amounts of waters on plant growth. Thus, to give only a few examples out of many hundreds of such statements, he was told that “barley may grow in lands where wheat does not: it succeeds in soils that are saline, fine, soft, loose, weak, seeping and perspiring.”38 O r again: “the lime tree likes loose earth with a little salinity or red, aerated earth.”38 “The sour orange (in Iraq) likes east and south-east winds.”40 Most of the teachings of the manuals were based on experience. Ibn Wahshîya quarreled openly with earlier authorities when their recommendations were not borne out by experiment. In the manuals of Hispano-Muslim writers, authorities tended to be cited only where they confirmed experience. In the highly original work of Ibn Ba$$äl (fl. 11th c.), the author relied heavily, perhaps entirely, on what he and other scientists observed; there are no citations whatever from Arab or ancient writers. On the whole, the teachings, though often novel, make good sense. T he new agriculture was thus essentially a way of getting more produce out of the land, both by bringing more land under cultivation and by making old land much more productive than in the past. It was highly capital-intensive and highly labor-intensive. More capital was required per land unit for the construction of irrigation works and for the leveling or terracing of land to be irrigated. The reclamation of land also required a heavy investment. In a less obvious but perhaps important way the new agriculture also demanded a higher investment in tools, draft animals, and outbuildings. Operating capital was also greater on account of the larger amounts of seed, fertilizer, and labor used on a given field in the course of a year. At the same time, much more labor was required per land unit: to construct, operate, and repair the irrigation works; to plant, tend, and harvest crops on land that was more frequently cropped (some of the new crops, such as sugar cane, made very high demands on labor); and to carry out the large amount of plowing, digging, hoeing, and harrowing, as well as the extensive fertilizing, which were needed to maintain the fertility and moisture of heavily cropped land. Though some of the tasks came in what had been dead or slack seasons in earlier agricultural systems, and could therefore be performed by labor that otherwise would have

44

Land and Society in the Middle Ages

remained idle, more hands were undoubtedly needed per land unit. Thus the new agriculture was based on a shift in the relative propor­ tions of the factors of production—land, labor, and capital—used in the production o f food. This shift was an economically rational response to changing conditions: to a growing scarcity of land and to increasing supplies of labor and probably capital. It suggests a responsiveness in the agricultural sector which is typical o f an economy experiencing rapid growth, if not a transformation. Ill Agriculture has many merits. It enriches the earth and nourishes the human race. It permits the collection of the kharâj and develops the public wealth. It feeds do­ mestic animals, lowers the price of foodstuffs, increases the sources of commerce, and contributes to well-being. Attributed to the caliph Mu'taçim by Mas'udl41

Agriculture revolutions do not occur in a vacuum. On the contrary, they are part and parcel o f larger, more general changes in economy and society extending far beyond the bounds of agriculture. In the case o f the Arab agricultural revolution, much of what happened in the fields was related to what happened elsewhere, and only by exploring this totality can we begin to understand the causes of this revolution and its consequences. For one thing, the agricultural revolution was bound to a demo­ graphic revolution which seems to have touched most parts o f the Islamic world from roughly the beginning o f the eighth until the end of the tenth century. Rising population levels and increasing levels o f output of foodstuffs must have continuously interacted: at times demographic increase may have been the result o f agricul­ tural progress, at times its efficient cause. Much o f the increase in population was rural. Though there are signs o f retreating settlement in the Negev and possibly in a few other places42—changes which are probably to be explained by shifts in trade routes and political borders—in many areas settlement flowed onto land which had been abandoned in the centuries before the rise o f Islam or which had not previously known sedentary agri­ culture. Contributing to expanding settlement were many factors, some of which have been already mentioned: new crops which could be grown on lands previously thought unusable, new techniques

A Medieval Green Revolution

45

for improving soils that were poor, the bringing of irrigation water to new lands, new laws which gave ownership to the person who re­ claimed land which had been “dead” for three years and taxed this land at a low rate,43 and, finally, the growth of rural population it­ self which must have forced many peasants to seek holdings on land not yet under the plow—sometimes in places lying far afield. At the same time as the boundaries of agriculture were being enlarged, settlement in old and new areas seems to have become denser. Vil­ lages grew larger, and in heavily irrigated areas, they became more nearly contiguous so that settlement was almost continuous along the great river valleys, on the shores of great oases, such as the Fayyum, and in other places where the land could support a high population density.44 This increase in numbers in the countryside was respon­ sible not only for the increased demand for foodstuffs which in turn encouraged agricultural advances; it also supplied the growing amounts of labor which came to be applied to the land in this increas­ ingly labor-intensive agriculture. Rising rural population and more nearly continuous settlement also had important, if elusive, effects on the growth o f communications, on the speed o f diffusion, on the spread of trade through the countryside, and on the role of the state in rural life; and these in turn influenced the course of agri­ cultural development. So great, however, were the increases in food production generated by the agricultural revolution that the countryside could feed not only much heavier rural populations but also large urban popula­ tions. For during the early centuries of Islam new cities were founded in nearly every part of Där al-Isläm, and the new (as well as many old) cities grew, sometimes spectacularly. It is likely indeed that the proportion of people living in cities rose, that the early Islamic world became more urbanized. As they expanded, the cities brought pressure on the surrounding countryside to increase the produc­ tivity of the land, and at the same time drew larger and larger hinter­ lands into their gravitational field. T he areas of land that were thus directly pulled into the sphere of the urban economy must have been very large, since some of the cities were themselves, by European standards at least, enormous: a few probably had nearly a million inhabitants and many numbered in the hundreds of thou­ sands.45 The agricultural surplus needed to feed urban populations was perhaps a little greater than population figures alone might sug­ gest, for in most early Islamic cities resided a substantial number

46

Land and Society in the Middle Ages

o f wealthy people who lived—and ate—very well. Indeed, the towns seem to have contained large numbers o f rich people who depended on the countryside not only for their food supply but also for much or all o f their incomes. Rulers and their courts, the administrative bureaucracy, and the class o f rentier landlords lived to varying de­ grees—and often mainly—on revenues generated by rural produc­ ers but diverted to urban dwellers in the form of profits, rents, taxes, bribes, and gifts. T he presence in early Islamic cities o f these wealthy elements, whose very existence depended on the capacity o f the countryside to produce a surplus which they could appropriate, had in turn its effect on the character of agriculture, and in particular on the dif­ fusion of certain o f the new crops that were integral components o f the agricultural revolution. For many o f the new crops came first to be known in the Islamic world as luxury imports, at the out­ set as medicines for the rich, and later as foodstuffs served on the tables o f rulers and their courts. Demand for these imported foods broadened as other wealthy people in the capital and the great pro­ vincial cities imitated the eating habits of the rulers and their courts, and were in turn aped by those farther down the social ladder. Even­ tually a critical point was reached when demand was sufficiently great to justify import substitution—the domestic production of what had been imported. As output increased and skills were ac­ quired, costs probably fell and demand became still greater. As the political unity o f the Islamic world broke up and new courts appeared in the west, the western courts imitated those of the east, and were in turn followed by the urban elites. Thus, new tastes spread westward and in each region touched larger and larger numbers o f people. T hough in time these tastes were acquired by the lower socioeconomic classes, who came to constitute the bulk o f the con­ sumers, and most of the crops became available for everyday use rather than as luxuries, the initial role o f the upper classes was none the less crucial. It seems likely that without their demand many of the new crops would never have come to be grown in the Islamic world on a significant scale.46 T he new agriculture was also bound to the rise of industries; in their turn, these stimulated still other economic activities, some of which involved agriculture. One linkage has already been noted: the growth of the irrigation industry, which absorbed much capital and employed great numbers of administrators and laborers.47 How­

A Medieval Green Rei'oluiion

47

ever, since many of the new crops had to be processed before they could be used, their introduction gave rise to employment and some­ times investment outside the agricultural sector. Some of the proc­ essing could be perform ed as usufruct: the drying, cooking, pick­ ling, and milling of some of the crops, for instance, could be done in the home of the user. Often enough, however, the workers who carried out even these simple tasks sold their products or their labor on the market. O ther tasks required such a degree o f skill or such expensive equipment that they were more often carried out by a specialized labor force. In this way the new crops brought new in­ dustries into being. T he milling of rice, for example, was such an industry. Rice could be milled by hand-operated querns in the home; but the work was often—probably most often—done by mills powered by animals, water, or wind.48 Two such forward-linked industries became very large: the refining of sugar and the processing of cotton. They appeared in many parts of the Islamic world, employing large numbers o f people and, in the case of sugar refining, tying up large investments in plant and machinery.49 Their finished products in turn gave rise to other industries: sugar to the making of sweets, pastries, and confectioneries which, for better or worse, are so loved in the Islamic world, and cotton to the manufacture of clothing and household articles made of cotton cloth or cotton wool.50 Cotton manufacture also acted on the agricultural sector by creating a de­ mand for dyestuffs, such as indigo (another new crop), and other fibers, such as linen, which were often mixed with cotton. Still other industries depending on the new crops were the manufacture of medicines, cosmetics, perfumes, and oils. Finally, the rise of the new agriculture was connected with a growing trade in agricultural produce and a deeper penetration of a monetary economy into the countryside. City markets, as we have seen, attracted surpluses from hinterlands that grew as the cities themselves grew.51 In the rural areas thus pulled into the urban economy, production became increasingly specialized as it came to be governed less by the needs of the producer or the landowner and more by the require­ ments of the market. Growing specialization o f rural land and la­ bor raised still further the productivity of agriculture in several ways: by reducing the loss o f time involved in changing from one task to another, by giving workers a better chance to acquire special skills (and several of the new crops required skilled labor), and by using land for more productive crops. T he growth of long-distance trade

48

Land and Society in the Middle Ages

in some o f the crops carried specialization, and the spread o f a mone­ tary economy, still further. Cotton (and cotton thread and cloth), rice, sugar, coconuts (as well as the fronds, branches, and trunks o f the coconut palm), and doubtless other new crops, not to m en­ tion many o f the traditional ones, were traded over long distances in the Islamic world. Some were exported on an im portant scale beyond the limits o f Dâr al-1slâm: sugar and cotton, for instance, were sent from many parts o f the Muslim M editerranean to Christian Europe.92 Besides affecting the economy o f both the producing and consuming region, all this trade, both local and long-distance, generated an im portant class o f intermediaries trading in foodstuffs; and these merchants, in turn, were serviced by transporters, financiers, and warehouse owners.93 T o the extent, still unclear, that rural producers were able to buy from the cities as well as sell to them—to the extent, that is, that their cash incomes were not removed from them as rents and taxes o r in some other way—rural dependence on the cities carried still further the specialization o f rural labor, stimu­ lated the growth o f urban industries, and enlarged still more the class o f intermediaries.94 From the brief sketch presented above, we may conclude that the interacting agricultural and urban sectors o f the early Islamic economy were on the whole responsive to the needs o f each other: one part seems generally to have been able to supply what was de­ m anded by another. Blockages there must have been, to be sure, and inadequate responses, and these biased the course o f develop­ m ent in ways that are worth identifying and explaining. But the overall responsiveness o f the different parts o f the economy is im­ pressive. This, in turn, implies an elasticity in many other areas bearing on economic life: in attitudes, tastes, skills, labor supplies, resources, institutions, laws, technology, and money supplies. All these connections would be difficult to illuminate, though they are worth pondering. But the point remains that it is in the context o f the perform ance o f the whole economy, and indeed o f the oper­ ation o f many factors usually deem ed to lie outside the economic sphere, that we should study the flowering o f Islamic agriculture— and its eventual decline.

A Medieval Green Rei’olution

49

NOTES 1. O ur findings on the diffusion of these crops will he reported in full in our book, New Crops in the Early-lslamic World. A Study in DiJJusion, in preparation, where a separate chapter is given to each crop. Many other points made in this article will be developed at greater length and more fully documented in this book. See also A. M. Watson, “T he Rise and Spread of Old-World Colton," in Studies in Textile History in Memory oj Harold Burnham, ed. V. Gervers (Toronto 1977), pp. 355-68. 2. Jähiz cited in C. Pellat, Le milieu bahnen et la formation de Gàhiz (Paris 1953), p. 236; Ibn Wahshiya cited in A. A. al-Dürl, Ta’rfkh al-'lrâq al-iqtisâdî (Baghdad 1948), p. 60; text of Ançâri in L. Torres Balbâs, “Las ruinas de Belv unes o Bellones,"Tamuda, V ( 1957), pp. 290-94; ‘Abd al-Lapf al-Baghdad! Kitàb al-ifâda wa'l-i'tibàr, trans. K. H. Zand.J. A. and I. E. Videau as The East­ ern Key (London 1965), p. 66. 3. T here is, unfortunately, no up-to-date work on the origin and dif­ fusion o f cultivated plants. The pioneering study of Alphonse de Candolle, Origine des plantes cultivées (Paris 1883), now needs complete revision. Some more recent works which the student will find helpful are E. Schiemann, Die Entstehung der Kulturpflanzen (Berlin 1932); N. I. Vavilov, The Origin, Immunity and Breeding of Cultivated Plants (Waltham, Mass. 1949-50); N. I. Vavilov, Tsentry proiskhozhdeniia hul'tumykh rastenii (Leningrad 1926); D. Bois, Les plantes alimentaires chez tous les peuples et à travers tous les âges (Paris 192737); J.-J. Hémardinquer et al., Atlas de cultures vivrières (Paris and The Hague 1971); and P. M. Zukovskij, Cultivated Plants and their Wild Relatives (Farnham Royal 1968). But much important material is to be found in specialized monographs and in periodicals such as Jourtuil d’agriculture tropicale et de botanique appliquée, Kew Bulletin, and Economie Botany. 4. The Sabaean Lane, linking Africa to India via the Arabian peninsula, played a crucial role in the diffusion of numerous African crops into Asia and Asian crops into Africa. Among the former, Murdock lists five which are included in “the seventeen major crops of India”: castor, cotton, bul­ rush millet, sesame, and sorghum; see G. P. Murdock, Africa. Its Peoples and their Culture History (New York 1959), p. 207. To these should perhaps be added the tamarind tree, which now appears to have originated in Madagascar and which was seen in the fourth century b .c . by the Alexandrian expedition to India and the Persian Gulf; see H. Bretzl, Botanische Forsch­ ungen des Alexanderzuges (Leipzig 1903), pp. 120-32. On the other hand, it is not certain that Old World cotton is of African origin; see Watson, “The Rise and Spread of Old-World Cotton,” pp. 355-56. 5. This vitally important role played by ancient India has vet to be fully investigated. See, however, F. R. Allchin, “Early Cultivated Plants in India and Pakistan," in The Domestication and Exploitation of Plants and Animals, ed. P. J. L'cko and G. W. Dinibleby (London 1969), pp. 323-39. 6. The ethnobotanist, Burkill, believes that all these introductions to Africa took place in Islamic times. He states: “It has been pointed out by

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Sir David Prain and me that the African landfall of the Sabaean Lane . . . was inhospitable to such plants as the greater yam, being far too dry for its thrift. So. too. for the other plants whose coming to Africa from the East was delayed until the Yemenite Arabs had so developed their col­ onies in Zanguebar as to make a home for them. This they did between the 8th and the 11th centuries.” I. Burkill, “Habits of Man and the Origins of the Cultivated Plants of the World,” Proceedings of the Linnean Society of Ijmdon, CLXIV (1951-52), p. 33. 7. See G. Hourani, Arab Seafaring in the Indian Ocean in Ancient and Early Medieval Times (Beirut 1963). pp. 53, 68 ff.; $frâfi. Akhbâr al-yin wa'l-Hind, ed. and trans. J. Sauvaget (Paris 1948), xxxviii. There has been a contro­ versy about the exact route followed by sugar cane up the Persian Gulf. C. Ritter, in Ober die geografische Verbreitung des Zuckerrohrs (Berlin 1840). believed that this plant passed through Siräf and thence to Ahwäz where he thought that the refining of sugar was invented and where indeed the sources indicate that sugar was produced (though not necessarily grown). However. P. Schwarz, in “Die Zuckerpressen von Ahwäz,” Der Islam. VI (1916), pp. 269-79. maintains that the great circular stones excavated in Ahwäz, once thought to be sugar cane presses, were in fact the bases of pillars! Schwarz suggests Hormuz as the most likely halfway house for the dif fusion of sugar cane from India to Iraq. 8. Mas’titll. Munij al-dhahab, ed. and trans. C. Barbier de Meynard and P. de Courteille as Les prairies dor (Paris 1861-77), II, 438-39: VIII, 336. 9. Ihn Wahslnva. Al-Filäha al-nahattya. Dar al-Kutul> (Cairo). MS. 490 Zirâ'a. I, 70. A word on the dating of this work is perhaps in order. T o some extent it appears to be a compilation of earlier works, though none of the alleged authors cited, I believe, has been identified as the “real” author. On the other hand, much of the material seems to have been written by Ibn Wahshiya or not long bef ore his time. References to the city o f Baghdad and to Islam show that at least parts of the work were composed in Islamic times. So, loo, do many references to crops which were clearly new in Mesopotamia in the ninth and early tenth centuries, such as sour oranges and lemons. More generally, it would appear that when the writer speaks in the first person, and often when he cites no other author, he is present­ ing material which he has written himself, though of course he may have drawn on earlier authorities, in any case, whether the material was preMamie or not. it did not Income known outside Mesopotamia until Islamic times. Ibn Wahshiya is cited in many of the Islamic agricultural manuals. 10. Aim Manila al-DInawari, Kittib al-nahât, ed. M. Hamidullah (Cairo 1973). p. 283. 11. Most of the new crops are mentioned in an anonymous Andalusian work of 961. Le calendrier de Cordoue, ed. and trans. C. Pellat (leiden 1961). 12. On the pre-lslamic diff usion of crops from the Yemen to Egypt, see G. Schweinfutih. “Sur l’origine af rit aine ties plantes cultivées en Égypte," HuUetin de /7nstitut Égyptien, X11 ( 1872-73), pp. 200-206. On a possible Yemeni presence in the western Sahara, sec H. T. Norris, "Yemenis in the Western

A M edin'a I Green Revolution

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Sahara." Journal of African History, III (1962), pp. 317-22: and on the Yemeni influence in the development o f irrigation works and administration in Spain, see T. Glick, Irrigation and Society in Stedirval Valencia (Cambridge, Mass. 1970), pp. 177, 186, 214-15, 250. 13. See, however, n. 6. supra. 14. H. S. P. Freeman-Grenville, The Medieiwl History of the Coast of Tan­ ganyika (Ixmdon 1962), pp. 21-87; Sir John Gray, History of Zanzibar from the Middle Ages to 1856 (London 1962), pp. 11 ff.; Mas*fid!. Prairies, I, pp. 231-32, who himself traveled from Oman to East Africa in the com­ pany o f Sirafi sailors; “T he History of Kilwa,” ed. S. A. Strong, inJRAS, 1895. pp. 398-99. 15. R. Portères, Les appellations des céréales en Afrique (Paris 1959). p. 144. 16. T he dating of the initial and later contacts between lndo-Malaya and Madagascar is discussed in H. Deschamps, Histoire de Madagascar (Paris 1965). See also I. Burkill. “The Rise and Decline o f the Greater Yam in the Service of Man,” The Advancement of Science, VII (1950-51). pp. 446-48. 17. J. M. Dalziel, The Useful Plants of West Tropical Africa (London 1948). pp. 122, 305-6, 433, 541, 550. 18. R. Portères. “ Berceaux agricoles primaires sur le continent africaine.” Journal of African History, 111 (1962), pp. 195 ff.; M. A. Havinden, “The History of Crop Cultivation in West Africa: A Bibliographical Guide," Economic History Review, 2nd Series, XXIII (1970), pp. 532 ff. 19. R. Mauny, “La savane nilo-tchadienne, voie de pénétration des in­ fluences égyptiennes et orientales?*’ Conferencia internacional de Africanistas occidentales (Madrid 1954), II, 83-115. 20. V. Monteil, “Le Coton chez les Noirs." bulletin du Comité d’Études Historiques et Scientifiques de l'A. O. F., IX (1926), pp. 585-684: R. Mauny. “Notes historiques autour des principales plantes cultivées d'Afrique occidentale," Bulletin de l'Institut Français d'Afrique Noire, XV (1953), pp. 698 ff.: Watson, “The Rise and Spread of Old-World Cotton.” p. 362. 21. Indeed in both East and West Africa the penetration of the new crops may have been largely confined to areas which were predominantly Muslim. On the relatively backward agricultural practices of West Africa, see BakrT, Kitâb al-mamàlik wa'l-masâlik, ed. and trans. MacGuckin de Slane as Des­ cription de l'Afrique septentrionale (Algiers 1859), p. 299, where it is related that at Awdaghast the land was cultivated by spade and the crops watered by hand. 22. Byzantium appears to have played almost no role in the diffusion of these and other crops, possibly on account of her declining empire and trade. In the famous Geoponika, a Byzantine agricultural manual of the sixth or tenth century, there is little or no interest in agricultural novelty. See Geoponika sive Cassiani Bassi scholastici de re rustica eclogae, ed. H. Beckh (Leipzig 1895). See also J. L. Teall, “ Byzantine Agricultural Tradition." Dumbarton Oaks Papers, XXV (1971), pp. 33-59. Contran- to what is often said there is no evidence of crops being transmitted to Europe through

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the Crusader kingdoms. This failure to diffuse is perhaps explained by the lack of movement between Europe and Levant of people with any first­ hand experience of growing the new crops, and by the general inability o f Crusader agriculture, even in the Levant, to continue growing specialty crops (apart from sugar cane in a narrow band along the coast, where ex­ perienced labor from the conquered populations was almost certainly used). 23. Frederick II sent for “duos homines qui bene sciant facere zuccarum"; Historic diplomatica Friderici secundi, ed. J. L. A. Bréholles (Paris 1852-61), V, 575. Presumably the revival of the sugar-refining industry also stim­ ulated the production of sugar cane. On the probable disappearance o f sugar cane from Sicily until the fifteenth century, see Carmello Trasselli, Lo zucchero siciliano dai Normanni ai Martini (unpublished typescript avail­ able from the author); Lucio Gambi, Geografia delle pianti da zucchero in Italia (Naples 1955), pp. 9 ff.; Carmello Trasselli, “Sumärio duma histöria do açûcar siciliano,” Do tempo e da histöria, II (1968), pp. 59-60. 24. “Vos rogamus quatenus duos sclavos sarracenos quorum alter sit magistro cotonis et alter de cannamellis, et de semine cotonis et cannamellarum ipsarum in quantitate decenti ad nos ilico transmittatis . . J. E. Martfnez Ferrando, Jaime II de Aragon (Barcelona 1948), II, 19-20. 25. An attempt to explain why diffusion was particularly successful over this route is made in A. M. Watson, “The Arab Agricultural Revolution and its Diffusion, 700-1100,” Journal of Economic History, XXXIV (1974), pp. 8-35. 26. The literature on the history of irrigation in the Islamic world is vast, if not altogether satisfactory. Amongst the more useful works are Click, op. cit. ; Robert McC. Adams, Land Behind Baghdad (Chicago 1965); V. V. Bartol'd, Historiia orosheniia Turkestana (St. Petersburg 1914); H. Goblot. “Dans l’ancien Iran, les techniques de l'eau et la grande histoire,” Annales; Economies, sociétés, civilisations, XVIII (1963), pp. 499-520; A. Sûsa, Irriga­ tion in Iraq (Baghdad 1954); idem, Fayadânât Baghdad JTl-ta'nkh (Baghdad 1954); idem, Rayy Sâmarrâ (Baghdad 1948); J. Dias and F. Galhano, Aparelhos de elevar a agua de rega (Oporto 1953); M. Solignac, Recherches sur les instal­ lations hydrauliques de Kairouan et des steppes tunisiennes du Vile au Xle siècle (J. C.) (Algiers 1953); B. Müller-Wodarg, “Die Landwirtschaft Ägyptens in der frühen 'Abbäsidenzeit,” Dfr/î/am, XXXI (1955), pp. 179 ff.; C. Cahen, “Le service de l’irrigation en Iraq dans début du Xle siècle,” BEO, XIII (194951), pp. 117-43; A. Gonzalez Palencia, “Notas sobre el régimen de riejos en la région de Veruela en los siglos XII y Xlll,"Al-Andalus, X( 1945), pp. 7988; M. Kurd ‘Ali, Ghûta Dimashq (Damascus 1953), pp. 114-19; L. Bolens, “L’eau et l’irrigation d’après les traités d’agronomie andalous au moyenâge (Xle-XIIe siècles).” Options méditerranéennes (December 1972), pp. 6477. 27. For a discussion of these and other techniques, mostly (though not all) inherited from pre-Islamic times but widely diffused in Islamic times, see Dias and Galliano. o/>. cit.: Cahen, op. cit.: Goblot, op. cit.: J. Caro Baroja,

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“Norias, azudes, acenas,"Rei’ista de dialectologia y tradicionespopuläres, X (1954), pp. 29-160; idem, “Sobre la historia de la noria de tiro,” Revista de dialeetobgia y tradiciones populäres, XI (1955), pp. 15-79; J. Humlum, “L’nderjordiske vandingskanaler: Kareze. qanat, foggara,” Kulturgeografi, XVI U965). pp. 81-132; B. Läufer, “The Noria or Persian Wheel,” Oriental Studies in Honour of Cursetji Pavry, ed. J. D. C. Pavry (London 1932), pp. 23850. 28. Among the great irrigation catastrophes o f the century and a half before the rise of Islam were the collapse of the Ma'rib Dam in the Yemen in the late sixth century, after which time there is no evidence that any Himyaritic irrigation works were in operation; the submergence o f the whole of the Nile Delta by floods in the sixth century; and a flood on the Tigris and Euphrates in the year 627, which destroyed many embankments and dams, including the great Nimrud Dam, leaving the lower reaches o f the river system a marshy quagmire. 29. The conclusion drawn by Adams, Land Behind Baghdad, pp. 84 IT., is that the density o f settlement in the Diyala Plains in Islamic times, as well as the extent of the irrigation system, never reached the high point of later Sasanian times in spite o f considerable reconstruction in late Umayyad and early Abbasid times. However, Adams’ conclusions should not be accepted uncritically. They are based to considerable extent on changes in taxation revenue for the whole of the Sawad from Sasanian to Abbasid times; but the figures he cites, even if they are reliable, do not take into account changes in the rate o f taxation, in the efficiency of collection and remittance, and in the weight, purity, and purchasing power of the coins in which the accounts were reckoned. T he archeological evidence that is adduced is also of uncertain value owing to Adams’ complete reliance on small samples of sherds taken from the surface at various sites. W hether these samples adequately reflect the occupation of various sites is at least questionable. T he technique was tested at an Anatolian site and the re­ sults reported in C. L. Redman and P. J. Watson, “Systematic, Intensive Surface Collection,” American Antiquity, XXXV (1970). pp. 279-91: the authors conclude cautiously that the technique is “useful for determining where to dig” and that it “may produce testable hypotheses relevant to the total interpretation o f a site .. . Another shortcoming o f Adams’ work for this period stems from the great difficulty—if not the impossibility—of distinguishing the rural pottery of late Sasanian, Umayyad, and early Abbasid times. In any case, if Adams’ conclusions for the Diyala Plains are correct, this region could not have been typical. As Adams states on p. 99, “the greatest degree o f urbanization prior to modern times [i.e., the rise of Baghdad and Samarra] came not as a concomitant of the greatest inten­ sity of land usage but as the sequel to a decline in provincial settlement, irrigation, and agricultural production” in the Diyala Plains. This pattern could hardly have been general in the Sawad, or more particularly in the hinterland of these two great cities, each of which covered an area at least ten times that of Ctesiphon: otherwise the inhabitants of these two cities could not have been fed.

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30. On pre-lslamic cropping practices, see K. D. White, Roman Farming (London 1970), pp. 110 ff.; M. Schnebel, Die Landwirtschaft im hellenistischen Ägypten (Munich 1925), pp. 220 ff., who shows no summer cropping in Egypt, even along the Nile and even in Byzantine times; F. Jehuda, HaHakla’ut bi-Erets-Yisrael bi-tekufat ha-Mishna veha-Talmud (Jerusalem 1963), pp. 30-36, 46, 71, 150-54; H. Stren, Le calendrier de 354: Étude sur son texte et ses illustrations (Paris 1953), who, after a thorough examination of all the agricultural calendars of ancient Greece, Rome, and Byzantium, as well as all the Latin poems of the months, concludes (on pp. 366-69) that the field crops o f the ancient world were virtually all sown from October to December. In certain regions the following crops could be grown in the summer, though not all were necessarily summer crops: millet, sesame, certain Cucurbitaceae, and (in the north) trimestre wheat. 31. T he planting time for most o f these crops is shown in Le calendrier de Cordoue; Ibn Mammàtï, Kitàb qawànîn al-dawàwtn, ed. A. S. *Apya (Cairo 1943), pp. 235 ff.; Ibn al-’Awwâm, Kitàb al-filäha, ed. and trans. J. A. Banqueri (Madrid 1802), II. 428 ff. 32. Some idea o f the early diffusion of these crops may be had from de Candolle, op. cit., pp. 136-38, 164, 346; but much more work is needed on the subject. 33. The texts which give examples o f these rotations are too numerous to cite here; full reference will be given in my book. On the reduction of fallowing in early Islamic agriculture, however, see Jehuda, op. cit., p. 36 et passim ; and L. Bolens, Les méthodes culturales au Moyen-Âge d'après les traités d’agronomie andalous: traditions et techniques (Geneva 1974), pp. 125-27. 34. Ibn W abshîya,op. cit., I, 128. 35. Ibid., I, 127 ff. 36. Ibid., I, 136-39, 149 ff. et passim; Ibn al-‘Awwâm, op. cit., I, 320; II, 230, et passim; Ibn Ba$$âl, Kitàb al-filâha, ed. and trans. J. M. Millâs Vallicrosa and M. Aziman (Tetuan 1955), pp. 55 ff.; Bolens, Les méthodes, pp. 184 ff.; idem, “Engrais et protection de la fertilité dans l’agronomie hispano-arabe, Xle-XIIe siècles," Études rurales, XLVI (1972), pp. 34-60; S. M. Imamuddin, “Al-Filâhah (Farming) in Muslim Spain,” Islamic Studies, 1 (1962), pp. 7173. T he range of fertilizers available was clearly larger than in ancient traditions and their uses were probably better understood. The fact that night soil was used is of great importance, since it made available very large supplies of a fertilizer not used in European agriculture, and reduced, o r eliminated, the need to pasture animals on fields. It seems likely that it is for this reason that communal rights to graze on stubble did not develop in the Islamic world, and hence the rigid, village-wide rotations of medieval Europe did not appear. Cultivators were left free to develop rotations which suited soil, moisture, and market conditions. 37. Maqrîzï, for instance, states that land to be planted with sugar cane should lie plowed six times; see Al-Khi(a( al-maqnziya (Al-Shaiyah 1959). I, 182-83. Ibn Bas$äl, op. cit., recommends up to ten plowings, and manurings, before cotton is planted. Sec also Ibn al-‘Awwäm. op. cit., II, 28.

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Ibn Wahshlya, Ibn Bassäl, and Ibn al-’Awwäm all speak of a plow which cuts deeply into the earth and turns it over (instead of merely breaking up the surface soil, as in normal Mediterranean plowing). It is not dear whether this is similar to the heavy mouldboard plow of northern Europe. 38. Ibn Wahshlya. op. eit., I, 173. 39. Ibid.. I. 70. 40. Loc. cit. 41. Prairies, VII, 104. 42. A. Reifenberg, The Struggle between the Desert and the Soum (Jerusalem 1955), pp. 56-57, 97; M. Even-Air, L. Shanan and N. Tadmor, The Negev: The Challenge of a Desert (Cambridge, Mass. 1971), pp. 26-27. Reifenberg also suggests that settlements were abandoned in Palestine following the Arab invasions, but all this evidence will have to be re-examined. It seems clear that in some cases the retreat occurred several centuries before the rise of Islam, in other cases several centuries afterward. In the same way, it is now clear that the dating of the abandonment of settlement in the re­ gion of the tilles mortes near Aleppo must be revised. Many who wrote on this area assumed that the area ceased to be occupied after the Arab in­ vasions; see, for instance, G. Tchalenko, Villages antiques de la Syrie du Nord (Paris 1953-58), I, 431-38. However, it has now been shown that the area was settled and prosperous in Ayyubid times and was not abandoned until the Mongol attacks in the thirteenth century! See J. Sourdel-Thomine, “Le peuplement de la région des ‘villes mortes' (Syrie du Nord) à l’époque ayyübide," Arabica, 1 (1954), pp. 187-200. Whether there was any retreat of settlement in this region after the Arab conquests is still an open ques­ tion. 43. A. Ben Shemesh, Taxation in Islam (Leiden 1958-69), I, 65-66; 11,31-33; 111, 118-19, 122. 44. T he evidence of high density of rural settlement, though imprecise, comes from many parts of the Islamic world. For Iran, see B. Spuler, Iran in früh-islamischer Zeit (Wiesbaden 1952), pp. 247 ff. In Mesopotamia, settle­ ment along the river valleys was said to be so continuous that the villages could not be distinguished one from another; see Sûsa, Irrigation, p. 30; idem, Irrigation in Iraq (Baghdad 1954), p. 29. Some evidence for the settle­ ment in Umayyad times o f regions of Transjordan (abandoned in Abbasid times) may be seen in O. Grabar, “Umayyad ‘Palace’ and the ‘Abbâsid ‘Revolution’,” Studio Islamica, XVIII (1963), pp. 5-18. On the Hijaz, see H. Lammens, Le berceau de l’Islam (Rome 1914), pp. 94 ff.. 166 ff. An eighthcentury census of Egypt listed some 10,000 villages, o f which the smallest had 500 plows: Papyrus Erzherzog Rainer. Führer durch die Ausstellung, ed. J. Karabacek (Vienna 1894), p. 152. The Fayyum was said (no doubt with exaggeration) to have had 360 villages, each of which could feed the whole of Egypt for one day; P. M. Holt, "Al-Fayyüm,” EI'1, II. 873. Some idea of the penetration of settlement into the interior of the Maghrib may be had from the maps and text of C. Vanacker, “Géographie de l'Afrique du Nord selon les auteurs arabes, du Xle siècle au milieu du X Ile siècle," Antutles;

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Économies, sociétés, civilisations, XXVIII (1973), pp. 659-80. Solignac, op. cit., p. 382, quotes a source alleging that between Gafsa and Feriana, an area which is now desert, there were over 200 villages. Similarly, Torres Balbâs, op. cit., pp. 275 ff., points out that the coast between Tangiers and Melilla, which, except for Ceuta, is now largely abandoned, was once densely settled and had a number of cities. A thesis on the seigneurie of Monreale in Sicily about 100 years after the Norman conquest—by which time depopulation had probably already set in—suggests a population o f about 20,000 in an area of 1,000 square kilometers; H. Bercher, A. Courteaux, and J. Mouton, Monreale, des terres, des hommes, leur exploitation (Thèse de maîtrise en his­ toire: Université de Paris, VII, 1973). In Spain, Maqqari speaks o f the great density of settlement described by Ibn Sa‘id, and quotes an anony­ mous author who claims, surely exaggerating, that there were 12,000 vil­ lages and towns along the Guadalquivir; The History of the Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain, trans. P. de Gayangos (London 1840-43), I, 84-85, 87. For the high density of rural population in Spain, see also L. Bolens, Les méthodes, p. 8. Some idea of the depth of Arabic penetration into Spain can be had from maps 1, 2, 4, and 6 in H. Lautensach, Maurische Züge im geo­ graphischen Bild der Iberischen Halbinsel (Bonn 1960); this clearly exceeded anything achieved in Roman times. Even in the savanna and forest lands o f West Africa, villages became larger and more numerous, as new crops introduced in Islamic times made the soil much more productive than it had been; indeed, as we have pointed out, the movement of agriculture into the forest regions depended on the availability of sugar cane, colocasia, bananas, plantains, and citrus fruits. See A. Chevalier, “Le rôle joué par les migrations humaines dans la repartition actuelle de quelques végétaux," Congrès de l’Association Française pour l’Avancement des Sciences (Liège 1925), pp. 990-96, and n. 18, supra. 45. Though many of the sources undoubtedly give exaggerated notions of the size of early Islamic cities, one should be on guard against a tendency to make overly conservative estimates of urban populations. Thus J. C. Russell, in “Late Ancient and Medieval Population,” Transactions of the American Philo­ sophical Society, New Series, XLVIII, Pt. 3 (1958), and “The Population of Medieval Egypt," Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt, V (1966), pp. 69-82, goes to great lengths to cut down the population of early Islamic towns and countryside: by assuming that the figures for cities must refer to whole provinces: by using excessively low multipliers for the size of household or the number of inhabitants per hectare; by supposing that the population of métropoles was a constant proportion of the population of the hinterland; by concluding that accounts of tax returns which speak of dinars must have meant dirhams . . . ; by assuming that the population of medieval towns was not much different from the population of these towns in the nineteenth century; etc. Though no figures are available which are at all reliable, the estimates which follow will give an idea of the order of magnitude. E. E. Herzfeld, Geschichte der Stadt Sa marra (Hamburg 1948), p. 137, suggests that the great area covered by Samarra implies a population of about 1,000,000 (a figure which seems high for a city which was the capital for

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only 56 years, but the inhabited area of the city was very large). Baghdad, which Russell estimates at 300,000, was certainly larger than Samarra. T he estimates for the city at its peak range from 2 million (in the Arabic Twentieth-Century Encyclopedia), down through I million (Levi della Vida in Enciclopedia italiana, sub voce “Baghdad," and A. A. al-Dûri in E l1, sub voce “Baghdad"), to somewhere between 200,000 and 600,000 (J. Lassner, The Topography of Baghdad in the Early Middle Ages, Detroit 1970, p. 282, n. 3). A population between 600,000 and a million does not seem unreason­ able to this writer. Fustat-Cairo, another large city whose size is difficult to estimate, has been given various population levels on the eve o f the Black Death: 600,000 by Clerget, 500,000 by Abu-Lughod, and between 450,000 and 600,000 by Dois. See M. Clerget, Le Caire (Cairo 1934), pp. 126, 238-39: J. L. Abu-Lughod, Cairo (Princeton 1971), p. 37; and the chapter by Dois in this volume. Maqqari, op. cit., 1, 87, quotes an anonymous writer who states that in Spain, there were 80 cities of the first rank, 300 of the second rank, and so many smaller towns and villages that only God could count them. T he population o f Cordoba has been variously estimated at any­ where between 100,000 and 1,000,000, but the archeologists who are now excavating in the city think the latter figure a good approximation on account o f the very great size o f the medieval site. A population of about 1.000,000 would accord well with the figures given by various (reasonably reliable) sources cited by Maqqari, op. cit., I, 214-15: 200,077 houses for the common people and 60,300 for the more important elements; or 113,000 houses for the common people and half that number for the rich; or even 300,000 houses. Very conservative estimates, based on areas, are given for other Spanish towns in L. Torres Balbâs, “Extensiôn y demografïa de las ciudades hispanomusulmanas,” Studia Islamica, III (1955). pp. 35-39. R. W. Bulliet, The Patricians of Nishapur. A Study in Mediei'al Islamic Social History (Cambridge, Mass. 1972), pp. 9-10, estimates the population of ninthcentury Nishapur to have been between 500,000 and 100,000. Lambton (£/*, sub voce “Isfahan”) suggests that the population of Isfahan in Buvid times was at least 100,000. The population of Kufa was estimated by Massignon at a maximum of 400,000, whereas estimates for Basra in the eighth and the ninth centuries range between 600,000 and 200,000. See L. Massignon, “Explication du plan de Kufa,” Opera Minora, ed. Y. Moubarac (Beirut 1963), III, 35-60; C. Pellal, op.cit., pp. 5-6, and E l7, sub voce "Basra." Talbi (El7, sub voce “Kayrawän") estimates that Qayrawan had at least 100,000 inhabitants in the ninth century. All these figures will, of course, be dis­ puted, but they (and other estimates which could be made for many other large cities in the early Islamic world) suggest a world which was highly urbanized, at least in comparison to Europe. 46. These ideas are developed at greater length in my article, “The Arab Agricultural Revolution and its Diffusion." 47. Some idea of the employment in the irrigation industry of Mesopotamia may be had from Cahen, op. cit. Ibn Hawqal, Kitâh siirat al-ard. ed. J. H. Kramers (Leiden 1938-39), II. 436, states that the Superintendent of Irri­ gation in Merv had 10,000 employees under him.

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48. On the various milling operations in Spain, and on the new types of mills that may have been introduced into Spain in Islamic times, see Lautensach, op. at., p. 81. Casanova, op. at., p. 155, shows that there was a special street for rice millers in Cairo. 49. On the heavy investment in sugar refineries, see Paul Berthier, Les anciennes sucreries du Maroc et leurs réseaux hydrauliques (Rabat 1966). I. 129 ff.; M. Benvenisti, The Crusaders in the Holy Land (Jerusalem 1970), pp. 253-56; S. D. Goitein, A Mediterranean Society (Berkeley 1967), I, 81, 126; La description de Damas d’Ibn ‘Asàkir, trans. N. Elisséeff (Damascus 1959), pp. 268, 269, 280; S. Labib, Handelsgeschichte Ägyptens im Spätmittelalter (Wiesbaden 1965), pp. 319-20, 421-23. In Cairo and Damascus special streets were set aside for sugar refineries. 50. On the rise of the cotton-using industries, see my article “The Rise and Spread of Old-World Cotton.” 51. The close dependence of a town on its hinterland is made clear in Bulliet, op. cit., pp. 11-12. 52. W. Heyd, Histoire du commerce du Levant au Moyen-âge (Amsterdam 1959), II, 611 ff., 684 ff.; A. Schaube, Handelsgeschichte der romanischen Völker des Mittelmeergebiets bis tum Ende der Kreutzüge (Munich and Berlin 1906), pp. 162, 197, 214; F. Balducci Pegolotti, La pratica della mercatura, ed. A. Evans (Cambridge, Mass. 1936), passim; Labib, op. cit., pp. 101, 311-12, 320; M. F. Mazzaoui, “The Cotton Industry of Northern Italy in the Late Middle Ages: 1150-1450,” Journal of Economic History, XXX11 (1972), p. 266. 53. On the class of intermediaries dealing in cotton in Cairo, see Labib, op. cit., pp. 182, 339. Casanova, op. cit., shows that special quarters were reserved in Cairo for rice merchants and cotton merchants. Baghdad had a special wharf for cotton merchants and a special market for the trading o f cotton; see G. Le Strange, Baghdad during the Abbasid Caliphate (Oxford 1924), pp. 84, 181, 265. 54. The degree to which early Islamic cities were parasites on the country­ side is still problematic. However, nearly all industry, other than usufacture, seems to have been located in the cities, and there must therefore have been some flow of industrial goods back to the countryside. Taxes were largely levied in kind, taxes in cash being apparently reserved for special­ ly crops such as cotton, sugar cane, and indigo; rents, too, were presumably paid in kind in most cases. Thus the payment of taxes and rents probably did not deprive the peasantry of all cash income; some cash was left, we may suppose, for urban goods and services.

2 Som e Technical Aspects of Agriculture In M edieval Egypt Hassanein Rabie

T he purpose of this paper is to throw some light on the effect of the river Nile on the agriculture of medieval Egypt and the concom­ itant importance o f the maintenance o f the canals and irrigation dams and to examine medieval classification o f arable land in Egypt, farming techniques, implements, fertilizers, and prescribed seasons for sowing and harvesting. Methods o f defense against natural disasters will also be investigated, for all o f these elements ultimately decided the fate o f the medieval peasant’s agricultural effort. Al-Qädi al-Fädil (Saladin’s vizier and right-hand man) described the role of the Nile by observing: “As for the Nile, it filled the plain, the water rose not by a finger i.e., 3.125 cm), but by an arm (dhirà\ i.e., 66.5 cm). T he Nile attacked the land and covered it, conquered it and went no further. T he Nile is the only highway­ man in Egypt, and only he is the desired-dreaded one.”1 As in Pharaonic times, the dependence on the annual Nile floods pro­ vided medieval Egypt not only with water for irrigation, but also with alluvial soil to renew the fertility o f the cultivated lands. T he great river, however, does not only bestow its gifts but, as al-Qädi al-Fäal Egypt

61

Rashîdï to supervise the work o f digging and cleaning it.8 T here were many other canals which were thus maintained under Baybars.9 Sultan Qaläwun went in person in 682/1283 to the Buhayra prov­ ince to supervise the digging o f the Tayriya Canal. T he fellaheen (peasants) o f the Buhayra participated in the work with their pickaxes, hoes, and oxen. T he work continued for ten days, until they completed the entire operation, which facilitated the irrigation of the province. T h e Egyptian peasants worked on digging and cleaning many canals un der Sultan al-Nâ$ir Muhammad ibn Qaläwün; e.g., the Alexandria Canal in 710/1310 and the Nâçiri Canal in 725/1324.'° As for the system o f dams, which was of param ount importance for the irrigation o f the fields, it was divided into two types in me­ dieval Egypt: the small irrigation dams ( al-jusür al-baladiya) and the great irrigation dams ( al-jusür al-sulfäntya). T he first were im­ portant for transporting water from one field to another in the vil­ lage. Each tnuqfa' (holder o f an iqtä*) with his clerks was responsible for the upkeep o f these ju sü r within the confines o f his iq(ä‘. As for the great irrigation dams which were constructed for the ben­ efit o f the provinces, the sultan was responsible for them, at least in theory. In practice, especially under the Mamluks, the muq{a‘s assisted the sultan in the construction o f this type o f dam by sup­ plying peasants, oxen, harrows, and tools." Among the im portant dams built during the reign o f Sultan al-Nâçir Muhammad, chiefly with the help o f the amirs who participated with their soldiers and peasants, were two: one, completed in 713/1313-14, which extended from the Nile to Umm Dinar village, and was intended to improve the irrigation o f the Jiza province; the other, completed in 739/133839, from Shibln al-Qaçr to Banhä al-‘Asal, was constructed to ir­ rigate the cultivated land in the Sharqiya province. This project took 12,000 men with 200 harrows three months to complete.12 Because o f the importance o f the great irrigation dam, both the Ayyubid and the Mamluk sultans used to select distinguished and able amirs and officials to supervise their maintenance. Nâbulsî (d. 660/1261) states in the Kitâb luma' al-qawàntn al-mudîya that every year the Ayyubid sultan al-Kämil used to send him with three or four amirs to the Jiza province during the flood period, to keep the dams o f that province in good condition. It seems that the Ayyubid sultan sent officials like Nâbulsî to other Egyptian provinces for the same purpose.13 U nder the Mamluks, there was an office called

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Land and Society in the Middle Ages

Kashf al-jusür (office of inspection of irrigation dams) for each prov­ ince in Egypt. T he holder o f this office, called Käshif al-jusür, was an amir who was aided by assistants in the construction and main­ tenance of the irrigation dams in the province under his charge.14 In addition to these inspectors, the Mamluk sultans continued the Ayyubid precedent of sending capable amirs to supervise the work of the irrigation dams. In 697/1298, for example, Sultan Läjin or­ dered the amir Badr al-Din Baysarä to examine the irrigation dams of thejiza province,15 and in 714/1314-15 Sultan al-Nâ$ir Muhammad ibn Qaläwün sent ten amirs to inspect the irrigation dams and canals in the Egyptian provinces.16 Ibn Hajar mentions that when the Nile water rose very high in 785/1383, Sultan Barqüq ordered some amirs and Mamluks to remain on the banks of the Nile and its canals to keep watch over the irrigation dams.17 Maqrizi states that since the time of the Mamluk sultan Faraj ibn Barqüq (801-8/1399-1405), when corruption crept in, all the money collected for the irrigation dams was appropriated by the sultan and some high officials instead of being spent on their mainte­ nance and construction. The work on the irrigation dams was im­ posed by corvée on the inhabitants, and as a result of defective labor, the irrigation system deteriorated.18 Asad! (last known biograph­ ical date: 855/1451) mentions in his book Al-Taysir wa’l-iUibär that there were four reasons for the decline of the wealth of Egypt in the 9th/15th century. The first was the negligence in reclaiming lands, digging canals, repairing irrigation dams, etc. T he main­ tenance o f the Egyptian cultivated land required, according to him, 120,000 men all the year round: 70,000 in Upper Egypt and 50,000 in Lower Egypt with their hoes and other tools. Previous­ ly this huge number of men used to work with great discipline and according to certain rules, but not so in Asadl’s time. He voices complaint about the oppression and corruption used to force the men to work in corvée to repair dams and dig canals: binding their hands and feet together with ropes so they could not escape, forcing them to work, suffer hunger, and be beaten. T he other three reasons for the decline cited by Asad! were the revolts of the bedouin Arabs, the oppression and maltreatment of the fellaheen, and obtain­ ing of offices by paying bribes and relying on protectors among highranking officials.1* Each year before the advent of the Nile flood, not only had the canals to be dug and the irrigation dams constructed and repaired

Agriculture in Medieval Egypt

63

but also the land had to be cultivated and prepared. T he methods of that preparatory work as well as the tools used were more or less the same traditional ones used by Egyptian peasants for thousands of years. Taybughâ al-Jereklemishï (8th/14th century) states in the Kitâb al-filâha al-muntakhaba, repeated by the Syrian author Radi al-Dln al-Ghazzî (d. 935/1529) in Jâmi‘ farä'id al-malàha f l jawâmï faw â’id al-filâha, that the first work in preparing the soil for cultivation was tilling, furrowing, and shaking the soil to loosen it and let the air and sun penetrate. Such work, in Taybughä’s view, would remove moisture and clean the soil o f unwanted weeds and plants.20 Concerning the implements used for this work Professor Charles Issawi has asked: “Were the Egyptian agricultural implements de­ scribed by Napoleon’s scientists in Egypt significantly different from those depicted in Pharaonic wall-painting or those to be seen today?”21 The answer would appear to be that the medieval Egyptian peasant used the same tools which were known and used in the Pharaonic period and are still used by the m odern fellah without much al­ teration. T h e classical Arabic sources mention tools such as the mihrâth, the misha, the mïwal, the furya, and the jarräfa. T he mifrrâth (pi. mahàrith), the Egyptian plow mentioned by Ibn Mammät! and others, seems to have changed but little from the ones pictured on the walls o f Pharaonic tombs, and was not different from the m ihrâth found by the French scientists in use in Egypt by the end o f the eighteenth century. It was an instrum ent without wheels, consisting o f a wooden fram e tipped with a flat shaft to which the d raught animals, mainly oxen, were attached by a straight yoke placed on the withers. Two men were needed for plowing. One, the plowman proper, pressed down the handles o f the plow; the other, the ox-driver, goaded on the animals with his stick [Plate l].22 Ibn Mammâtï (d. 606/1209) states that the period o f plowing in Egypt reached 50 to 60 days a year. He mentions that a pair o f oxen could plow two-thirds o r less feddan (6,368 square meters) a day in hard soil, whereas in soft soil they plowed about a feddan. He also mentions that draft oxen could be hired for an am ount o f money that varied according to the customs o f different villages. In some cases it might cost four silver dirham s to hire the m ihrâth and two oxen per day. T he owners o f the animals should feed them while the wage o f the plowman must be paid by the peasant who employed

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Land and Society in the Middle Ages

him. Sometimes the plowman received his wage in kind, such as two ardebs of wheat, presumably after the harvest.39 In the later Mamluk period (according to Maqrïzï, the only his­ torian who mentions it) the Egyptian peasants used, in addition to the ordinary mahârîth, another type of plow called cd-muqcdqaUU. He described them as large plows (mahârîth kibar)}* T he mihräth, however, is still in use in Egypt, and in the opinion of the contemporary fellah, it works the land mechanically, agri­ culturally, and economically better than the European plow, be­ cause the Egyptian one makes the furrows very wide and deep.39 The mi'wal (pi. ma'âwil), the misbä (pi. masäht), and the (ürya (pi. fawârt) were implements for tilling or hoeing the soil mentioned in classical sources. T he words ma'âwil and masâbî, for example, are both mentioned by Ibn Habib in Durrat al-asläk in the context of digging the Tayriya Canal during the reign of Sultan Qalâwün.34 The masâbî and the (awäri are mentioned by Asadi in another ref­ erence.37 These implements are still used by the contemporary fellah in Egyptian villages. The mi'wal is a pickaxe, while the mishâ (known in Upper Egypt) is a hoe whose thin, wide, flat blade is set transversely into a long wooden handle. T he (ürya, derived from cognate Coptic and Latin terms, means axe, spade, or hoe.38 T o level the plowed land, break up clods, root up weeds, the Egyptian fellah used another agricultural implement called jarräfa (pi. al-jarârîf). The jarräfa is mentioned frequently in the sources of the Ayyubid and the Mamluk periods, especially since its use was very important in the repair o f the banks of the canals or establish­ ing the irrigation dams.39 The sources fail to provide us with a de­ scription o f the jarräfa, but it seems that the medieval type did not differ from the kind that is still in use in Egypt today under the same name jarräfa or al-zahhàfa, or al-laurwäta. The present-day jarräfa is a rough beam of the acacia tree or lebbek tree, or a trunk of a palm tree with two rings fixed at the front from both sides. T he peasant stands on it while it is pulled by a pair of draught animals.30 One might support the assumption o f similarity to the medieval model by MaqrlzT’s statement that when Sultan Baybars al-Jashnkir estab­ lished an embankment between Qalyûb and Damietta in 708/1309, there were 300 jarräfa with 600 oxen in use. Obviously it means that each jarräfa was pulled by two oxen.31 For taxation and agricultural purposes, the Egyptian cultivated lands were divided into a certain num ber of categories designated by technical names. T he classification of land changed from one

PLATES

PLATE I: Description de l'Égypte (État Moderne, Planches), II, “Arts et métiers,” PI. VIII (1).

PLATE II: Description de l’Égypte (État , Planches), II, “Arts et métiers,” PI. VI (4).

PLATE III: Description de l'Égypte Moderne, Planches), “Arts et métiers,” PI. VI (1).

PLATE IV: lbn al-Razzâz, Al-Jàmï bayn 220v, 222v, 224v.

wa al-amal, MS., fols.

l bn « 1 k fllft ft

PLATE V: Description de l'Égypte (État Moderne, Planches), II, “Arts et métiers,” PI. V.

Agriculture in Medieval Egypt

65

year to the next, and the sultans’officials had to revise each classification of land annually for many reasons. All cultivated lands were not expected to be inundated and hence cultivable each year, because of the fluctuations o f low and high flood o f the Nile. T here were also certain kinds o f crops, such as flax and wheat, which the peasants refrained from cultivating in the same soil year after year, since they exhausted it. So they adopted, from pre-Islamic times onward, crop rotation to avoid such exhaustion of the soil, and they let part of the land lie fallow in order to renew its fertility. Such techniques continue in use even now. Moreover, the sultans and their officials used such classification o f the different types of cultivated lands for the assessment of the amount of the kharäj to be collected in kind or in cash according to the type o f taxable crop.32 Makhzùmï, who writes at the beginning of the Ayyubid era, men­ tions two lists of the technical terms and characteristics o f cultivated land. Neither o f these lists corresponds exactly with the list mentioned by Ibn Mammâtî, the more so since Makhzùmï places the barsh land at the head of his first list where he seems to confuse it with the bâq.3Z Ibn Mammätfs list o f 13 types o f Egyptian land was copied by Qalqashandï with minor additions under the Mamluks and later abridged by Maqrizï.34 T he following is the classification o f Egyptian cultivated and uncultivated land according to Ibn Mammâtî, plus any changes mentioned by Qalqashandï and Maqrizï: 1. T he bâq was the soil which in the preceding year was planted with clover (qurf), legumes (qaffàni), and various gourds (;maqâtï). It was, according to him, the best, the most precious, and highly taxed land because it could next be cultivated with wheat and flax. After citing Ibn Mammâtî, Qalqashandï adds that in his time (9th/ 15th century), the bâq was the soil which was cultivated in the previous year with clover and beans, and that the land which was under various gourds used to be called barsh. 2. T he riy al-sharâqt followed the bâq in value but was taxed the same. It was not irrigated in the previous year, so its need of water increased. When irrigated, it gave excellent crops. 3. T he barûbiya (al-barâyib in Qalqashandï’s time) had been cul­ tivated with wheat and barley in the preceding year, so it was lower in value than the bâq, because these two crops exhausted the soil. It would have to be cultivated with clover, legumes, and various gourds to replenish it, and to become bâq in the following year. 4. T he buqmàha (the buqmâhiya, in Maqrizï) was cultivated with

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Land and Society in the Middle Ages

flax; if cultivated in the following year with wheat, the crop would be a thin black grain, and not profitable. 5. The shatûniya (Qalqashandi says that his contemporaries read al-shatànï) was irrigated in the previous year but not cultivated. It was taxed lower than the sharàqï. 6. The shiqq shams al-salaih. (in Qalqashandi, shiqq shams, and in Maqrîzî, al-sala’ih) was soil that was irrigated in the preceding year but not cultivated, although it was plowed. Since it pro­ duced excellent crops it was taxed at the same rate as the bäq and the riy al-sharâqî. 7. The barsh al-naqâ (in Maqrîzî, the naqa) was land that became free from what was grown on it in the previous year. It could be cultivated with any crops. It has been suggested that there was no difference between barsh and bäq for tax purposes, but, because of its location and the availability of year-round irrigation, barsh land could support two crops a year. The bäq, depending upon the annual Nile flood, could only support one annual winter crop.33 8. The wasakh al-muzdara4 (in Maqrîzî, the wasakh) was the soil that was choked with weeds, alfalfa plants, etc. The peasants could not root up all of these weeds completely. If they could plow and cultivate it, the plants would be mixed with such weeds and unwanted plants. 9. The uwakh al-ghâlib was land heavily covered with weeds and unwanted plants. Since the peasants could not root up or cul­ tivate it, it was used as pasture land. 10. The khirs was bad soil, filled with weeds, reeds, and the like. It could not be cultivated and was worse than the previous kind. The peasants could not reclaim such soil, and it became pasture land as well. 11. The sharàqï was land that the water could not reach, being higher than the Nile water, or to which the water was locked. 12. The mustabhar was low land from which the water which flowed in did not recede before the time of sowing passed. However, the water could be transported from it by means of water-wheels (the sawàqt) to irrigate other land in need of water. 13. T h esibäkh was the worst of all kinds of lands, since its salt content was so high. It could not be cultivated in cereals. If a part was not completely damaged by salt, it could be planted to asparagus

Agriculture in Medin>al Egypt

67

(hilyawn) and eggplants (bàdhinjàn). Its soil might be taken as fertilizer for flax. Jamâl al-Dîn al-Wafwät, who died in 718/1318, lists in the Kitâb mabàhij al-fikar all the above mentioned kinds of Egyptian cultivated and uncultivated lands, but states that he copied them from a book called the Kitâb al-filâha al-misnya (Egyptian Agriculture). It is worth noting that Wafwät mentions the barsh land at the head of his list as does Makhzüml, which might mean that both Makhzümî and Wafwät copied from one source, perhaps from a Fatimid work.36 Makhzüml states that when the water receded, each dalil (agent) had to prepare the qänün al~riy of the plots flooded for the assess* ment of the kharäj tax. The agent had to distinguish between cul­ tivable land at various degrees of fertility and non-cultivable land. The dalil supervised the yearly assignment (tah^tr) of the land that had been covered by water to the fellaheen in accordance with the survey.37 It would appear that no substantial change had occurred in this procedure under the Mamluks, since Nuwayri (d. 732/1332) states that the qänün al*riy should contain all information about the plots flooded (al-riy) and those which the water could not reach (the sharäql). Nuwayri states that the riy used to be divided into five kinds: the naqà\ the mazrv‘, the khirs, the ghàlib, and the mustabhar. All these are mentioned in one way or another by Ibn Mammal! and others. The naqà’, according to Nuwayri, was the black soil suitable for cul­ tivation; the mazrü* was the yearly cultivated land; the khirs denoted land covered with alfalfa and weeds, but after they were rooted out, the cleaned soil could be cultivated; the ghälib was land covered with alfalfa, as was the khirs, but it required so much effort to prepare the soil that it was rarely cultivated. Finally there was the mustabhar, from which the flood water did not recede before the time of sowing had passed. Part of such land was cultivated only with various gourds, and the remainder was not under cultivation at all. Nuwayri men­ tions another type of land called al-tarfib which might have belonged to the mustabfrar, as it was land which suffered from subsurface water deposits.38 As for irrigation, Nuwayri and Maqrizi state that when the Nile rose during the flood period, the water covered all cultivated lands. Those villages perched on hills and mounds could be reached only by boat or on the great irrigation dams. When the soil had sufficient water, the khawlis (stewards) and the shaykhs (village headmen) super­

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Land and Society in the Middle Ages

vised cutting irrigation dams from specified places at certain times to draw off water from the fields, thus letting its flow benefit other places." Qazwïnï (d. 682/1283) mentions that when the water of the Nile receded gradually after being on soil for forty days, the peasants began sowing.40 The crops which were cultivated after the Nile flood season in medieval Egypt did not need any more irrigation than the inundation during the flood period.41 This was the most common method of irrigation and was called bi-al-sayhi (“let water flow”) by NäbulsI and mä’ al-räha by Maqrizi.42 The last term is still used by contemporary fellaheen to denote irrigation without artificial implements. Crops watered in this manner were called “winter crops” in order to distin­ guish them from the summer ones, which the peasants began sowing during the Coptic month Baramhät (February-March) and which de­ pended on artificial irrigation such as water wheels, shadoof, etc.43 Both winter crops (the shitwt) and summer crops (the fayfi) were men­ tioned by NäbulsI in the Târikh al-Fayyùm. T he peasants of many vil­ lages in the Fayyum province, such as al-‘Udwa, Sirsinâ, Fânu, and Qambashä, cultivated the two types of crop.44 However, some vil­ lages such as Khùr al-Ramäd, Dasyä, Shäna, and Tamä raised only winter crops.45 T he times of sowing and harvest of different kinds of winter and summer crops were fixed according to the Coptic solar year. This fact is confirmed by Taybughä in the Kitäb al-filäha al-muntakhaba when he states that in Egypt the affairs of cultivation were timed according to the Coptic months.46 Ibn MammâtI, Taybughâ, and others provide us with valuable information about the kinds of crops which were cultivated or harvested during each particular Coptic month, as well as the time to plow, irrigate, fertilize, weed, and so on. Such information, as well as that concerning financial matters, was more important to the peasants than other data concerning astronomy and astrology. T he medieval Egyptian peasant inherited this agricultural calendar from his pre-lslamic predecessors and bequeathed it to the contemporary fellah, who until this day, cannot ignore such an established arrangement of agricultural life.47 Makhzümî in the Minhâj and Maqrizi in the Khifaf distinguish between the winter crops and summer crops when discussing the times of sowing and harvesting. Makhzümî states that the winter crops were wheat (qamh), barley (sha'ir), beans (fül), bittervetch (julbän), lentils (‘ados), and flax (kattân). Maqrizi adds to Makhzùmï’s list of winter crops chick peas (hummus), clover (qurt), onions (basal), garlic

Agriculture in Mediei>al Egypt

69

(thûm), and lupin (turmus). For summer crops, Makhzûmî mentions unripe melons (faqqüs), watermelons (bittikh), kidney beans (liibiya), sesame (simsim or samâsim), cotton (quin or aqlân), sugar cane (qayab al-sukkar), and colocasia antiquorum (qulqds). Although Maqrïzî lists the same for summer crops, he adds eggplants (bâdhinjân), in* digo (nila), radishes (fujl), turnips (lift), lettuce (khass), and cabbage (kurunb) and puts both the unripe melon and watermelon under one name bittikh.** Maqrïzî also mentions rice as a summer crop in his book Ighàthat al-umma.** Although Ibn Mammâtî, in Qawànin al-dawàunn, mentions all the above kinds of crops, he does not distinguish between winter and summer crops, putting them under one misleading heading—“the winter kinds’* (al-afnäf al-shitwi).50 There were three main methods of sowing. Crops such as barley were sown in moist soil while tilling (‘izàq).il Other kinds of'crops, such as beans, were sown only while the peasants plowed the soil (f t al-harth or harthä).ii Crops such as wheat and bitter vetch were sown barth while plowing, and sometimes talwiq, according to the type of soil." The word talwiq—also mentioned by Makhzûmî in the Minhàj—means sowing the seeds while the water is still in the field before it recedes.54 The peasant plowed or tilled the soil and then drove sheep over the freshly sown fields to force the seeds into the tough mud.55 It is interesting to note in this context that this method of trampling in of seeds was a continuation of an ancient technique represented in pictures of the old Pharaonic empire.56 The advice to the peasants to sow only the best quality of seeds, to refrain from using old weak ones, and to know the amount of seeds needed are mentioned in the earliest known works on agri­ culture. Al-Filäha al-nabafiya and Al-Fildha al-rümiya. Both works were known and always quoted by the Egyptian medieval compilers of works on agriculture such as Taybughä and Watwäf.57 Under both the Ayyubids and the Mamluks, when the sultan con­ ferred the iqtä* upon the muqta’, he also supplied seed (al-taqäwi) of the best quality, conducive to good crops. The muqta* had to distribute the seed among the peasants in the iqtä*. When he va­ cated his iqtä*, an outgoing muqta* could not remove seed which guaranteed a good harvest to his successor.56 There were many methods known in medieval Egypt to irrigate the soil under the summer crops. They were inherited from older times, and continue until today with the exception of one which

70

Land and Soâety in the Middle Ages

was very primitive and arduous. This was the transportation of water to the fields in buckets, jars, etc., hung from the necks of oxen. This method was mentioned by Näbulsi as the means of irrigation for the two villages Dimashqîn al-Ba$al and Damüh, known as Küm Dari in the Fayyum province.39 This method, a continuation of a Pharaonic technique,60 seems to have been known in other Egyptian villages. The other methods of irrigation used by the medieval Egyptian fellah employed any one of four artificial irrigation instruments, namely, the nafßla, the däliya, the säqiya, and the tâbùt. These four implements were used in Egypt before the advent of the Arabs and are still in current use. There is no mention of what was known as the naftâla in the available classical sources, but the existence of such an implement in ancient Egypt61 as well as its depiction in the Description de l'Égypte6* (see Plate II) proves its existence in medieval Egypt. It is still in use in Egypt, as well as in many African countries. Even in Asia, the peasants on the Japanese island of Shikoku are known to use it. Two men stand face to face, each holding two cords or palm-fiber ropes to which is attached a wide, shallow, waterproof basket. This basket, made from twisted palm leaves or leather, is known in Egypt by the name qafwa. The two men holding the ropes bend slightly toward the water, dip the basket, and fill it. Then they straighten while turn­ ing to the field, thus raising the basket and emptying it into the mouth of the irrigation canal.63 The däliya, or shadoof, is a kind of draw-well which was used in Pharaonic Egypt,64 in medieval Iraq,66 and in modern Egypt and other Eastern countries for raising water for irrigation. It usually consists of two posts, beams of the acacia tree or shafts of cane about one and a half meters in height. These posts are coated with mud and clay and then placed less than a meter apart. The two beams are joined at the top by a horizontal piece of wood in the center of which a lever is balanced. The shorter arm of the lever is weighted with a heavy rock or dried mud while at the end of the longer arm hangs a rope carrying a leather pail. The peasant stands on a platform on the river bank and pulls down the balanced pole until the pail dips into the water and is filled. A slight upward push, which is helped by the counterweight, raises the bucket above the irrigation canal, into which it is emptied [Plate III].66 As for water wheels, MuqaddasT (4th/10th century) states that there were many dawàlîb (pi. of diilâb, Persian word for water wheel)

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on the banks of the Nile for irrigating orchards during the low water. He also says that the qàdûs was the bucket of the dülâb.67 Nâçir-i Khusraw (died after a .d . 1087) mentions in Safar Nameh that “up the Nile there are different cities and villages and they have estab­ lished so many dawälib that they were difficult to count.“68 It is interesting that the fifth section of Ibn al-Razzàz al-Jazari's work on geometrical “mechanical devices” deals with the construction of dawälib for raising water from shallow bodies of water, and from running water [Plate IV]. Although Jazari wrote his book for the Artuqid sultan Nä$ir al-Din Mahmud ibn Qarä Arslän (597-619/120122), it might give us some idea, even roughly, about the technique and work of the thirteenth-century Egyptian water wheel, especially if we compare it with the water wheel found in Egypt by the French scientists at the end of the eighteenth century, and in current use in Egypt.68 In medieval Egypt, there were two words used to denote wooden water wheels, i.e., the sauiàqï (sing, säqiya) and the mahäl (sing. mahâla). NäbulsI mentions that some villages in the Fayyum province had sawäql to raise irrigation water.70 In Bäja, for example, he states that there were sawäql which were running day and night.71 In the Kitäb luma' al-qawänin, NäbulsI warns the sultan al-$âlih Ayyûb of the negligence and dishonesty of officials with which his own long experience in the work of dîwàns (offices) had made him conversant. Specifically, he reported that acacia trees (hiräj al-sanf), which were a state monopoly, had been cut illegally to construct sawäql, presses, and other instruments.78 Nuwayri, from the Mamluk period, states that wells were dug in the land, apparently supplied by water from the underground bed of the Nile. At the mouth of these wells, the sawäql, made from acacia or other trees, were installed. Nuwayri also states that these irrigation wheels were called al-mahäl in Egypt, whereas at Hama in Syria they were called al-nawà'ïr (sing, nâ'ùra). He differentiates, as does Qalqashandl in a later period, between the two kinds by stating that the nawä‘Ir were run by water current, whereas the mahäl by oxen.73 The Arabic word mahäl (sing, mahäla) denotes the huge pulley which is used for raising water from wells.74 However, MaqrizI in the Khi(af used it to refer to the water wheel. When discussing the irrigation of sugar cane when the Nile water was low, MaqrizI said that each of these mahäl could raise the water to irrigate eight feddans of sugar cane providing that the water wheel was installed close to

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the Nile (al-bahr) and that eight excellent beasts were available to work it. When the wells were established at a distance from the Nile, each of the mabâl could not irrigate more than four to six feddans. Maqrïzî also refers to the qâdûs, which MuqaddasT explained as the bucket of the water wheel.75 It is apparent that the ordinary contemporary Egyptian water wheel is more or less the same as the medieval one, since it does not differ appreciably from the one depicted in the Description de l'Égypte. The flat horizontal wheel of the säqiya is turned counterclockwise by a single beast or pair of oxen. The flat wheel’s rough cogs engage a vertical wheel which carries a long chain of earthen pots ( See n. c.

source

94

115

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these tariffs were established for practical purposes: they show that through the fifteenth century Venetian merchants exported sugar from Syria and Egypt.152 T he Genoese, too, exported sugar from these countries in the fifteenth century. A document in the archives of Biegio Dolfin, Venetian consul in Alexandria, refers to such a transaction in the year 1418.1*3 T he records of Genoa’s custom services contain data on the export of sugar from Beirut via Chios to Genoa by several Genoese merchants who transported their m er­ chandise on the same ship.1*4 T he quantities mentioned were very small. On the other hand, we find in the Italian archives a few references to the import of sugar in the Muslim Middle East. Italian merchants and others in Egypt and Syria imported sugar from Cyprus, from Sicily, and perhaps from Spain, mostly cheap sugar, once-boiled sugar, powdered sugar, and molasses. These kinds of sugar were cheaper in southern Europe, because of the technological superiority of its industry, and because there were in the Muslim Middle East many customers who could not afford refined sugar. Venetian documents mention the import of molasses in Egypt in the years 1418, 1419, 1426, and 1427. In documents from the year 1426, it is said that the molasses came from Palermo.1** A deed drawn up by a Venetian notary in Alexandria in 1428 deals with the import of sugar from Cyprus, sold for 8,400 ducats, a very substantial sum.1*6 A litigation brought before the Giudici di petition in Venice involved the import of molasses in Alexandria in 1443. These were exchanged for spices.1*7 The exchange of molasses imported by Venetians for pepper is dealt with in a lawsuit before the same tribunal in 1445.158 It should be emphasized that, in several of these documents, great quantities of sugar are mentioned. Some­ times Venetian merchants even imported refined sugar in Egypt. Such a case, probably rather exceptional, is the subject of a lawsuit in 1409.156 The import of sugar in Syria became, in the course of time, a matter of concern to the Venetian government. In 1477, it decreed that every year a galley of the Beirut convoy should visit Tunisia before going to Syria in order to load coral and then pro­ ceed to Cyprus to take on sugar and powdered sugar.160 Needless to say, the Florentine and Genoese merchants shared in this profit­ able trade, importing sugar into Egypt and Syria.161 A report quoted by Marino Sanuto mentions the import of 70 casse of sugar by Genoese merchants in Beirut in 1509.162 The Italian merchants also imported

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sugar into other Muslim countries, e.g., into Tunisia. A lawsuit pleaded before the Giudici di petiziôn in Venice in 1458 had as its subject the import of “zuchari e polvere" into Tunisia.1*3 So in the second half o f the fifteenth century, the trium ph of Europe was complete. Those who had learned the refining of sugar from their eastern neighbors now produced it better and cheaper, and exported this produce to the impoverished Middle East. But before the cen­ tury was over, they, too, were surpassed by the sugar industry in Madeira, where the Portuguese had introduced sugar production and were by then turning out a product incomparably superior to Sicilian and Cypriot sugar. A Venetian author tells how in August 1496, “vine in questa terra de l’insula de Madera 4 caravele grosse di Portogal, con casse 4,000 di zucari. Et à da saper come, da quatro in cinque anni in qua, ne era venute etiam di le altre caravele predetti, cossa insolita a vegnir di questa sorte, per esser sta nuovamente trovate.”164 T he author goes on relating that the Portuguese “ne fano tanta quantité e di boni (sc. zucari) che empieno el levante e ponente, in modo che i zucari de Cipri, Alexandria, Soria, Damiata, Cecilia, Valenza e altri loughi, sono reduti in vilissimo prezzo. Et in questa terra, da 8 in 10 anni in qua, ogni anno vien 5 over 6 nave, caravelle e barze da 200 fin 500 bote l’una, et fano grande abondantia.”165 In another chapter the author quotes a letter written in January 1497 in Pera, according to which a Portuguese ship had brought 1,700 casse o f Madeira sugar.16* In January 1499, he relates, there came to Venice two Portuguese ships with Madeira sugar worth 16,000 ducats. He says that as far as he knows it was sugar planted by the king of Portugal and destined for the Florentine merchant Matteo Cini.167 A German merchants’ guide, from the first half of the sixteenth century, confirms these reports.168 T he Portuguese even supplied England with their sugar.16* A Pattern of Technological Decline? Were technological stag­ nation and the industrial decline closely connected with it the con­ sequence of the invasions of foreign armies? Were the Middle East­ erners in the late Middle Ages less enterprising than they had been before? Did they abstain from making innovations because of con­ servatism? T he invasion of Syria by the army of Tamerlane in 1400-1401 was surely a catastrophe, and the resulting devastations were ap­ parent even half a century later. But it cannot be maintained that

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the decline o f Syrian industries was the direct result of this fate­ ful event, for some industries flourished in Damascus even after its occupation by Tamerlane. So the calamity that befell Syria at the time of the Mongol invasion cannot be the reason for the decay of its industries and the enormous influx o f European manufactured goods. Aversion to innovation is a well-known phenomenon in the his­ tory of technology. New methods o f production often encounter opposition because people belik e that standards will be lowered. For this reason, fulling mills were introduced in several provinces of France, where fine textiles were produced, long after their spread elsewhere.170 T he water-driven mill itself only spread very slowly over the countries of Europe and reached Scandinavia not before the second half of the twelfth century. It was generally accepted in this part of Europe in the fourteenth century.171 For a long time, many people in Europe, and particularly in the princely courts and chanceries, refused to use paper since it was considered a writing material of inferior quality. T he general opposition provoked by the issue of paper money in Persia in 1294 belongs to this second kind of aversion against innovations. Similarly, the Mamluks re­ fused almost until the end of their rule to use firearms, which they considered beneath the dignity of nobles. Insofar as these weapons were used by their army, they were assigned to socially inferior units.172 T he cost of new technology can be very high. It often requires considerable investment to introduce new production methods. It is well known that wealthy and enterprising public organisms, such as the order of the Cistercians, built many of the new industrial mills in Europe.173 T here were no such groups in the Muslim Middle East. T he amirs and the rich merchants possessed the financial re­ sources to embark on such activities, but the fiscal system of the Mamluks, characterized by periodic expropriations, discouraged them from doing so. For the foundation of new industries or for the reconstruction of old ones, there was need, aside from capital, for a plentiful supply of materials and other facilities, such as sources of energy for in­ dustry. It is true that the Muslim countries east and south o f the Mediterranean have few rivers and brooks which could be used for operating grinding and industrial mills. Where such streams existed, mills were built. T here were water-driven mills on the Euphrates and on the Tigris174 and in the province of Ahwäz, in south­ western Persia.175 Tlemcen, Fez, Marrakesh, and Cordoba had

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a great num ber o f water-driven grinding mills.176 On the Wadi Fez there were, if we are to believe the thirteenth-century author Ibn Sa'id, 3,000 mills west o f the capital.177 But certainly the quantity of running water that Middle Easterners could use cannot com­ pare with that available in European countries. For example, ac­ cording to the Domesday Book, England had 5,624 mills at the end of the eleventh century. A factor that certainly must be taken into account in an inquiry about technological stagnation is the attitude o f the government. T h e governm ent was in a position to either foster technological progress or prevent it. T he system of government as it had been developed in the Middle East created conditions that were unfavorable to technological innovations. T he feudal lords did not retain their fiefs for perpetuity; since changes were frequently made, they had little interest in building new factories. T he muçâdara system was a sword o f Damocles poised above the heads o f all the rich o r near rich. T h e muküs, commercial taxes, were another check to tech­ nological development. T he state which had not succeeded in es­ tablishing a system o f general taxes imposed all kinds of duties on the crafts and branches o f commerce. They were abolished from time to time and then re-established. Technological progress also depended, to a certain degree, on the structure o f industry. Owing to the large share o f government in the sugar industry, there was a lack o f competition, a tendency toward corruption in the monopolized industries, and a lack of incentives for innovations. But although all these factors must have been detrimental to technological progress, they cannot entirely explain why the Middle Eastern industries did not introduce new methods o f production. Attributing the lack o f innovations to these environmental factors alone would not be a fully satisfactory explanation o f the decline o f Oriental industries in the late Middle Ages, for sometimes great innovations have been made by individuals without the help of great enterprises or public bodies. From a careful reading o f the Arabic chronicles o f the twelfth century, we become aware o f the fact that already in that early period general technological decline had begun in the Muslim Middle East, especially as compared with the parallel developments in the Christian world. T h e technological stagnation or even decline had begun a long time before the end o f the Middle Ages. Reports about dams that

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burst o r were swept away by floods and about building activities that failed shed some light on this trend. Detailed chronicles o f the twelfth century contain accounts of strenuous efforts made by the Seljuq governor o f Iraq, Bihrüz, to rebuild the big dam of Nahrawän. The old bed o f the Nahrawän Canal was dug out and made deeper; a high dam was constructed in order to divert the water from it; a loop canal from the Diyala was dug so that more water should flow to the Nahrawän. But all these construction activities, to which six years were dedicated (1140-46), were in vain. T he large dam broke down and remained in ruins amidst dry land.178 T here are, undoubtedly, many factors contributing to technological decline about which historians possess insufficient information. However, some relationship does seem to exist between technological decline and demographic decline, just as the growth of population is often accompanied by technological progress. Roman civilization made great progress in technology in the first century of the Christian era, as did Western Europe from the eleventh to the thirteenth centuries and once again in the fifteenth century. They were periods o f population growth. The history of technology in the Middle East is in full keeping with this pattern.17* Great progress was made in the eighth and ninth centuries and, on the other hand, the first signs of stagnation were perceptible in the second half of the tenth century, and are already reflected in Ibn Hawqal’s geog­ raphy. T hat was exactly the time when the population o f the cen­ tral provinces of the caliphal empire began to decrease. The de­ cline of the Egyptian textile industry began in the first half o f the thirteenth century, when Egypt suffered from tremendous de­ population, as is borne out by the development of prices and wages.180 Some industries of Egypt flourished again under the reign of the first Bahn sultans, when the country recovered and the population increased once more. T he industries o f Egypt collapsed under the Circassians, a period of considerable demographic decline. But even the downward demographic trend was not the ultimate reason for the technological decline. It was probably a general overall impoverishment. Even though both phenomena, technological de­ cline and depopulation, are interwoven, they are part of a much greater and more general pattern of economic retrogression.

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NOTES 1. T he most important sources (with the abbreviations used in this chapter) are: Balducci Pegoiotti, Fr. La pratica della mercatura, ed. A. Evans, Cambridge, Mass. 1936. = Pegoiotti. Uzzano, Giovanni da. La pratica della mercatura, in Pagnini, Della décima IV, Lisbon-Lucca 1766 = Uzzano. El libro di mercatantie et usanze de paesi, ed. Fr. Borlandi. Torino 1936 = Libro di mercatantie Melis, F. Documenti per la storia economica dei secoli XIII-XVI. Florence 1972 = Melis, Documenti. ASV (Archivo di Stato, Venice). Giudici di petiziôn, Sentenze a giustizia.= G. d. P., Sent. ASV Procuratori di S. Marco, Commissarie miste, Ba 180, 181, Commissaria Bieglo Dolfin.=Archives B. Dolfin. ASV Canceilaria inferiore, Notai, Ba 211, Nicolo Turiano.=Nicolo Turiano. ASG (Archivio di Stato, Genoa). Caratorum Veterum, nos. 1552, 1553, 1556.=Car. Vet. ASF (Archivio di Stato. Florence). Consoli del Mar.= Mar. ASP (Archivio di Stato, Prato). Quaderni di charichi e prezzi 1171, 1175.= Datini. 2. Nukhbat al-dahr, ed. A. F. Mehren (St. Petersburg 1866), p. 176; trans. as Manuel de la cosmographie (Copenhagen 1874), p. 238. Cf. E. Wiedemann, Aufsätze zur arabischen Wissenschaftsgeschichte (Hildesheim 1970), II. 411, n. 1. 3. Dimashqî, p. 207 (trans. p. 282); Geographie d’Aboulfeda, ed. J. T. Reinaud and M. de Slane (Paris 1840), p. 253; trans. J. T. Reinaud (Paris 1848-83), pt. 11, p. 30. 4. Visit to the Holy Places of Egypt, Sinai, Palestine atul Syria in 1384, trans. Theophilus Bellorini and Eugene Hoade (Jerusalem 1948), p. 147. 5. Descriptio Terrae Sanctae, in T. Tobler, Descriptions Terrae Sanctae ex saeculo VIII, IX, XII, et XV (Leipzig 1874), p. 262. 6. Tvoyage (Ghendt 1572), p. 63. 7. Nihàyat al-arabfifu n ü n al-adab (Cairo 1923-55), VIII, 271 f. 8. Descriptio Terrae Sanctae, in J. C. M. Laurent, Peregrinationum medii aei'i quatuor (Leipzig 1864), p. 26. 9. Géographie, p. 255 (trans. pt. II, p. 32). 10. What Maqrizi says about sugar growing in the district of al-‘Arish (see Al-Khifaf, Cairo a . h . 1270, I, 189) undoubtedly refers to the remote past. 11. Subit al-a'shâ (Cairo 1922), IV. 87. 182. 12. Riccoldo de Monte Crucis, in Laurent, op. cit., p. 109: Liber peregrinationis di Jacopo da Verona, ed. U. Montieret de Villard (Rome 1950), p. 51; Fra Niccolö da Poggibonsi, Libri d'oltramare (Jerusalem 1945), p. 87: Giorgio Gucci, op. cit., 134; Lionardo Frescobaldi, in Viaggi in Terrasanta,

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ed. C. Angelini (Florence 1944), p. 145. On the remnants o f sugar mills in ‘Ayn al-Sulfän, near Jericho, see Karl Ritter, Die Erdkunde von Asien, (Berlin 1822-59), XV, 512, 525 f . . 13. Liber peregrinationis, p. 53. 14. F. M. Abel, “Exploration de la Vallée du Jourdain.” Revue Biblique, New Series, VII (1910), p. 553. 15. Pegolotti, pp. 296, 363 ff. 16. Abel, loc. dt.; Yäqüt, Mu'jam al-buldän, ed. F. Wüstenfeld (Leipzig 1866-73), IV, 51. 17. A. N. Poliak, Feudalism in Egypt, Syria, Palestine and the Lebanon, 12501900 (London 1939), p. 46, n. 4. 18. Itinerarium Symonis Semeonis ab Hybemia ad Terram Sanctam (Dublin 1960), p. 65. 19. Viaggi in Terrasanta, pp. 86, 184. The travelogue of Giorgio Gucci, p. 97, contains an even more general statement. He says that on the land between the two branches of the Nile much sugar is produced. 20. Khitaf, II, 131. 21 .Kitäb al-sulük, ed. Mu$(afä Ziyäda (Cairo 1934-58), II, 419. 22. In his Kitàb al-intifàr, ed. K. Völlers (Cairo 1893), V, 3 2 ,1. 7, he men­ tions Kemishboghä al-Hamawi as being atäbek “at present.” This amir was appointed to the post of atäbek when Barqüq returned to Cairo in 1391 and once more became sultan. In 1397 Kemishboghä was imprisoned; see Ibn Hajar, Inba al-ghumr, ed. Hasan HabashI (Cairo 1969-72), II, 81. But the work o f Ibn Duqmâq (who died in 1407) shows clearly that he collected his materials and compiled them over many years. 23. Intifär, V, 22, 11. 9, 13. 24. Ibid., 2 2 ,1. 20. 25. Ibid., 2 4 ,1. 8; 2 5 .1. 2. 26. Ibid., 2 7 ,1. 22. 27. Al-Tâli' al-sa'id al-jàmi' li-asmà’ nujahâ al-$a'ïd (Cairo 1966), p. 39; copied by MaqrizT, Khitaf, I, 203. 28. Ibn Duqmâq, V, 33, 11. 21-25. 29. Géographie d'Aboulféda, p. 104 (trans. pt. I, 140). 30. Maqrîzl, Suliik, II, 431. 31. Maqrizï, Khitat, II, 342 f. Cf. on this author, who finished his work in 1325 (and died five years later), A. R. Guest, “A List o f Writers, Books and O ther Authorities Mentioned by El Maqrizï in his Khitat,'' JRAS, 1902, p. 116; also see Franz Rosenthal. A History of Muslim Historiography, 2nd ed. (Leiden 1968), p. 427. 32. Ibn Ba((û(a, Voyages, ed. and trans. C. Defrcmery and B. R. Sanguinetli (Paris 1853-58), I, 101. 33. Adfûwî, Al-Tâli' al-sa'îd, p. 18; copied by Ibn Duqmâq. V, 32. 11. 1011; and in the Khitat, 1, 203. 34. Adfûwî, op. rit., p. 13; Ibn Duqmâq. V, 33. II. 4 ff'.: Khitat, I, 232.

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35. Sib( ibn al-Jawzï, Mtr'ât al-zamân, ed. J. R. Jewett (Chicago 1907), p. 451. 36. Sulùk, 1, 290. 37. A loaf ( ablûj) was equal to about nine qintärs: see Khifaf, I, 102 ff. On the other hand, sugar was weighed by the qintâr jarwi (90 kg, see below, n. 107). 38. Sulùk, II, 288. 39. Op. cit., II, 346. 40. Khifaf, II, 231. 41. Sulùk, II, 243. Similar data could be quoted from other inventories of the property left by prominent men. A vizier who died in 1387 left, for instance, 1,000 qin(ârs of sugar; see Jawhari, Nuzhat al-nufùs, ed. Hasan IJabashi (Cairo 1970), 1, 161. 42. Khifaf, II, 100. Cf. E. W. Lane, Manners and Customs of the Modem Egyptians (London 1954), pp. 472 ff.: M. J. Kister, “Rajab is the Month of God,” Israel Oriental Studies, 1 (1971), pp. 220 f. 43. Ibn Faelopment o f Iraq and Iran

193

bolic designation o f Qazvin as a regional capital and center o f govern­ m ent administration. T h e settlement o f Arabs at Qazvin encouraged agricultural as well as religious and administrative development. T he original five hundred troops were granted land, which they brought into cultivation; later settlers built residences and purchased land in the suburbs surrounding the city. Arab settlement brought new land into cultivation and created a new landowning class.33 Qum m has a similar history o f successive small Arab settlements, but here competition among disparate local groups rather than garrison formation seems to be the decisive force in the develop­ ment o f the city. T he district o f Qumm was conquered by Talfia ibn al-Afiwaç al-Ash'an in 23/644, and one o f the district villages was settled by an Arab garrison. In subsequent decades, new Arab settlers came to Qumm. T he village o f Jam Karan was settled by Azd Arabs about the year 50/670 and others came about a decade later. According to the Tàrîkhi Qumm, however, Qumm did not exist as a town until ram parts and walls were built in 94/713, when al-Hajjäj was governor. W here they were built is not stated. T he subsequent history o f Qum m is complicated by the influx of a community o f Kufan ‘Alids led by Ahwa$ ibn Sa*d ibn Mälik and his sons, who had been defeated in the rebellion of Ibn al-Ash‘ath and were fleeing Kufa. According to the Tàrîkhi Qumm, the Arabs were welcomed by the local Persian population, whose chief, Yezdanfadar, settled them west o f Qumm, where the Arabs built a mosque on the site o f an ancient Magian fire temple. T he Arabs expanded their holdings rapidly. After a battle with the Daylamites, they were given the village of Kumidän, and in 87/718 Yezdanfadar gave them the villages o f Mamajan and Jum ar, and estates and farms at Suranabad and Jalanbadan. Grazing land, meadows, and water rights were added to their holdings in 721. T he generosity o f the Persians, however, may not have been due solely to gratitude to the Arabs for beating off the Daylamites; a more cynical historian might suspect that the newcomers forced the Persian chiefs to share these villages and estates. In fact, Yäqüt says that the Arabs seized the villages by force. Arab freebooters had forced the local com­ munities to make way for them. At the death o f Yezdanfadar in 733, Arabs and Persians quarreled, a Persian headm an was slain, and the insecure Arab villages and farms—now given as Kumidän, Mamajan, Jum ar, Malun, Kizdan,

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Jalanbadan, and Salan—were surrounded by a wall and integrated into a single settlement. T he city o f Qum m was founded. O ther settlements had previously been walled. Yezdanfadar had fortified Abrastajan; and the three villages o f Jam Karan, Kashuyeh(?), and Asfarabad had also been walled by a Persian lord. Jam Karan was, of course, a village settled by other Arabs. Was this then the walled mi$r established in 713? Unfortunately, no clear conclusions can be drawn about the development o f these several walled enclaves. A likely hypothesis, however, is that the fortifications were neces­ sitated by the rivalries o f the garrison Arabs, the ‘Alid newcomers, and the Persian lords, a competition in which the ‘Alid community seems to have gained the upper hand, marking its consolidation by the agglomeration o f what would henceforth be the capital of the district, Qumm city itself. While the size o f the settlement was expanded, and an urban en­ vironment was created, Arab settlement led to irrigation develop­ ment. T he Ash’arfs built canals, dams, and dikes. As in Iraq, new populations entailed economic expansion. This expansion brought the people o f Qum m into conflict with upstream people over the distribution o f water. T he Qumm Arabs seized Taym arä at one point, but then concluded an agreem ent whereby Qumm was allotted one-third o f the water flow. T he struggles between the Shfites of Qumm and their Sunni neighbors are well known to Islamic his­ torians; we do not know the extent to which they involved economic disputes.34 Rayy was also settled in the first wave of the Arab conquests. A new town was built next to the old, and a masjid was constructed in the reign of ‘Uthmän. U nder the Umayyads, governors o f Rayy lived in the citadel o f al-Zanbadî with the mosque nearby; aside from this, we have no information about the early development o f Rayy.33 T h e Abbasid dynasty opened a new phase in the urbanization of the Jibäl. Before 750, successive waves of Arab immigrants had been crucial; now dynastic-sponsored town building would be de­ cisive. Isfahan was the first object o f Abbasid interest. T he new dynasty saw first to the introduction o f Arabic and the Q ur’an to Isfahan. According to Ibn Rusta, Sa’d ibn I yas, the secretary of an official in the service of Abu Muslim, was the first to encourage the people to introduce Arabic into local administration and to en­ courage the people of the city to study the Q ur’an. Nor were the physical aspects of the city neglected. At the advent of the Abbasid

Settlement and Development o f Iraq and Iran

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dynasty, the “city” o f Isfahan was still a group of scattered and partially ruined villages with the Muslim garrison at Jayy. Around 150/767, al-Man$ür thought to make the city a capital and ordered the gov­ ernor, Ayyüb ihn Ziyäd, to repair and fortify it. Though al-Man$ür later changed his mind about the capital, Ayyüb rebuilt the district to make Yahüdïya its new mi$r or garrison and administrative cen­ ter. He also built a palace ( qa$r) and mosque in Khushinân, settled his family on khilaf, and laid out plots for markets to extend from Khushinân to Yahüdïya. Evidently, Ayyüb developed the open spaces between the various villages of the Arab settlements to encompass Yahüdïya in what would be the new city of Isfahan. With the removal of Ayyüb in 156/773, Tamlm Arabs (clients of the new governor?) built a new mosque in Tihrän and made it the jâmi‘ o f the Isfahan district by removing the minbar from the mosque of Ayyüb in Khushïnân. In general, the accretion o f new units, consolidation of villages and suburbs into a single city, administrative reorganization, and the addition of enlarged central facilities marked the growth of Isfahan as a settlement, as a city, and as a capital, under the stimulus of the settlement o f independent migrants, Arab governors and their cli­ enteles, and officially sponsored construction.36 While it seems likely that Arabs also took an active interest in agriculture, there is no ex­ plicit evidence o f new irrigation development in the Muslim period. Successive Abbasid caliphs favored the development of other cities in the Jibäl, just as the caliphs in Iraq sought new capitals as symbols o f their authority and bases for their administration. The Abbasids made Rayy an important city. T he latter decades of the eighth century brought an expansion o f the urban fabric of Rayy under imperial patronage. An early Abbasid governor, Na$r ibn ‘Abd al-‘AzIz, had a quarter named after him. In 158/775 al-Mahdl favored Rayy with the new quarter of Muhammadiya and a new mosque. T he new quarter was evidently a suburb for it incorporated the old castle of al-Zanbadl within, and the enlarged city was sur­ rounded with a ditch and a wall. Later caliphs continued this work. Al-Hâdî built the Madînat Müsâ, which he endowed with waqfs, and H ârün al-Rashid, on his visit to the city, provided it with a new mosque. T he strategic location o f Rayy helps explain why caliphs and governors in the course of military campaigns in the north and east o f Iran were concerned with fortifying and developing the town.37 T he brief reign o f al-Hâdï also marked the beginning of several

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urban development projects in Qazvin, which were carried forward by his successor H ârün al-Rashïd. At Qazvin, Al-Hâdï and his slave Mubârak built two new suburbs, called Madînat Müsä and Mubärakabäd, and settled them with Arab families. H ârün built a new mosque and started the construction o f new walk to enclose the three quarters o f the town. H ârün also made Qazvin an admin­ istrative center by annexing several districts to its jurisdiction. T he new walk, intended to protect the city against the Daylamites, however, were not finished until 254/868, more than half a century later, when Müsä ibn Bugha completed the walk to enclose nine quarters and form a new single city. After the completion o f the walk, the pop­ ulation of Qazvin was greatly enlarged, because tribal peoples outside the city, presumably Arabs, were obliged to move into the expanded town. From a complex of villages and quarters, Qazvin had become a city in a spatial, demographic, and administrative sense. Qazvin, over a two-hundred-year period, developed from an Arab garrison into a regional capital.38 T he final phase in the Abbasid development o f the Jibäl was the absorption of Qumm under the control of the caliphate and its trans­ formation from an independent Arab, indeed ‘Alid, settlement into an administrative capital. From the Abbasid revolution in 750 until 184/800-801, the people o f Qumm were entirely independent of the caliphate and paid no taxes, but in 184/800-801 H ârün al-Rashîd sent an army to Qumm to enforce the collection o f taxes. A rebel­ lion followed, but the caliphate persisted. A new mosque, the Mosque o f Imäm Hasan, was built in 191/806-7, a symbol of caliphal authority and responsibility for the organization of religious life. H ârün also incorporated Qumm into the west Iranian administrative system. Districts selected from the surrounding provinces of Rayy, Hamadhän, and Isfahan were joined into a new Qumm jurkdiction. T he change established Qumm as an Abbasid regional capital, and ako bene­ fited the populace o f Isfahan which until then had to make up the deficit of revenues from Qumm. This reorganization, however, met with continued resistance in Qumm, and had to be maintained by force o f arms. In 210/825-26, there was a rebellion in Qumm after al-Ma’m ün refused to reduce taxes. A caliphal army, headed by ‘All ibn Hishäm al-Marwazi, sup­ pressed the rebellion, executed its chiefs, razed the walk o f the city, and collected an enormous tax and fine o f seven million dirhams as opposed to the two million which Qumm used to pay. T he walk, however, were repaired in 832, and further rebellions took place

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sporadically in succeeding decades. Qumm rebelled in the reign o f al-Mutawakkil and again in 866-68.39 Successively, the Abbasids developed Isfahan, Rayy, Qazvin, and Qumm into full-fledged city settlements and administrative capitals. By a process of consolidation of scattered settlements, construction of new quarters, mosques and walls, and the assignment of fiscal jurisdictions, the Abbasids in effect implemented a regional urban development plan for western Iran. T he development was closely tied to the needs o f Abbasid military and administrative policy and represented an integrated plan for the development of regional administration around the four main capital cities.40 Urbanization, then, was the outcome of an early phase of Arab settlement, whether as garrison forces, independent settlers, or clienteles of governors, followed by a phase o f imperial-sponsored urbanization, partly building on natural local developments, partly imposed from the top. In Qazvin and Qumm, it entailed a concomitant development of agriculture; at Isfahan, the utilization, if not the expansion, of ancient systems o f irrigation. T he dominant motif o f the Arab occupation of the Jibäl was the succession o f cities and suburbs developed to assure caliphal control over the region and its populations. In Azerbaijan and Arran a different pattern prevailed. Ardabfl and Bardha'a became the most important capital and garrison cities. Bardha'a was conquered by the Arabs before 32/652, fortified in the reign o f ‘Abd al-Malik and again in the governorship o f Muhammad ibn Marwän, and emerged in the late Umayyad period as the main base of Muslim wars in the north. In 107/725-26, generations after the settlement of the initial conquering groups, new Arab forces were brought in to reinforce Arran against Khazar pressure. At the beginning of the Abbasid era, the new governor of Azerbaijan, al-Mançür, settled Yamani forces for the first time in the province. Equally important in Azerbaijan was the influx o f independent Arab settlers. Arab chieftains and their people settled around Tabriz, Marand, and in the region south of Lake Urmiya. Arab migrants fleeing the established centers of Kufa and Basra purchased or seized lands from the local inhabitants and established themselves as a landowning elite. Members of the Umayyad family owned land around Marägha. Arab landowners became local lords who re­ duced the native villagers to the status of clients, sharecroppers, workers, or tenants on their lands. T he relationship between these independent Arab settlers and

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the caliphate was complicated. In some cases, the Arab settlers, though originally not part o f the garrison forces, were still closely tied to the regime. Balâdhurï explains, for example, that “the people o f Marägha sought the protection of Marwän who built it up and whose agents were on friendly relations with the people.” Marwän ibn Muhammad fortified Marägha as a base for Muslim military operations against the Khazars and as a strong point for the local exercise of caliphal power. In 187/803, under the Abbasids, the walls were rebuilt and the town was garrisoned to hold the district against rebels led by Wajnä ibn Rawwäd al-Azdi. Al-Amln added a castle to the defenses of the town and later, during the Khurrami rebellions, Marägha continued to serve as a point o f refuge for “loyal­ ist” elements in Azerbaijan. Elsewhere in Azerbaijan, local and imperial interests did not co­ incide. Narïr and Süq Jäbrawän were built and fortified by Arab settlers who “used to govern it themselves without caring a jot for the 'dmil of Azerbaijan.” Barza was fortified by an independent tribal group which evidently resisted the government, for only in 239/853-54, against the will of the tribesmen, was a minbar, a symbol of caliphal authority, constructed in Barza. Similarly, al-Mayänij and Khalbäthä, settled by people from Hamadhän, received minbars at about the same time. Tabriz was also in independent hands. Settled and fortified by the Band Rawwäd in the eighth century, Tabriz was rebuilt by its ruling family after a disastrous earthquake in the middle of the ninth century. O ther sources, whose accuracy is denied by Le Strange, allege that Zubayda, wife of Härün al-Rashld, founded or redeveloped Tabriz. T hough not strictly correct, the story may well embody some recollection o f the continual dispute between caliphal authority and local interests for the control o f the Azerbaijani settlements. T he history o f Marand bears a similar tale of local resistance to caliphal authority. Marand, a village fortified by the al-Ba‘ith family, who also controlled important strongholds at Shähä and Takdür, was the center of a tortuous local policy. Muhammad al-Ba‘ith, at times on good terms with the rebel Bäbak but later to betray him to the caliphate, revolted and was imprisoned by al-Mutawakkil in 234/848-49. He then escaped from prison, but the price for his flight was further warfare against his people, his recapture, and the destruction of the fortifications of Marand. Muhammad himself died in prison, and his sons were forced to enter the caliphal armies.

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Thus were several of the independent Arab Azerbaijani lords forced to submit. In Azerbaijan, a local landed aristocracy, partly dependent for local authority on the caliphate and pardy opposed to the inter­ vention o f caliphal government in their affairs, struggled for cen­ turies to maintain some degree of independence. Obliged to accept caliphal assistance in the form of defense constructions and the in­ stallation o f Friday mosques, the settlers were often fortified in their own castles and were prepared to resist the central authority by force of arms. In Azerbaijan, however, there is no evidence that the assertion o f caliphal authority led, as it had in the Jibäl, to intensive if selective urban development. T he economic implications o f the Arab occupation o f Azerbaijan remain entirely moot.41 Eastern Iran T he development o f eastern Iran parallels the experiences o f west­ ern Iran. T he same basic factors—formation o f military garrisons, successive waves o f military reinforcements, settlement of the cli­ enteles o f new governors, and movements o f independent Arab settlers—shaped the development of selected urban centers, and in some cases stimulated agricultural development in conjunction with urbanization. Num erous Arab settlements in Khurasan are scarcely knowm but for the names o f garrison towns. Nasa, Abîward, Gûzgân, Herat, Marw al-Rüdh, T irm idh, Zamm, Büshanj, Täliqän, Tus, Balkh, Nishapur, and Marw all had Arab garrisons at one time o r another in the Umayyad period.42 Only a few of these places were destined to have an im portant future. Nishapur, Marw, and Balkh. T he development of Nishapur was m arked by successive waves of Arab settlements and construc­ tion u n d er the auspices o f Umayyad and then Abbasid governors. At the time of the conquest, villages and open spaces surrounding the built-up part of Nishapur were settled by the Arabs. T he earliest mosque was built in 31/651-52, but the dispersal of the Arabs led to the construction o f several other mosques. ‘Abdullah ibn ‘Amir built mosques at Shähabar and Bäghak (the latter may be the jâmi* built in the citadel). Toward the end of the century Nishapur was colonized by new Arab settlers led by al-Muhallab ibn Abi $ufra. In 78/697, Azd tribesmen settled Nishapur, and between 82/701 and 86/705, the Muhallabids built a new minaret. W hether this was

200

Land Tenure and Taxation

an addition to an older mosque o r a new construction for the new group o f settlers is not clear. A subsequent governor, Asad ibn ‘Abdullah al-Qari, built a new village or suburb in the year 120/738. T he development o f Nishapur under the Abbasids continued to be marked by the construction o f new suburbs and mosques to symbolize the presence o f new political authorities. Abu Muslim built a new, larger järni* in 137/754-55. ‘Abdullah ibn T ähir, like his predecessor Asad, built a new palace district called Shadhiyäkh, with a minaret; and Man$ür ibn T ähir (207-13/822-29) buih a minaret. From these sporadic details, we can see a pattern in which successive groups o f Arab settlers occupied new villages and successive regimes established new suburbs in and around the built-up area o f Nishapur. In time the new districts coalesced into an integrated city.43 T he development o f Marw followed an analogous pattern, but with a different outcome. T he earliest Arab garrison o f Marw was quartered with the inhabitants o f the city and the first mosque was constructed in the city itself. Successive waves o f Arab reinforce­ ments, however, were dispersed throughout the villages o f the oasis region. In 51/671, some 50,000 troops from Basra and Kufa were settled in the villages o f the oasis. This first wave o f Arab occupation was by no means the last. In fact, an almost steady stream o f reinforcements was moved in from the west to bolster Arab forces in the incessant effort to push Arab rule into eastern Iran and central Asia, and to defend Arab gains against local counter attack and against the expanding T urgesh confederacy. After the initial dispatch o f some 50,000 troops to Marw from Basra and Kufa, some 6,000 men were sent during the reign o f Yazid ibn Mu'äwiya. A round this time a second mosque was established at the gates o f the city. Later governors brought small num bers o f their guard with them, and finally, during the reign o f Hishäm a new army o f 20,000 men from Iraq was sent into Khurasan. At Marw, however, the settlement of large numbers o f Arabs did not lead to a specifically urban development. Most of the Arabs occupied villages in the region, though Arabs did live in the city itself from the end of the seventh century, and Abu Muslim did build a new mosque at Majan to symbolize the advent of the new dawkr, Husayn ibn T ähir constructed a new quarter. However, we do not have any information to indicate the coalescence o f villages and suburbs into a large city. Here the very large scale of Arab occu­

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pation militated for a decentralized pattern o f settlement. Unfor­ tunately, we have no information about the economic consequences o f this situation, though the large Arab presence and rapid assimila­ tion into sedentary life no doubt led to increased agricultural ac­ tivity.44 T h e history o f Balkh confirms the pattern seen in the growth of the large cities. As at Nishapur and Marw, the Arab garrison, mostly made up o f Syrian forces of the Azd, Bakr, and Tamîm tribes, did not settle in the town itself, but in nearby villages. Khulm, a place 12 farsangs from Balkh, was also settled by the Arabs. In 725, Asad rebuilt the city center and moved the garrison from Barûqân to Balkh proper. A new mosque was built in 124/742. After the Abbasids came into power, al-Façll ibn Barmak also built a mosque in Balkh.4S In Khurasan, then, the Arabs did not found any new cities, but shel­ tered newly emigrant populations in the villages and suburbs around already existing centers. Arab forces occupied the demographic interstices o f the region, sometimes stimulating the development of new city centers, as at Nishapur and Balkh, and sometimes, as in the case o f Marw, favoring village instead of urban development. Samarqand and Bukhara. In Transoxania, the Arab conquest was late and the complex differentiation o f settler and military, of generational and tribal interests, had no time to emerge. T he Arab occupation of Samarqand was delayed until 93/711-12. In Bukhara, the Arabs were first quartered in the houses o f the inhabitants in 94/712-13. Here, a small Arab garrison occupied a quarter near the citadel at Faghsadara and was otherwise dispersed throughout the city, but did not inhabit the rural castles in the surrounding oasis. T he Arabs did, however, provide themselves with a mosque. A new mosque was built in the citadel in 154/770-71 and another was built by Abû Ja ‘far al-Barmaki between the citadel and the city proper. This probably connotes an expansion of the Arab or Muslim pop­ ulation, and a symbolic assertion of authority. Both Bukhara and Samarqand were developed as agricultural regions as well as cities. Regional walls were constructed at Bukhara between 166/782 and 215/830 to protect the cultivated areas from nomadic incursions, and in 235/850 the development of the city was concluded by the construction o f new city walls to surround both the Shahristän and suburbs. W ater works as well as fortifications were undertaken. A glimpse into events of the year 213/828 reveals that the qadi of Bukhara was responsible for irrigation development

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Land Tenure and Taxation

and water distribution in the region. Similarly, at Samarqand the great walls surrounding the oasis region were restored by Abü Muslim, but the extensive irrigation system o f the city and region o f Samarqand dates from pre-Islamic times. T hough we do not have evidence of a massive influx o f Arabs, state policy evidently singled out Bukhara and Samarqand for political and economic development in central Asia.46 In Iran, regional urbanization was dependent both on the pattern o f Arab, settlement and the requirements o f imperial political policy. T he net impact o f these two forces was the selective development of a few places im portant in the scheme o f defense, administration, and regional economy. Otherwise, the caliphate took no general interest in regional development. Selective, rather than general, urbanization dictated essentially by political, administrative, and military considerations was the rule in Iran.

Conclusion T he evidence for long-term trends in the economic development o f Iraq and Iran in the first two centuries o f the Muslim era is scarce. Information bearing on regional economic development seems limited to scattered notices o f irrigation projects in Iraq and some­ times in Iran. However, using patterns of urbanization in conjunc­ tion with more specifically economic data as an index o f economic activity in the early Arab Muslim era, we may infer the likely pattern o f general economic activity. In both Iraq and Iran, the Arab conquests and the new empires brought selective urbanization. T he founding o f Arab settlements, garrisons, and administrative capitals stimulated local agriculture in districts occupied by the Arabs. In Iraq, the caliphate itself spon­ sored irrigation works as a means for increasing the private or “house­ hold” revenues o f the regime and for rewarding its supporters and clients by the grant o f qa(fas. In Iran, the formation o f an Arab village landlord class seems to have brought land into cultivation in the several districts favored by the Arabs. Thus, the Arabs brought a very segmented kind o f regional development in which intensive economic activity was encouraged in a few selected places while the bulk of Iran and Iraq was not directly affected. In most o f the region, the Sasanian investment in waterways and water control remained the fundamental basis of the economy. In /

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this sense, the economic history o f the early Muslim period repre­ sents the exploitation o f the possibilities inherent in the economic leg­ acy o f the ancient world, modified only in detail to accord with the political and private economic interests of the new regime.

NOTES 1. For the history of irrigation and settlement in Iraq, see Robert McC. Adams, Land Behind Baghdad (Chicago 1965). For the breakdown o f irri­ gation in southern Iraq, see G. Le Strange, The Lands of the Eastern Caliphate (Cambridge 1905), pp. 26-30; Ihn Rusta, Al-A'läq al-nafisa, trans. G. Wiet as Les Atours Précieux (Cairo 1955), pp. 104-6; Balâdhuri, Futüh al-buldân, ed. M. J. de Goeje (Leiden 1866), pp. 292-93. The fate of lands east of the Tigris is cited in M. Morony, “Seventh Century Iraq” (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, UCLA, 1972); I am indebted to Dr. M. Morony for advice, criticism, and many specific references. 2. T he founding of Basra and Kufa have frequently been described and studied. Important descriptions in the sources include Balâdhuri, Futüh, pp. 275-89, 346-72. The early materials are conveniently assembled in L. Caetani, Annali dell'lslam (Milan 1905-26), III, 769-84, 833-63. The later geographers give brief descriptions of the history and development of the cities. The most important secondary studies include Sâlih al-‘Ali, Al-Tanzinuit al-ijtima'iya wa'l-iqli.yhliyn JTl-Basra (Baghdad 1953); L. Massignon, “Explication du Plan de Kûfa (Irak),” Opera Minora, ed. Y. Moubarac (Beirut 1963), III, 35-60; idem, “Explication du Plan de Baçra,” Opera Minora, III, 61-87; C. Pellat, Le milieu bafrien et la formation de Gahiz. (Paris 1953). 3. O ur knowledge of the Arab occupation o f other places comes from scattered references. The occupation of al-Anbär is reported by Balâdhuri, Fulùft, p. 333; Yäqüt, Mu'jam al-buldän (Cairo 1906), I, 341; E l2, 1, 484-85; Caetani, IV, 695-96; Ibn Serapion, “Description o f Mesopotamia and Baghdad," trans. G. Le Strange, JRAS, 1895, pp. 52-53. A btiV Abbâs restored al-Anbär and built a qasr there (Yäqüt, I, 341). For the Arab occupation of Madä'in, see lebari, Ta’rikh al-rusul mTImulûk, ed. M. J. de Goeje el al. (Leiden 1879-1901), I, 2482; 11, 504; Caetani, 111, 755. For Baiäs, see Yäqüt, II, 258; al-Nïl: Balâdhuri, Futüh, p. 290: E l1, I, 676; Idulwân: Tabari. 1, 2473-74: II, 635: ‘Ayn al-Tamr: Tabari, II, 773; Le Strange, pp. 65, 81. The founding of Wâsi( is frequently des­ cribed by the Arab geographers. See, for example, Ya'qübî. Kitüb al-buldâu, ed. M. J. de Goeje, 2nd ed. (Leiden 1892), p. 322. O. Grabar, “Al-Mushatta, Baghdad, and Wasit,” The World of Islam, ed. J. Kritzeck and R. B. Winder (London 1959), pp. 99-108, discusses the architectural motifs of public buildings in Wäsit and how they bear upon city foundings in Iraq. 4. For pre-Baghdad capitals see Ya'qübî. Buldân. p. 309: Tabari, III. 278-82.

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5. The founding of Baghdad is most extensively treated by al-Khapb al-Baghdàdî, Ta’rikh Baghdad (Cairo 1931), I, 67-127; trans. G. Salmon, L’Introduction topographique à l’histoire de Bagfuladh (Paris 1904). See also, G. Le Strange, Baghdad during the Abbasid Caliphate (London 1900), and most important, the new translation and interpretation by J. Lassner, The Topography of Baghdad in the Early Middle Ages (Detroit 1970). 6. References to other Iraqi palace cities may be found in P. Schwarz, Die ‘Abbâsiden-Residenz Sâmarrâ (Leipzig 1909), pp. 4, 5; Mustawfi, Nuzhat al-qulùb, ed. and trans. G. Le Strange (London 1915-19), II, 50; M. Streck, Die alte Landschaft Babylonien (Leiden 1900), pp. 202, 231; Ya‘qübi, Buldän, pp. 266, 309; Tabari, III, 1989. See also E. Reitemeyer, Die Städtegründungen der Araber im Islam (Munich 1912). 7. For the founding and history of Mosul see Balâdhurï, p. 332; Hamadhâni, Kitàb al-fnildän, ed. M. J. de Goeje (Leiden 1885), pp. 128-29. See also E I\ III, 609; AzdT, Ta'rîkh Mawfil, ed. ‘AH Hablba (Cairo 1967), pp. 24-25, 88-101; P. G. Forand, “The Governors of Mosul,” f AOS, LXXXIX (1969), pp. 88-105. For al-Haditha see Yäqüt, III, 234; E l*, III, 29; Caetani, IV, 695-96; Balâdhurï, Futùh, p. 333. O ther garrisons are attested by Balâdhurï, Futùh, pp. 150, 177, 178; Yäqüt, IV, 707; Caetani, IV, 223. 8. Balâdhurï,Futùh, p. 178; Ya'qübï, Buldân, p. 362; E l2, II, 343; Caetani. IV, 33-34. The significance of reports that ‘Uthmän and Mu'äwiya settled the tribes in the Jazira is hard to fathom. Did they actually prescribe ter­ ritories for the various groups or merely ratify established Arab settlements? 9. Balâdhurï, Futùh, pp. 179, 180. Essentially the same information is repeated in Yäqüt, IV, 208; Le Strange, p. 101; Hamadhânï, p. 132. Tabari. Ill, 364 ff. comments on the simultaneous construction of the walls of Kufa and Basra, which suggests that one of the reasons for the construction of al-Ràfiqa may have been to defend northern Syria against bedouin maraud­ ing. For double city forms and their implications, see I. M. Lapidus, “Muslim Cities and Islamic Societies,” Middle Eastern Cities, ed. I. M. Lapidus (Berke­ ley 1969), pp. 47-79. 10. Tabari, I, 2380. The main source for the economic development o f Basra is Balâdhurï, Futùh, pp. 357-62. Y’äqüt, VIII, 332-36, relies essen­ tially on Balâdhurï. Corroborating evidence may be found in Hamadhânï, pp. 189-90; Ibn Sa’d, Kitâb al-Uibaqât al-kabir, ed. E. Sachau et al. (Leiden 1904-40), VII. i. 8; W. G. M illiard, “The Adaptation of Men to their Time: An Historical Essay by al-Ya'qûbï,” JAOS, LXXXIV (1964). p. 336; Balâdhurï. Ansâb al-ashrâf. vol. V, ed. S. D. Goitein (Jerusalem 1936), p. 281. See also Pellat, Le milieu basrien, pp. 14, 17-18. 11. References in legal and other texts to the general development policy o f ‘Uthmän include: Ibn Sallàm, Kitâb al-Amuelopment o f Iraq and Iran

205

12. Some traditions imply that this canal was dug under ‘Abdullah ibn 'Amir; others that it was dug under Ziyäd; but was this in his governor­ ship or when he was in charge of the diwäns for ‘Abdullah? Balâdhurï, Futüh, pp. 360-61; Yâqût, VIII, 345; Hamadhânî, p. 190. 13. For this later phase in Basra’s development see Balâdhurï, Futüh, pp. 361-71: also Yâqût, VIII, 332, 337, 342; Pellat, Le milieu bafrien, pp. 17-18; Ibn Rusta, p. 105; M. Sprengling, “From Persian to Arabie," AJSL, LVI (1939), p. 188. Ibn Rusta reports (pp. 106-7) that Khâlid ibn ‘Abdullâh tried to dam the channel o f the Tigris, south of Basra, but failed. 14. There are numerous accounts of ‘Abdullâh ibn Darrâj: Balâdhurï, Futüh, p. 293; Mas'ûdî, Murüj al-dhahab, Irans. C. Pellat (Paris 1962), I, 91. Qudâma ibn Ja‘far, Kitàb al-kharâj, ed. M. J. de Goeje (Leiden 1889), p. 240; Mâwardl, Al-Ahkâm al-sultânîya, trans. E. Fagnan us Les statuts gouverne­ mentaux (Algiers 1915), pp. 384-85. A note by Fagnan points out that Mas'ûdî gives 15,000,000 dirhams, and Ibn Wàdhi 50,000,000, as the revenues obtained by ‘Abdullâh from this development. Ibn Sallâm, p. 401, remarks that the policy of granting iqfä's to encourage development was also applied to al-Ba(ä'ih, but we have no further in­ formation to indicate when this began and whether it was connected to the caliphal reclamation projects. The example of Basra would suggest a close relationship between caliphal-sponsored reclamations and the grant­ ing of iqtä's. 15. Ya'qübi, Ta'rîkh (Najaf 1965), p. 207; Balâdhurï, Futüh, pp. 290, 293. See also D. C. Dennett, Conversion and Poll Tax in Early Islam (Cambridge 1950), pp. 29-30. 16. Balâdhurï, Futûfy, p. 290; Yâqût, VIII, 380; Ibn Serapion, pp. 260-61; Le Strange, p. 72; Ibn Khallikän, Wafayàt al-a'yän, Irans. Baron MacGuckin de Slane (Paris 1843-61), I, 449-50; E I\ I, 676; J. Wellhausen, The Arah Kingdom and its Fall, trans. M. G. Weir (Calcutta 1927), p. 252; Wäsiti, Tarikh (Baghdad 1967), p. 37. 17. Balâdhurï, Futüh, pp. 290, 293. 18. Balâdhurï,Futühi, p. 294; Qudâma (de Goeje ed.), p. 241; Ibn Serapion, pp. 271, 274; £ / \ I, 676. 19. Balâdhurï, Futüfy, p. 369. 20. See Tabarï, II, 1655; and Balâdhurï, Futü/i, pp. 286, 290, 293; Ibn Serapion, pp. 43-44; Mâwardî, pp. 384-85. Secondary accounts include Wellhausen, p. 3 3 1 ;£ /\ I, 676; F. G abrieli,//Califfato diHishäm (Alexandria 1935), pp. 12-13. 21. Balâdhurï,Futüh, pp. 151-52, 179, 180; Yâqût, VIII, 341: Ibn Serapion, p. 51; Ibn Salläm, p. 401; J. Chabot, Chronique de Denys de Tell Mafiré (Paris 1895), pp. 23-24. 22. For Harrän, see EI2, III. 228; D. Sourdel, “Nouvelles Recherches sur la Deuxième Partie du 'Livre des Viziers’ d’al-Gahsiyârï," Mélanges

206

Land Tenure and Taxation

Louis Massignon (Damascus 1956-57), III, p. 277. For Mosul see Azdi, pp. 26-28, 33. The Nähr al-Makshüf, the uncovered canal, was started in 107/725-26 and completed in 121/739 at a cost o f eight million dirhams. The work was carried on by successive governors of Mosul with the per­ mission and financial help o f the caliph Hishäm. 23. Balädhuri, Futûh, pp. 274, 293-94, 362-63, 371-72; Yâqüt, VIII, 333, 336; Tabari, III, 645; D. Sourdel, Le vizirat ‘Abbäside (Damascus 195960), I, 172; Wakr, Akhbär al-Qu/jät (Cairo 1947-50), II, 143-44; Ihn Serapion, p. 299; E Il, III, 150; Caetani, III, 864; Ibn Rusta, p. 105. 24. Balädhuri, Futûh, pp. 291-92; Qudâma (de Goeje ed.), pp. 241-42; Yâqüt, VIII, 342. 25. Balädhuri, Futûh, pp. 274-75; Yâqüt, VIII, 341-42; Caetani, III, 863-64; IV, 695-96; Ibn Serapion, p. 73; Le Strange, p. 66. Nahr al-Amir is also the name of a canal near Basra. 26. M. R. al-Feel, The Historical Geography of Iraq (Baghdad 1965), pp. 154, 167. 27. Balädhuri, Futûh, p. 297; Ibn Serapion, pp. 265, 272; Le Strange, pp. 54, 58; Ya'qübï, Buldân, pp. 264, 266, 267; Feel, pp. 149-50, 151; Tabari, III, 1438, 2153; Schwarz, Die ‘Abbäsiden-Residenz, pp. 5, 16; Streck, p. 202. 28. R. M. Adams, “Agriculture and Urban Life in Early Southwestern Iran,” Science, CXXXVI (1962), pp. 109-22. 29. For indications of administrative involvement in irrigation control, maintenance, and arbitration of disputes, see al-Hiläl al-$äbi\ Tuhfat alurnara fî ta'rikh al-wuzam (Cairo 1958), pp. 278-79. Balädhuri (Futûh, pp. 143-44) explains how the expenses of the wells and canals of al-Ramla were borne by the Umayyads and then by the Abbasids. Until the time of al-Mu*ta$im, the caliphs would issue an annual order to meet these expenses, but alMu‘ta$im finally routinized the procedure by decreeing it a permanent part o f the budget so that an annual decision was no longer necessary. This incident seems to show that caliphal contributions to irrigation mainte­ nance were not a routine matter, even on lands, like those of al-Ramla, which had originally been founded and developed by the caliphate itself. 30. The quotation is from Qudâma (Ben Shemesh trans.), pp. 61-62. O ther legal materials on the obligations of the government to maintain the rivers include Abü Yusuf, Kilàb al-kharàj, trans. A. Ben Shemesh (Leiden 1969), p. 127. See also N. P. Aghnides, Mohammedan Theories of Finance (Lahore 1961), p. 518. 31. Ya'qub!, Buldân, pp. 229, 269-72: £/*. Ill, 105: H. Zotenberg, La Chronique d'al-Tabari, II, 480; IV, 330-32; Tabari, II. 994; P. Schwarz, Iran im Mittelalter (Leipzig 1925), V, 517-18. For security reasons, the Abbasids promoted the development of other places in western Iran. In the district of Hamadhän, on the frontiers of Azerbaijan and Dinawar, al-Mahdi built the fortresses of Sïsar to curb the bandits on the frontier. Härün restored the fortifications and garrisoned the fortress with 1,000 men (Balädhuri, Futûh, pp. 310-11); Schwarz. Iran,

Settlement and Development o f Iraq and Iran

207

IX, 491, 532-33). E. Herzfeld, “Denkmalsgeographische Studien zur Kulturgeschichte des Islam in Iran,” Der Islam, XI (1921), pp. 163ff., lists Islamic constructions in Iran. 32. See E. G. Browne, “Account of a Rare Manuscript History of Isfahan,” JRAS, 1901, pp. 441-46, 661-704, based on Mâfarrûkhi, Kitâb mahästn Isfahân; Abü Nu'aym, Dhikr akhbdr Ifbahdn, ed. S. Dedering (Leiden 193134), I, 14-18, 28, 186-87, 317; Ibn Rusta, pp. 196-97, 200; Balâdhurî,Futûh, p. 314; Ya'qübî, Btildân, pp. 274-75; Schwarz, Iran, V, 582-670; G. Van Vloten, “lieber einige bis jetzt nichte erkannte Münzen aus der letzten Omeijaden Zeit,” ZDMG, XLVI (1892), p. 441. 33. A. C. Barbier de Maynard, “Description historique de la ville de Kazvln,” Journal Asiatique, X (1857), pp. 261-69, 282, 285; Mustawfï, pp. 62-63; Balâdhurî, Futûh, pp. 321-24; Hamadhânî, pp. 282-83; Schwarz, Iran, VI, 705-39. 34. A. Houtum Schindler, Eastern Persian Irak (London 1896), pp. 6076; A. K. S. Lambton, “An Account of the Tärikhi Qumm," BSOAS, XII (1948), pp. 587-90; Yâqiît, VII, 159-61; Schwarz.Iran, V, 560-61. 35. Ya'qübî, Buldän, p. 276; Balâdhurî, Futûh, p. 319, Hamadhânî, pp. 269, 282; E I1, 111,99. 1106. 36. See references in n. 32. 37. See references in n. 35; also Schwarz, Iran, VI. 740-55. 781. 38. See references in n. 33. 39. See references in n. 34. Also for the Qumm rebellions, see Tabari, III. 1092-93; Schindler, Eastern Persian Irak, p. 67; E l1, II, 1117; Balâdhurî, Futûh, p. 314; Schwarz, Iran, V, 562. 40. The middle of the ninth century witnessed a new founding by a new dynasty, the Dulähd house, then in effective control of the region. Abü Dulâf founded al-Karaj and a vizier of the dynasty subsequently founded a mosque at Burujird (Yäqüt, II, 267; Ibn Hawqal, Surat al-Ard, ed. J. H. Kramers, Leiden 1938-39, 11, 368; Schwarz, Iran, IX, 491). 4L For Arab settlements, see E l2, 1, 190. Information on Bardhaa, Arran, Tabriz, and Marâgha may be found in EI2, I, 660, 1041; EI X, II, 584; III, 262-63, 267; Hamadhânî, pp. 280, 285-86; Mustawfï, p. 78; Balâdhurî, Futûh, p. 329; Ibn A'tham al-Kûfï, Kitâb al-futûh, MS. Ahmad III Aya Sofya 2956, II, fol. 248v. For Ibn al-Ba‘lth. see also Miskawayh. Tajârib al-umum, ed. M. J. de Goeje in Fragmenta Historicorum Arabicorum (Leiden 1869-71). pp. 539-42; Tabari, III, 1378-84. 42. Ya'qübi, Buldän, pp. 277, 280; Y’äqüt, III, 452; ‘Uyûn al-hadâ'iq fï ahhbâr al-hadâ'iq, in Fragmenta Historiconm Arabicorum, pp. 188, 191; Ibn A'tham, fol. 22 Iv; M. Shaban, The 'Abbâsid Revolution (Cambridge 1970), pp. 114, 117, 151-52; V. Minorsky, trans., Hudûd al-Âlam (l>ondon 1937). p. 349; S. al-‘Alî. “Istïtân al-'Arab fî Khurâsân,” /W/Wm of the College qf Arts and Sciences (Baghdad 1958), pp. 74-76. 43. Ya'qübï, Buldän, pp. 278-79: Yäqüt. I. 226-27: R. Bullict. The Patricians of Nishapur (Cambridge, Mass. 1973), p. 17.

208

Land Tenure and Taxation

44. Shaban, pp. 21, 46, 47; F. Omar, The Abbasid Revolution (Baghdad 1969), pp. 88,111-14; al-‘AU, “Khurasan,” pp. 36-41,67-69; Balâdhurî,Fulüh, pp. 409-10; Ya'qübî, Buldän, p. 279; Yâqûl, IV, 55; Ibn tfawqal, II, 434; ‘Uyün al-hadaiq, p. 186; Tabari, II, 1952. 45. Tabari, II, 1205-7, 1490, 1499, 1602; V. V. Barlhold, Turkestan Down to the Mongol Invasion (London 1968), pp. 77-78. 46. EI*, I, 1294-95; Barthold, pp. 83, 85, 89, 108, 112; Narshakhï, The History of Bukhara, Irans. R. N. Frye (Cambridge, Mass. 1954), pp. 5, 33-35, 47-50. In eastern Iran, outside of these Arab chosen settlements, Khwarizm, the delta of the Oxus River, also developed in late Abbasid times from a region o f small hamlets and farmsteads interspersed with castles to a highly urbanized province densely settled by contiguous small towns and villages. No doubt water control and irrigation played a crucial part in this develop­ ment.

6 La

w

and Economy in IfrTqiya (Tunisia) in the Third Islam ic Century: Agriculture and the Role of Slaves in the Country’s Economy Mohamed Talbi

T he aim o f the present study is to underline the dom inant char­ acteristics o f the agricultural sector in IfrTqiya in the 3rd/9th cen­ tury, while attem pting simultaneously to extrapolate the social pro­ file o f the people who, on different levels, made their living by tilling the soil. O ur sources include legal texts, which, contrary to their unjustified reputation as theoretical and unhelpful works, make a significant contribution towards confirming, enriching, and focus­ ing o u r knowledge. T he greatest jurist o f medieval IfrTqiya, Sahnün (160-240/777854), admits that his knowledge about the legal status of the lands of IfrTqiya and the Maghrib is, generally speaking, uncertain. Is he referring to the lands classified as 'unwa (taken by force) or fulh (governed by the terms o f an agreement)? Had the original inhabi­ tants kept the ownership o f their land by converting to Islam? No­ thing certain is known about this, he tells us1—that is, nothing that could be used in theoretical discussions between legal experts. For we do know that in general terms, the distinction between the classi­ fication ‘unwa or $ulfi was difficult to make precisely in every part of the region, and that the practical results o f this classification can­ not be easily accounted for in their entirety. But the problem is very clear for IfrTqiya. It did not present itself in these terms from the Middle Ages on, not even on purely theoretical and legal grounds. In fact, in IfrTqiya as elsewhere, the fate o f land was determ ined by the fortunes o f conquest and the decisions taken by military leaders with regard to current conditions. Much land was naturally left to its original owners. But many other areas, which had been aban­ doned because o f military operations, or had been taken away from their owners because o f their behavior during the fighting, were awarded to the victors as a recompense for their courage and to 209

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Land Tenure and Taxation

keep up their zeal. It is necessary to emphasize that these awards— despite the tales which were preserved concerning the allocations made in the time o f the Prophet—did not in fact obey any strict or well-defined legal rule, but were essentially governed by the immed­ iate situation. It was Hassän ibn al-Nu‘män who, after his definitive victory (78/697-98),2 drew up a system o f land classification. In par­ ticular, he introduced the concept o f the kharâj, either negotiated or imposed on the independent individuals who had been allowed to maintain the ownership o f their land,3 and established an admin­ istration which had the task o f organizing it. He went on to distribute land to the Arabs, naturally, and also to their allies, the Berbers.4 T he acreage thus distributed, while certainly large, must have been very variable both in quality and quantity, depending on the rank, services rendered, social status, and ethnic background o f the bene­ ficiaries. But unfortunately we do not have any detailed informa­ tion on this subject. Müsä ibn Nuçayr, who replaced Hassän and completed the pacification o f the country, was notable for his policy o f violence and plunder. He undoubtedly embarked on new dis­ tributions o f land on which, however, we do not have any precise or direct information. As we shall see later, he rewarded his close collaborators abundantly, and also appropriated a lion’s share for himself, an act which in the end led to his downfall.3 T h e land register o f Ifriqiya em erged profoundly changed from the tum ult o f the Islamic conquest, which was particularly long, drawn-out, and difficult. It must have assumed from this time on the configuration that it was to keep grosso modo until at least the end o f the 3rd/9th century.6 In particular, it is quite definitely as a result o f these gifts, agreed upon by Hassän ibn al-Nu’mân and Müsä ibn Nuçayr, that the sector o f very large Muslim properties came into being, o f which there is still evidence in the 3rd/9th century. T he only question which will always remain unresolved, because o f the nature of our sources, is that o f the size o f this sector as a percentage in relation to the whole o f the economic sphere. Let us examine the references which bear witness to the existence o f this sector; all o f them are indirect, thus voiding the possibility o f deliberate falsification, and hence all the more worthy o f belief. Examining the Sources One o f the most explicit texts is that preserved by Mâlikï. This is the biography of Abu ‘Abdullah Muhammad ibn Masrüq (d. begin­

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ning o f the 9th c.) who, on his father’s death and following a mystical conversion, abandoned his whole inheritance to lead a life of prayer and total poverty.7 We learn in this connection that his father Masrüq had been one o f the prefects of Müsâ ibn Nuçayr in the Maghrib. Masrüq owned, on the road to Sousse, an entire village to which he had given his name, al-Masrüqln,® as well as several other ham­ lets ( manàzil).• T he fortune of a holy tàbi'î, Abü’l-Mughïra ’Abdullah ibn alMughira ibn Abi Burda al-Qurashl,10 who was the qadi of IfrTqiya from 99/717-18 to 123/741—that is, until the moment when, in the midst of the Khârijite expansion, Kulthüm ibn ’Iyäd replaced ‘Ubayd Allah ibn al-Habhäb as the head of Qayrawän—seems also undoubt­ edly linked with Müsâ ibn Nu$ayr. Abü’l-Mughïra owned two estates which, judging by their names, each included a hamlet or a village: Qa$r Mughlra and Qaryat al-Mughiriyln.11 These two estates must have been left to him by his father, a well-known tàbi’î who, we are told “had participated in the conquest of the Maghrib and Spain with Müsâ ibn Nu$ayr,12 and had also taken part in the siege of Constantinople.”13 The case of ‘All ibn Aslam, a contemporary and foster son of Saïinûn, is no less significant. He was the grandfather of Abü Ishâq al-Jabanyänl, to whom Abü’l Qâsim al-Labîdï had devoted a work of manâqib,1* that is, a saint’s life. ’All ibn Aslam had, so we are told, built the cathedral mosque of Sfax on his own; he had also sur­ rounded the town with a wall of unglazed bricks (fib ), and on the coast he had erected guard houses ( mahris) to which he had given his name (Mahris ‘All) before they were dubbed al-Mahris al-Jadïd.15 ‘AH ibn Aslam could allow himself such lavishness for the benefit of his city. In fact, “he was master of a large fortune, it is said, and of numerous hamlets (manàzil)—such as Jabanyäna and others as well—where the agricultural holdings were enhanced by wonder­ ful residences ( ribä'). In Sfax itself, he had many other agricultural holdings o f a similar kind.”16 This huge fortune, which was based on the ownership of several hamlets and villages—including Jabanyäna (Djebeniana), which still exists—had its origins, we are told, in the awards made to the Arab conquerors. The family of ‘All ibn Aslam, which could be traced back to the Bakr ibn Wä’il, a branch of the Rabfa, was in fact part of the ahl al-khifaf, who were beneficiaries o f gifts of land.17 In addition, to complete the picture, it should be noted that Ibn Aslam possessed a mosque in Qayrawän, and a resi­

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dence ( rab‘) which gave its name to a whole section of the town, Darb Aslam.18 We shall see later that Abü Muhriz (d. 214/829), who was grand qadi of Qayrawän, also owned numerous manäzil, that is, proper­ ties large enough to include several hamlets. Another corroborating piece of evidence is afforded by the story of Mançûr al-Tunbudhï,1* who is better known because of the im­ portant part he played in the great revolt of the jund against Ziyädat Allah (201-23/817-58). Mançür, who had been made responsible for the government of Tripoli before he took on the leadership o f the rebellion, owned a veritable fortress at Tunbudha—hence his name al-Tunbudhi—as well as several other hamlets in the area around Tunis.*0 Al-Tunbudhi was naturally not the only lord o f the country to possess vast estates covering a num ber of hamlets. He had many emulators in the Aghlabid kingdom, and they presented a real threat to the ruler’s power. These country squires, who had held their enormous estates since the time of the conquest, were meant in theory to supply the jund, the armed forces which guaranteed the Arab presence in the Maghrib. Under Ibrâhîm II (261-89/875-902), they had long since ceased to fill this role, and had rather become a cause of turmoil, insubordination, fiscal revolt, and (if the occasion was ripe) a threat to public order. In the context of his policy of re­ ducing the power of the nobles, the amir decided to tame them. T he extent of the rebellion*1 that he provoked throughout the coun­ try (280/893), except in the Sahel and the province of Tripoli, provides us with information about both the importance and the establish­ ment of the great estates. These constituted real fiefdoms scattered across the rich agricultural areas, and were sometimes defended by veritable fortresses in cut stone, as in the case of Ibn Abl Ahmad,** lord of Bäshshü at the entrance to Cap Bon. Unfortunately, we are given hardly any information at all about the possessions of the amirs. But we have every reason to suppose that they were the greatest property owners in their kingdoms. On occasion they showed little restraint in confiscating the large prop­ erties which aroused their envy, which shows that they owned some. Thus in 275/888-89 Ibrâhîm II appropriated Ibyäna by force. Ibyäna was a large agricultural property, the size of a village, lying five kilo­ meters southeast of Tunis in the plain of Mornag.23 A telling anec­ dote reveals, moreover, that this amir had a wonderful palm plan­

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tation in the south.24 A relative of the ruling family, Ya'qub ibn alMadä’, who in 232/846-47 had played an important part in the rec­ onciliation o f Muhammad I (226-42/841-56) with his brother Abu Ja'far Ahmad (who had usurped power), had, we are told, “aban­ doned the Black and renounced the world,”28 turning to mysticism (nusk). His mysticism and his renunciation of the world had not prevented him, however, from owning numerous estates ((&yâ‘)2e in the Jam m a area, where the fortified town o f Mahdlya would be built in 300/912-13.27 Another relative of the dynasty, Ibn Tâlib (21775/832-88), who was qadi of Qayrawän twice before being stripped o f his possessions by Ibrâhîm II and tortured to death, also had a fine fortune, valued at 80,000 dinars,28 based on the cultivation of huge rural estates.29 At a slightly earlier time than the one under study, we are told that the Fatimid caliph had sizable sugar cane plantations in Sicily, and that the faqths, who were particularly un­ cooperative, boycotted the product as a m atter o f conscience.30 T hus we do have reliable information provided on a large scale about the existence o f great estates,31 covering one or several vil­ lages. Medium- and small-sized properties also existed. In the Sahel and in the province o f Tripoli they even predominated. These two regions were effectively spared by the great rebellion o f the ju n d (209-12/821-27) in the reign of Ziyädat Allah I, and by the uprising of the serfs (280/893) in the reign of Ibrâhîm II, which is a sure sign that the overall situation was unfavorable to the great landlords, who were capable of flouting authority. One can therefore surmise that the large estates, while not wholly missing—the cases of Ibn Masrüq and o f ‘Alî ibn Aslam may be recalled—did not predominate. In these traditionally peaceful plains, had Hassân ibn al-Nu‘mân, and Müsä ibn Nu$ayr after him left the ownership o f the land, with a few exceptions, in the hands o f independent farmers, and had they more or less preserved the form er status quo? This must be assumed. T here is, in fact, no mention of any establishment of the jund. We have some fairly precise information about the extent o f the relatively medium-sized properties in the Sahel. We know, for in­ stance, that Sahnün, who had experienced some hardships in his early years, to the point of being hampered in pursuing his educa­ tion,32 finally found himself, by dint o f sacrifices and hard work,33 owner o f a property which ensured him an annual revenue of 500 dinars,34 and where 12,000 olive trees could be counted,38 many

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Land Tenure and Taxation

o f which he had planted himself.36 T he property o f his friend ‘Abd al-Rahlm al-Zäfiid (d. 246-47/860-61) had 17,000 olive trees.97 T he areas involved can be estimated at approximately 120 and 170 hec­ tares. Considering the size o f the great estates, these properties, which were certainly comfortable, appeared medium-sized.38 Very small-scale holdings, barely large enough to support the peasants who farm ed them, were obviously in existence too. T heir importance as a percentage o f all cultivated land is impossible to determine. What is certain is that they supported large numbers o f needy peasants. Baqiya, the brother o f the famous ascetic Buhlül ibn Rashid (d. 183/799), was undoubtedly one such small landholder. We encounter him disturbing a pious gathering around his brother, who refused to discuss worldly matters, while Baqiya himself per­ sisted in talk o f rainfall and agriculture.33 Rabâb (d. 172/788-89), an ascetic no less famous than Buhlül, lived meagerly off the in­ come from a tiny plot of land. He was not even able to offer a little milk to the laborers called in for the harvest.40 T he holy man who, in the Sahel, had offered hospitality to the no less holy Wâçil ibn ‘Atä* (d. 252/866), was also undoubtedly a needy peasant living poorly.41 Thus we can be certain that the small holding was often so tiny that it hardly supported its owner. But unfortunately it has been impossible to find any precise information anywhere on the actual size of these small individual plots. In the rural scene o f Ifriqiya during the 3rd/9th century, partic­ ularly striking is the extreme inequality which characterizes it. T he huge estate, taking in one or several villages, bordered on the wretch­ ed, minute property. This inequality was also reflected in the methods of farming. We have evidence that the large- and medium-sized properties were cultivated mostly by slaves; only the cultivation o f the small holdings really necessitated calling upon a free labor force. Several converging pieces of information eliminate all doubt on the subject. But before taking a closer look at this information, the political and social conditions which had committed the Ifriqiyan economy to this path should be called to mind. Slavery. O f all the provinces conquered by the Arabs, the Maghrib was the chosen land o f slavery. Müsä ibn Nu$ayr had dazzled his superiors in the Orient by his supply o f slaves.42 U nder his rod, it was the slaves who had carried out the huge works necessary for the construction of the arsenal in Tunis, modeled on the one in Tyre.43 T he Maghrib seemed fated to fill local needs, as well as those

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of the O rient, for jawàrî (slave girls) for the palaces and for slave labor for the economy. It was even mooted that the Maghrib should specialize in providing a regular and perm anent supply of slaves, which, from 123/740 onward caused a series o f revolts44 that were set o ff by the austere and egalitarian Khärijite ideology. When local sources dried up, they were compensated for in the nick o f time by expeditions against the M editerranean islands. These expedi­ tions culm inated in the conquest o f Sicily, begun in 212/827, after a respite o f half a century.49 This is how, for example, the monk Bernard, who was on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land with two com­ panions, was able to observe in about 866 at T arento, then in the hands o f the Aghlabids, what he estimated to be 9,000 slaves, who had come from Benevento and were loaded on six vessels ready to sail toward Ifriqiya and other Muslim ports.44 It should be added that buying from Christian dealers was a far from m inor source of supply o f slave labor.47 Ifriqiya, until the end o f the 3rd/9th cen­ tury, did not want for slaves. It is well known that these slaves were used largely for domestic chores. This custom continued, after a fashion, in the upper middle classes until quite recently, that is, up until the abolition o f slavery. T here is much less information about the part played by the slaves in the economic life o f the country,48 both in general and with spe­ cific reference to agriculture. All the evidence we have assembled points convincingly to the conclusion that the role o f slaves was of capital importance in the agricultural sector in Ifriqiya during the 3rd/9th century. At this time, Ifriqiya’s agriculture, at least that of the larger estates, could make use o f an enorm ous production force o f cheap labor, which did not dem and, apart from the cost for the upkeep o f hum an machines, any specific distribution o f wages. Moreover, the basic investment was not burdensome. After the successful campaigns in Sicily, the slaves were sold at very low prices.44 But the large landowners, who often were also men of the sword, did not even always have to invest money to acquire them. Many were able, as a result o f victory, to procure slaves without opening their purses.9® Masrüq, who as we recall had held high office under Müsä ibn Nu$ayr, had certainly not acquired his slaves with his own money. T he following account reveals how his son dealt with them after his own conversion to mysticism: “ 'Ali ibn Muttalib tells us: after his conversion he was seen to visit the villages ( qarya) that his father

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Land Tenure and Taxation

had left him, one after the other. T heir inhabitants, all those who were in residence, came out to meet him and said, ‘We are your slaves ( ‘abiduka). Everything in this village belongs to you.’ He replied, ‘If what you say is the truth, you are free, and your goods are your own property to keep.’ T hus he stripped himself of everything he had inherited from his father and kept absolutely nothing.”91 This text is clarity itself and leaves no doubts about the farming methods o f the great estates. O ther information is given in con­ nection with one o f the very first qadis o f Qayrawän, Abü Khàlid ‘Abd al-Rahman ibn Ziyâd ibn An‘um al-Ma‘äfiri al-Sufyäni (74 o r 75-156 or 162/693 or 694-772 o r 779).52 He was born in Ifriqiya. It can be deduced, given his date o f birth, that his father was a mem­ ber of the ju n d , and as a result could not have been forgotten by Hassan ibn al-Nu‘män in the distribution of land. ‘Abd al-Rahmän followed in his father’s footsteps on other fronts. We find him a prisoner in Byzantium. Freed through payment o f a ransom by Abü Ja ‘far al-Man$ür, he was noted at the Baghdad court for his pro-Umayyad leanings and his religious intransigence. In fact, he had in the interim acquired a solid reputation as a strict traditional­ ist. He then sought and was accorded the right to return to his family in Ifriqiya, where he owned (obviously inherited from his father) a large estate ( fay'd). This estate had been farm ed by slaves ( ‘abid) under the supervision o f the best qualified ( akfa’u, aqwamu) among them. It is even stated—and this offers useful ethnic information— that one o f the slaves was a robust, hearty, fair-haired man.93 Abü Muhriz Muhammad ibn ‘Abdullah ibn Qays al-Kinânî94 (d. 214/829) was also qadi o f Ifriqiya, a role in which he had succeeded Ibn Ghänim (d. ca. 190/806). He also belonged to the class of the ju n d —his uncle ‘Abd al-‘Azïz ibn Qays was comm ander of the guard (shurfa ) o f ‘Abd al-Rahmän ibn Habib (127-37/745-55)99—and unlike his colleague and rival Asad ibn al-Furät, the hero o f the conquest o f Sicily, he was very rich. So when he was named qadi he proceeded (in order to discourage in advance the accusations of having become rich after assuming his new office) to give a kind o f public accounting of what he owned. It is quoted in the T ^ ifa t of A büV A rab:56 “When he was named qadi, he gathered all his slaves and all his flocks ( kulla ‘abdin lahu wa mdshiya). He presented them to the people and said, ‘Here is everything that I possess’—there was a crowd of slaves there ( 'abtdan kathird) and all kinds of flocks—and he added.

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‘I have presented all my goods so that you can acquaint yourself with them on sight. If my goods, which you have here before your eyes, show any increase whatsoever, you can accuse me o f corrup­ tion.’ T hen he had all of these goods brought to his villages (manäzil), where they had been before.” Another piece o f evidence is furnished by the above-mentioned uprising, fomented in 280/89S by the great “feudal lords” against Ibrâhîm II. T hat year, writes Ibn ‘Idhârî, “the people of Tunis, Cap Bon, Laribus, Béja, and o f the country round Qam müda rose up against him, and took as their leaders the men of the ju n d and o f other social classes. T he reason for all this was that the sultan Ibrâhîm al-Aghlab had taken away their slaves and their horses, and had done them other injustices as well.”57 T he slaves mentioned were probably used to cultivate their masters’ estates. As these mas­ ters sometimes maintained, as we have seen, well-fortified castles, and as the slaves could easily exchange the pitchfork for the sword when the occasion demanded, the amir’s concern is understand­ able. T he great agrarian landowners, thanks to the numerous slaves who worked on their farms, as well as to the horses standing in rows in their stables, represented not only an enormous economic force, but also imposed severe limitations on the am ir’s power, especially, no doubt, in connection with taxes. T he “other injustices” referred to in the text were certainly fiscal in character. It should be emphasized that it was not only the great landowners who used slaves to cultivate their huge estates. T he more modest farmers also had their own slaves. For example, Sabnün, who did not shrink from personally putting his hand to the plow at times, usually employed slave labor for the cultivation o f his lands. An anecdote recounted by ’Abd al-Jabbär ibn Khälid illustrates this point: “We were going to take lessons from Sabnün at his home in the Sahel. One day he appeared before us with a plowshare ( mihrâth) over his shoulder, and a yoke of oxen in front o f him ( alzawj). He announced to us: ‘My slave (al-ghulâm) has had a fever since yesterday. When I have finished (plowing), I will come and give you my course.’ I said to him: ‘I could go and do the plowing for you, and you can give your course to my friends. When I re­ turn, I will study under your guidance what I have not understood.’ And so it was. On my return he gave me his meal: an oat cake and old oil.”5* Had Sabnün only one slave for all the work on his property? This

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is quite possible if one reflects on his extremely humble beginnings. But it is also probable that the story, which has a certain theatrical quality, was arranged to take on an edifying character. At all events, it is an accurate reflection o f the economic customs o f an age when, even on modest farms, the agricultural development was tradition­ ally bound up with the use o f slave labor. T he exact num ber o f slaves is impossible to state, and necessarily varied depending on the size o f the estate. In accordance with a tradition which had its roots in pre-Islamic times, minding the flocks was the slaves’ special privilege, on occasion one accorded to free men, as can be seen in the following anecdote. Ibn Tàlib, as we have seen, was, on more than one count, a rich and powerful man who took particular care o f his reputation as a karam:** One of his friends tells how he had gone out with him after a shower. He was mounted on an Egyptian donkey. On the way, he came across some puddles. A young boy who was minding some sheep rushed forward, seized the donkey’s bridle, and led him across the puddles. ’’Who is your master?" Ibn Tàlib said to the young slave afterward. “So-and-so," he replied. Ibn Tàlib stopped at a mosque and said to the young slave, “Go and fetch him.” The master came to him. “How much did you pay for this young slave?" Ibn Tàlib asked him. “Ten dinars," he replied. “Here they are,” said Ibn Tàlib. “Let him go free, and it is to you that he will henceforth be bound by the ties of employment (wa walà’uhu laka)." The sum was counted out on the spot, and the bond freeing him was drawn up. Then Ibn Tàlib said to the former owner, “From this moment on you must pay a salary to this young boy for herding your flocks.” A salary of two dinars a year was arranged. “Do not leave your master," Ibn Tàlib said Anally to the young boy, “and do not forget us either, for we will help you.”60 Ibn Tàlib, whom we see here generously freeing the slaves o f others to keep his image untarnished, naturally had his own land cultivated thanks to a plentiful supply o f slave labor. We learn that to free himself from a vow, linked to the trials and tribulations o f his life as qadi and his wrangles with those in power, on one occa­ sion he had to send away his wife and sell all his slaves.61 Although our sources are silent on this point, we may assume that he must immediately have bought others so as not to let his estates go un­ tended. T he available evidence combines compellingly to indicate that in the final analysis slaves formed an integral part of the agrarian scene in Ifriqiya during the period under investigation. T he only exceptions to the rule were the indigent country folk, such as Baqlya

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or Rabäh, whom we have already met. To harvest his plot of ground, the latter called upon seasonal workers (to all appearances freemen) who boasted of the strength of their arms. Patterns of Landholding. T he agrarian scene in Ifriqiya during the 3rd/9th century thus seems to be a mosaic made up of patterns of holdings of very different sizes: huge estates and more or less comfortable middle-class properties, cultivated by a large slave labor force, at little expense, bordering on a mass of small parcels of land, on which large numbers of humble, needy peasants busied them­ selves. T he enormous diversity of this agrarian mosaic was also reflected in the way of life. If the humble peasants were tied to their plots on which they painfully subsisted, the large and medium farm­ ers divided their lives between their estates and the city, where they often spent the better part of their time. We have seen that Masrüq had given his name to a whole section of Qayrawän where his residence stood. ‘Abd al-Rahmân ibn Ziyäd ibn An'urn also lived in the capital, at Bäb Nàfi4;6* similarly, the qadi Abu Muhriz lived in the Zuqäq ibn Dinar.63 Mansur al-Tunbudhl, whose estates were in the Tunis area, was governor of Tripoli; Ya'qub ibn al-Madä’ lived at court; Sahnün was the most famous master in Qayrawän, where he ended his life as qadi; and Ibn Tälib led an opulent life, also in the capital. How did all these great and middle-sized landowners supervise their farms from a distance? First, depending on the constraints imposed by their urban activities, by visiting their estates on a more or less regular basis. T he richest, like Masrüq, had residences (rab‘, pi. ribä‘) on their estates—really villas in the Classical style, or ranches, if one can hazard a comparison with certain aspects of modern life— always ready to receive them. Some, like Sahnün, personally super­ vised the cultivation o f their estates, and gave up a good deal of their time to this, at least at certain seasons of the agricultural year. But this form o f administration, which necessitates frequent journeys, and long spells on the spot, is not conceivable in the case of all the great landlords. Most often landowners like Ibn Tälib had wakils, stewards to whom they merely sent written instructions.64 Ibn An‘um received news of his farms as far away as the Orient.65 The 5rd/9th century in Ifriqiya was one of stability. Up until the overthrow of the Fatimids, the agrarian structures of the 3rd/9th century, which continued those established from the beginning of the 2nd/8th century, experienced no important fluctuations. Thanks to peace, which followed the troubles and great social erup­

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tions o f the previous century, these structures were even able to produce a rich yield. T he outlines o f the estates and the methods of farming showed a great stability, and the modifications, when they did occur, must have been in the direction of concentrating existing arrangements, favored, as we shall see, by the law. If a cer­ tain social mobility is apparent at the level of relatively medium-sized properties (illustrated by the case of Sah nun, who had risen from quite humble beginnings), the great estates—apart from very ex­ ceptional cases such as Ibn Masrüq, who stripped himself of his goods and gave the proceeds to his freed slaves—cannot have under­ gone any appreciable modification or changed hands. This would of course not include cases of violence, of which Ibyäna is a typical example. Everything encourages us to deduce that the social stratum of great landowners, which was preserved by heredity and inter­ marriage, had jealously guarded all its privileges during the whole of the 3rd/9th century. T he policies o f Ibrâhîm II, who aimed at reducing the power of the great lords without really coming to grips with the problem,66 had only undermined the structure on which the regime rested, thus indirectly leading to its downfall and the accession of the Fatimids. After the warlike adventures of the 2nd/8th century and the be­ ginning of the 3rd/9th, this class of great landowners led a gilded, outrageously opulent existence both in the country and in the city. We are told that before his conversion Ibn Masrüq “deflowered a virgin every day,”67 and if Ibn Tâlib brought his friends very pretty and expensive jawârï,68 one can imagine that he did not deprive him­ self either. Ahmad ibn ‘All ibn Humayd69 (d. between 251 and 261/865-75) kept open house at Qayrawän, had his furniture (in­ cluding two tables of pure crystal) brought from the Orient, and was a generous benefactor whose gifts in kind demanded the mobilization of more than twenty mules (naturally, coming from his own lands) to bear loads of wheat, oil, and honey. His table constantly over­ flowed with the most costly dishes. Is it surprising that Fatimid propa­ ganda, which promised an equal share for all in the Sun o f God, symbolized by the Mahdi, should have found ready ears, despite its heretical character? These agrarian and social structures, marked by the great in­ equalities that we have mentioned above, nonetheless functioned properly all through the 3rd/9th century. T here were certainly some uprisings, but these were relatively small in num ber and im-

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portance, except tor the great rebellion of the jttnd in the reign of Ziyädat Allah I. No revolt of the peasants is mentioned: the social order, as it had evolved, was accepted. Individual injustices were denounced, there was a demand lor qadis of integrity, but the social pyramid was not called into question and the overall division of wealth remained unchallenged. We shall see that respect for the law, which was presented as divine, had much to do with this acceptance of the established order. It was not disputed until the end of the cen­ tury, when in the mountains of Kabylie unrest was fomented by Shî‘î missionary work. Agricultural Production. Agricultural production had been almost constantly maintained at a highly satisfactory level. It was supported by a sizable irrigation system which, despite the total silence of our sources, must have been maintained by a plentiful and inexpensive supply of slave labor.70 During the entire century only three shortages of food are recorded,71 all of them clustered between the years 260 and 268/873 and 881. Only one took a really serious turn, and this is attested to by only a single source— the Ni/uiya of Nuwayri. This was because an Ifrîqiyan Heet carrying a cargo of grain had been captured by the Byzantine navy.72 In general, the only result of the few famines of the 3rd/9th century was an in­ crease in the cost o f wheat. T he cost of transportation, and spec­ ulation, which was not curbed by law, easily explain the sudden rise in prices. It was customary in such situations for holy men like Buhlül to sell their supplies and share the misfortune of all in their anxiety to be charitable.73 The soil of Ifriqiya, as it was divided up and farmed in the 3rd/9th century, fed its population easily. Its production was even in surplus, as a general rule, and if there were difficult situations from time to time as a result of abnormal fluctua­ tions in the weather, it cannot be said that people died of hunger. Natural and Political Disasters. At the end of the next century, famine, the real famine which kills, decimated the population. Let us read the description of an eye-witness, Raqiq (d. after 418/1027-28): In 395 (1004-5), a great calamity fell on Ilriqiya. Human misery showed its face in broad daylight: the poor perished: the rich were ruined: prices went up and foodstuffs disappeared. The country people deserted their regions: most of the houses were abandoned and there was not even anyone left to inherit them. To all these calamities were added epidemics ( ivalxV) and the plague ( tii'ùn), which carried off the greater part of the population, both rich and poor. One hardly saw people busy except caring lor or visiting

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the sick, performing the last rites for a dead person, following a funeral procession, or returning from a burial. (In Qayrawân) the bodies o f the destitute (al-tfu'afa) were gathered at Bâb Sâlim. Communal graves were dug for them, and in each grave a hundred corpses or more were buried. The number of dead in the ranks of the upper classes ttabaqät al-näs), among the scholars, the merchants, the women and children, was so high that only their Creator—the Most High!—could number them. T he mosques in Qayrawân were deserted, the public ovens and baths were still. People were even reduced to burning the doors of their houses and the rafters from their roofs. Many city dwellers and country folk emigrated to Sicily, and people went so far in these circumstances as to pay 2 dirhams for a pomegranate for a sick man, and 30 dirhams for a chicken. It is even said that in the country people ate each other. Such is the account given by Abü Ishâq al-Raqiq.74

It would not seem that this picture has been much exaggerated. From 395/1004 onward, one disaster followed another.75 T he years 409/1018-19, 413/1022-23, 425/1033-34, 432/1040-42, 447/105556, 469/1076-77, etc., can all be edged in black. In the fatwäs o f the faqlhs, there is talk only of importing grain. H. R. Idris emphasizes that “it is difficult to admit that all these ‘responsa’ only involve bad years.”76 Certainly Rome’s famous granary could no longer even feed its own population, although the population was necessarily reduced after the dreadful famine o f 395/1004-5. T o remedy the situation, reserves of gold, already depleted after the demands made upon them when Mu’izz left for Cairo, were exhausted. T he reign of Bàdïs (386-406/999-1016) ended badly. We fully share Jean Poncet’s opinion that the high point o f the dynasty should be situated before the year 395/1004,77 which suddenly revealed a situation that for num erous reasons worsened progressively. Soon after the ruinous campaigns in the central and furthest Maghrib, civil war broke out. T he death of Bädls, in the middle o f a battle against his uncle Hammäd, definitively accomplished the division o f the kingdom. T he political collapse which this division completed had been preceded by economic collapse, as revealed in the fear­ ful famine o f 395/1004-5. S. D. Goitein notes that from this time on the trade of Ifrïqiya had begun to decline.78 What is more, the merchants began to leave the country with their wives and children to establish themselves in Egypt. T he crowning event was the Hilalian invasion (448/1052), which neither those in power nor the enfeebled country could strangle, overpower, or channel. Without going so far as to describe it as a

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historic catastrophe, it can be said that the Hilalians had delivered a severe blow to an economy that was already seriously ailing. They precipitated the transform ation o f an economy, traditionally agri­ cultural and urban but undoubtedly in a state o f crisis, into a largely pastoral economy, with all the political and economic consequences that such a transform ation implies. For the peaceful life of the city dweller, they substituted the adventurous existence o f nomads, whose warlike tendencies weighed heavily on the fate o f the country for centuries. When the Sulaym were invited to settle in the coun­ try at the beginning o f the 6th/ 13th century, in the hopes that their presence would improve the situation, they only served to aggra­ vate the already serious problems. W hen they fought one another, it was to the detrim ent o f the ailing country. This was the real Hilalian catastrophe. This was the ill which paralyzed the country and made its economic, social, and political recovery impossible. Contrary to the opinion o f Jean Poncet,7' who cannot have direct access to the literature o f that period, people of that era were fully aware that they were facing a real and unprecedented disaster in the coun­ try’s history. T o convince oneself o f the depths o f their distress, and o f the misfortunes which scattered them on the roads in total destitution (when they were able to save their lives), it is only nec­ essary to read the poignant lines o f one Ibn Sharaf (d. 460/1068).80 Tim e did not heal the wounds. Anarchy became a perm anent feature o f the country, and it is only with historical perspective that Ibn Khaldün, who cannot be accused o f subjectivity—he knew the nomads well, since he had taken refuge with them on certain oc­ casions during his stormy life and even had a deep appreciation for many o f their rough-hewn qualities—measured the full breadth of the tragedy. T he effects of the “catastrophe” grew, in fact, as time went on. Insecurity became the order of the day, making re­ medial efforts useless and progressively sapping people’s energy. Many o f the peaceful peasants, infected by the disease, had to change their way o f life. In short, a new kind of thinking surfaced, one strongly influenced by the nomadic way of life. How can this trans­ formation, which profoundly modified the social structures o f a very urbanized country, not be described as a catastrophe? This process, which had developed with an implacable logic, like an irreversible mechanism, had distant origins. In it should be sought one of the causes o f the decadence of Ifnqiyan civilization, a dec­ adence that resulted in present-day underdevelopment. Behind this

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evolution, the origins o f the collapse o f the agricultural and social structures inherited from the 3rd/9th century should be examined. These structures had not been replaced soon enough by others better adapted to the new circumstances, ones able to effect efficiently a transition from the old to the new. T herein lies a line o f research that deserves to be more thoroughly explored; here it can only be sketched out in outline. Economic Decline T he middle o f the 4th/10th century saw an im portant modifica­ tion in the balance o f power in the M editerranean. In 350/961 Nicephorus Phocas seized Crete and sounded the death knell for the supremacy o f Arab fleets in the M editerranean.81 T here were no more conquests. From then on, Ifriqiya could no longer pro­ cure slaves in large enough quantities and at a low price. T here was no comparison with earlier times, when they were captured on the spot by the tens o f thousands. Penury followed plenty.88 One could still buy slaves from Italian merchants; the energetic measures promulgated by the doges and Pope Gregory VII (1073-85) to curb this trade prove that it still persisted.83 But, like the trade in strategic materials, it was an illicit trade, condem ned by the political and re­ ligious authorities,84 and therefore somewhat risky and wearing. It could not take the place o f the abundant resources o f the 2nd/ 8th and the 3rd/9th centuries and ensure a regular and economically competitive supply of slaves. It was, at best, a palliative. U nder these circumstances, it appears that the agrarian structures inherited from the past were seriously affected by the shortage o f slave labor, especially from the second half o f the 4th/ 10th century onward. T he Fatimids, who did not live up to the revolutionary promises o f their propaganda, had not overthrown everything. But the political debility that marked the end o f their rule in Ifriqiya progressively deprived the soil of Ifriqiya of “serfs.” It was the largeand medium-sized farms which particularly felt the effects of the new situation. T he upkeep of the irrigation system, which compensated for the lack o f rain and alleviated the effects o f periodic droughts, must also have been neglected or abandoned. A change in the m eth­ ods o f farming was necessary to adapt to the new situation, but it did not come soon enough or on a large enough scale to maintain the volume of yields and avoid the collapse o f agricultural produc-

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don. T his resulted in a steady drain on gold reserves, and in fre­ quent severe famines as well.85 Why this decline? Were there not enough free men available on the jo b m arket and capable o f replacing the declining supply o f slave labor by putting their energy to good use in the agricultural sector? In o th er words, was the demographic situadon unfavorable, on account o f the sapping o f manpower by wars which had succeeded one another since the accession o f the Fadmids?88 Was the old capital in slaves depleted, and could it no longer be renewed in sufficient quantity? Did the large- and medium-sized estates lie partially or totally fallow because o f this? Was this before the Hilalians came and settled, and transform ed so many plots o f land into pasturage? We can offer no certain replies based on the broad documentary evidence. But we are inclined to think that the process that had transform ed Rome’s famous granary, with a reduced populadon, to a country o f endemic famines can be explained to a great extent, by the drying u p o f the sources which had provided Ifriqiya with slaves for a long dme. It is certain that this agricultural landscape, formed by the socio­ political situation o f the 2nd/8th century and the 3rd/9th century had not changed soon enough. T he capital amassed by the landed upper classes enabled them to survive despite the diminution o f the revenues from their land, which resulted from the increasingly serious poverty o f their slave laborers. In general, the reserves of gold that the country still had at its disposal must have worked against agriculture in the end, precisely by blocking the remodification of the ancient patterns o f cultivation. On no level o f society did anyone clearly feel a pressing need to maintain the old levels o f pro­ duction at all costs. Certain brakes within the social structure must have been against it. T he great farmers, who were the most affected by the crisis, must have sought compensation by moving their capital into o ther fields and speculating on the market. T o the socioeconomic changes dem anded by the new situation, they preferred the easy solutions offered by the relative abundance o f gold, such as the pal­ liative o f imports, which moreover had the advantage o f ensuring high profits to speculators. H. R. Idris notes that in the fatwäs, “the only talk was o f contracts o f qirä4 in cash for buying grain.’’87 T he fact is that the warning bells sounded by famines, although they decimated the population, did not provoke a healthy shock

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to the system. T here is no indication that the deep origins o f the malaise were clearly understood. T he real solutions, those capable o f ensuring the full cultivation of the land following new formulas, were perhaps seen, because o f deep-seated inhibitions, as too ad­ venturous or impossible to put into practice. Probably all these fac­ tors, and others as well, worked simultaneously and in the same general direction. Apparent Prosperity. Paradoxically, this fundamentally u n ­ healthy economic situation was masked by a false affluence, undoubt­ edly due to the huge profits it brought to some speculators on the black m arket o f the period. Al-Mu‘izz ibn Bädfs wasted a lot o f money, and the waste, praised by blind and self-interested acolytes, was seen as a new zenith.8* Finally, Haydarän (443/1052) suddenly re­ vealed and simultaneously precipitated total collapse. And the Hilalians, by spreading a pastoral form o f farm ing that was exten­ sive and did not require much labor, rendered the changes that had not taken place earlier quite impossible to achieve. This gloomy picture o f the Ifriqiyan economy before and after the Hilalian invasion contrasts strongly with the ill-distributed but genuine prosperity that the country experienced in the 3rd/9th century. Seen from later centuries, the Aghlabid Ifriqiya o f Abü al-Gharânïq (250-61/864-75) took on the colors o f a lost Eldorado, and its prosperity became proverbial. “Today,” wrote the Spaniard Ibn al-Khatfi> in the 8th/14th century, “people at home say, when they quote a proverb about a peaceful reign, and when they want to describe a state as just and prosperous: It is the reign o f A büiGharäniq.”89 Apart from some rare and transient climatic accidents, the agrarian structure had not only allowed the fulfillment o f local needs, but had also ensured the production o f exportable surpluses which were sources not o f inflation and rising prices but o f real wealth. Ifriqiya at that time had a fruitful trade with all its neighbors: Christians, Muslims, and sub-Saharan blacks. Neither barriers o f religion nor war had halted trade with Sicily and Italy, which had been traditional since ancient times. As in the past, Ifriqiya continued to increase its wealth by sending its surplus oil to these areas,90 and the merchants were able to travel more or less freely in both direc­ tions, despite the hostilities. Ifriqiyan oil also went to the Maghrib and Egypt.91 In a good year Ifriqiya also exported its surplus grain, as in ancient times. T he cargoes o f several ships carrying wheat, which were unloaded by Ibn al-Hayyâq in Alexandria toward the

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end o f the eighth or the beginning of the ninth century, came from Ifriqiya.** Ifriqiya also exported the products of its industry and its mines.*3 T he caravans that crossed the Sahara probably did not carry food products; they set off, rather, with m anufactured items, especially small trading goods, and brought back ivory, gold, and, o f course, slaves who found employment by the tens o f thou­ sands in the armies o f the amirs,*4 and who seem also to have been particularly appreciated in the oasis o f Jerid.** T he Qayrawänian Saqan al-$â’igh*# m anufactured chains of gold-plated copper which were sent to the country of the Blacks ( BUM al-Sùdàn), and ‘All ibn Humayd,97 the vizier of Ziyâdat Allah I (201-23/817-38), had built up a very confortable fortune acquired largely in the ivory trade.** Law Law, to which we now turn, had never divorced itself from the economic life of the country, at least during our period and in the years that immediately followed. Mâliki Sunnism. T he first concern o f the lawyers was to set a limit to all the disputes on the rights o f landlords to their properties. The property law in Ifriqiya, precisely because o f its unique legal basis in the eyes o f Muslim law through the act o f fatly, that is the “opening” o f the country to Islam, ran the risk o f provoking inter­ minable disputes. We have seen that Sabnùn admits openly that nothing certain is known about the theoretically legal status o f the properties in Ifriqiya. In these circumstances, a decision to examine the title o f every single person to their property, and to keep the book of complaints and claims open, under the pretext o f review and o f justice, would have led to an endless process o f quibbling and corruption and wrecked the country’s economy in the name of justice and due process. Wisely, Ifrlqiyan Mâliki law gave its sup­ port to maintaining the status quo ante, that is, to economic and social stability. “In the final analysis and after careful study,” Sabnùn pronounces, “we think that it is right to confirm the status quo hal­ lowed by centuries o f occupation. In particular, unless it is a ques­ tion o f multiple, contradictory accounts, or o f estates taken over by force, o r whose owners have been subject to measures allowing arbitrary expulsion, one must confirm the occupants in the owner­ ship o f their land, in accordance with the well-known system o f en­ dowments after deduction of one-fifth, which we know, from the repercussions that have come down to us across the centuries, to

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have been effectively applied. In fact, there does not exist in Ifriqiya an estate whose neighbors cannot agree on the explanation o f its founding and origins. And it is actually very rare that this kind of thing escapes the notice o f the occupants and their neighbors.”** This text shows clearly that the estates alluded to were those which had been awarded to the conquerors by virtue o f the act o f conquest. It undoubtedly concerns the great estates, above all, which were objects o f envy for those in power, that is, the amirs, as is evident from the appropriation o f Ibyäna, mentioned above, by Ibrâhîm II in 275/888-89. O ther im portant estates must have changed hands prior to this date (Sabnün, it should be remembered, died in 240/854) by the same methods o f violence, that is by the use o f extortion and expulsion, to which reference is made in the text, and for which methods alone a procedure o f review and eventual re-establishment o f the form er owners in their lost rights is allowed. By the m outh o f the most eminent jurist o f the age, the law had in short declared itself on the side o f order and social and economic equilibrium by confirming the accomplished fact. T he social and polidcal struc­ tures inherited from the fath, from the conquest, were legalized and perpetuated. T he law was thus brought, by virtue of the sacred principle of respect for private property, to align itself in fact with the large landowners, to whom it offered the guarantees o f law against all forms o f dispute, expropriation, and pillage. It could not be otherwise in the context o f the period, for any other decision would inevitably have led to anarchy. T he law opted for order and social tranquillity. Sunnism was not Khärijism; it was not in its nature to be revolutionary. One should, however, be explicit and avoid any misunderstanding. If this option, through fear o f adventurers, in fact led to a kind o f sanctification o f private property, whatever its dimensions and origins might be, it did not on this account put the law at the service o f those in power and the lawyers in their pay. Many indeed were the qadis, such as Asad ibn al-Furât, Sahnün, and *Isä ibn Miskin,100 who de­ fended their independence against all forms o f pressure, including those that came from the court, and brought all their weight to bear, with integrity, courage, and obstinacy, on the side o f the weak and oppressed. T he law, in short, sought to be equal for all, even when it upheld situations marked by profound inequalities. Its provisions with regard to agrarian structures, born o f half a century o f war pro­

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longed by a series of uprisings, violence, and different upheavals, are a mine o f information both on these structures and on the or­ ganization o f agricultural life in general. The Hanafi School. It should first be made clear that we only have a single voice at our disposal, that o f Mâlikï Sunnism. T he 3rd/9th century in Ifrlqiya was marked by a great burgeoning o f legal documents. We should rem em ber in passing that this activity was not un d er state control, since in principle the state did not legis­ late. In these conditions, the first school to dominate the legal scene was that o f the Hanafi discipline. T he jurists who professed Hanafism were members o f the majority until the middle o f the 3rd/9th century at least,101 and the qadis, who always applied the solutions o f their own school, were at first essentially chosen from among their ranks. It is therefore regrettable that we possess no Hanafi legal text dating back to the 3rd/9th century in Ifrlqiya, not even the Asadiya,102 which did however represent a Hanafi-Mâlikï compromise and of which only a few pages still survive. Aside from the legal activities of the Hanafis, which must have found expression through num er­ ous provisions relating to agricultural law, the legal activities o f the Mu'tazilites103 should also be noted. If they did not have a large hearing in the crowd, they had the court on their side, and doubt­ less many elite groups as well. As they had supplied num erous qadis to the Aghlabids, they must have exercised a considerable influence on everything having to do with justice, including the agricultural sector, which is our primary interest here. Finally, the Ibâdîs should not be overlooked. It is true that they were not rep­ resented by a single qadi in Ifrlqiya in the 3rd/9th century, and con­ sequently never had the opportunity to put their ideas into prac­ tice, at least officially. But they had nevertheless been active,104 and they had been able to expound their theories freely for a long time, even in the Great Mosque o f Qayrawän, before Sahnün, who was named qadi in 234/849, broke up their circle.105 They must have influenced all forms o f activity, at least in the heart o f their own com­ munities, which were capable o f organization in order to avoid prac­ tically all official jurisdiction.106 This means that agricultural activ­ ities m ust have had to bend in turn, o r sometimes even simultaneous­ ly, to legal provisions,107 which were rather different, and varied in their degree o f flexibility or severity, and which authorized or forbade certain forms o f transaction or cultivation depending on the beliefs o f the school that was in power.

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The Mudawwana. O f all these provisions, we possess only those codified in the Mudawwana. A unique document o f its kind, the Mudawwana was also up until then an insufficiently exploited doc­ ument. T he text is obviously not accommodadng; it belongs to that category o f documents that historians have still not learned to m anip­ ulate properly, and toward which, because o f the reputation they have gained for being theoretical and unrelated to reality, they re­ tain a large measure o f suspicion. This suspicion, particularly in the case o f the Mudawwana,10* is absolutely unjustified. It is closer in fact to a code o f jurisprudence than a legal encyclopedia. It is a huge compendium o f aqwäl, that is, replies or solutions, to real problems that cropped up in concrete form in daily life. Sahnün, and all his disciples after him, had drawn on the Mudawwana to resolve suits that had nothing imaginary about them. T he historian would therefore be quite wrong to despise them. O ur only regret is not to have other similar anthologies at our disposal reflecting the leanings o f other legal schools. We shall examine in turn the treatm ent in the Mudaunvana of the shufa, the qisma, the ‘drâya, and the minha, and other questions connected with farming the land. T he sh u fa is the right o f pre-emption, exercised in principle only on real estate.109 “T here can be no sh u fa except when it is a question o f the sale o f houses, lands, palm-trees, o r other categories o f tree.”110 Certain things are specifically excluded from the shufa, such as flocks, ships, fabrics and all consumer goods in general. U nder cer­ tain circumstances, fruit not yet gathered can nevertheless be the object o f a sh u fa ,111 but never harvests o f grain, or mills,119 even those installed on water courses. T he sh u fa is also exercised on goods that are held in common and are indivisible.113 T he process is set in motion when one or several parts o f the property are put up for sale. This situation can occur in two cases: when an associate wants to leave an association, or when a legatee wants to realize his inheritance. T he sh u fa then works in favor o f the partner o r partners remaining, who can exer­ cise their right o f pre-emption and have priority in buying the part of the property that is the object o f transfer. This prerogative is exercised by all those who have rights, including the dhimmis.114 But all the shaft do not enjoy the same degree o f priority. In the case o f inheritance, in particular, it is the legatees who are the clos­ est relatives to the deceased who have first call,115 and that does not always happten without debate, as situations can be very complicated.

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Questions of price arise too and often occasional multiple disputes, since fraudulent transactions are not uncommon. As a general rule, it is the statements o f the interested third party which are held to be reliable,110 and the shaft*, if he wishes to exercise his right, must buy at the price agreed to by the latter. But one must also take the statements of the seller into account, and eventually have recourse to investigations and assessments.117 It is easy to imagine the inter­ minable proceedings that all this can produce. T he sh u f a must also be exercised to include the whole o f the part of the property which is up for sale. T he shaft* could not claim his right over a part of that property detached from the whole. Sabnûn asks Ibn al-Qâsim the following question on this point: Let us look at the case of three men who own (shares): the first in a palm grove and lands, the second in a village, and the third in houses. The three sell the entirety of their shares, as a unit, to a third party. The shaft* for the village, the palm grove, and the houses in question is the same man. He proposes to take (the share) consdtuted by the palm grove, which is up for sale, at the price suggested, excluding the village and the houses. The third party buyer calls upon him to buy it all, or to abandon it all.110

What should be done in this case? Ibn al-Qâsim does not have a ready answer. Such a situation, at the period when he had absorbed the teaching of Màlik, had probably never come up in Egypt or Medina. He therefore reasons by analogy, to come to the conclu­ sion that the shaft* must take everything or leave everything. It is obvious from what precedes that the shufa, to which long exegeses are devoted in the Mudavrwana—a sure sign of the import­ ant part that it played at that period—worked against the dismember­ ment o f property. It even favored its concentration in the same hands. In doing this, it operated in favor of the maintenance and reinforcement o f the great estate, which often exceeded the di­ mensions o f a village, which confirms what we had noted elsewhere. T he sh u fa bears witness also to the existence of common and in­ divisible family estates, farmed no doubt under the guidance of the eldest in the family, or of the most em inent personage of the gens. Thanks to the possibilities offered by the shufa, the family inheritance was defended against the intrusion o f strangers, the share o f those selling out being bought as a first option by those who had priority, and were the most qualified among the close relatives. In the case o f lands that were not inherited, but rather acquired and farm ed in common, it offered the holders of the parts, always

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by the mechanism o f priority rights in buying, the chance o f en­ larging their assets as departures cut down on the num ber o f asso­ ciates. This process, which at the term o f its evolution ended by concentrating the property in the hands o f one individual, could not but favor the constitution o f great estates, even where they had not existed previously. T h e possibilities offered by the sh u f a were all the more real since the conditions governing its application clearly favored the shaft*. T he latter could, in fact, exercise his right as soon as an agreem ent o f sale was made, regardless o f whether o r not this sale was carried out.119 And above all, he had the option o f retaining this right and o f using it a year, or even longer, after the execution o f the sale.190 T h e buyer o f one part o f an estate that was indivisible and held in common was thus never certain o f a deal, particularly if, at the moment o f closing the sale, a possible shaft* was absent. In this case, the latter could always, in fact, use his absence as an argum ent to call the sale into question to his benefit, however much time had elapsed.191 He could equally use his ignorance o f the sale as an argum ent with the same success. In practical terms, the delay allowed before the ex­ piration o f pre-emptive rights was so long, so imprecise, and so sub­ ject to dispute that it always left the door open for the return o f a parcel o f land that had fallen into the hands o f strangers to the bosom o f the family circle unless one could prove that the shaft* had made a tacit renunciation of his right of s h u f‘a.199 It also happened that the part that was sold underw ent m ore or less im portant changes in the hands o f its new owner. If the latter, for example, had sown, he had the right to harvest without paying rent to the shaft*, who for his part had retained the option o f bring­ ing the sh u fa into play. He retained this option even if the new owner had planted the land in question with palm trees or other fruit trees, but was obliged, in addition to the reim bursement o f the p u r­ chase price, to pay damages to the dispossessed buyer. In short, it is clear that the legislator had wished, depending on the case, to guarantee the integrity o f the family inheritance, or when it was a question o f common enterprise having an association as its basis, the interests of the founding partners. But the mechanism o f the shufa, because of the real threat it posed to the validity of transactions, could be a very serious source o f in­ stability and could dangerously affect economic activity. So the legislator also provided a proper remedy to this drawback. MalikI

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law, as it is expressed in the Mudawwana, affirms the fact quite force* fully: “No sh u fa for anything which has been subject to a previous division."1** It is enough, therefore, to arrange in advance for the division o f property originally held as common and indivisible, to escape the sh u fa and to be able eventually to dispose o f it in full security and without risk o f dispute. T h e qisma, the sharing of property, habitually poses numerous thorny questions that it would be tedious to consider in their en­ tirety here. We should simply indicate that Sahnün dedicates two voluminous chapters of his Mudawwana to it124 and content our­ selves with some examples that confirm the features o f the agricultural scene in Ifriqiya that we have already identified.

Question: Consider the case of two brothers who inherit a village including houses, trees, and bare terrain ( ard baydà’). The two brothers want to divide it between them. How should it be done? Answer: The houses must be divided following the procedure already indicated elsewhere in such cases. The same applies to the land; one must proceed in the way I have already indicated to you on this matter. Question: Can you recall to me the procedure in connection with the bare terrain? Answer: You survey the lands and estimate their quality, their market value, and their proximity to each other. Afterwards you divide them, taking all these criteria into account, and give each one his share, grouped in the same area. If, on the other hand, the land in question presents dif­ ferences that are too marked, each of the two legatees will receive his share of each part separately. The same thing happens when houses or palm trees are involved. Question: How can the criterion of proximity o f one parcel o f land in relation to another be estimated? Answer: Mälik has not given us any definite guideline on this subject. Ibn al-Qäsim added subsequently: I think nevertheless that one can con­ sider a mile, or something equivalent to it. as a close distance when orchards (ial-hawä’H) or land is involved. Question: And the trees belonging to a village inherited by the two brothers: how would Mälik divide them between them? First, in the case where the trees are of different kinds—apple trees, pomegranate trees, peach trees, citron trees and other fruit trees—and are mixed in the same plantation; then when they are grouped by species in separate orchards? Answer: On this specific point, I heard nothing from Malik’s lips. But I myself think that if the trees are mixed, as you say, in a single plantation (hait), the division should be accomplished by evaluation, and by giving to each one a distinct part in the same place. If, on the other hand, several separate orchards ( ajinna) are involved, with apple trees set apart, and

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pomegranates and other fruit trees all grouped together separately, and if each orchard can be divided between the inheritors, then the division should be done by valuation, and each one is given, in each orchard, the part which is his.1** This passage is not the only one where the thorny problem raised by the division o f the huge estates, as large as a village and larger, is brought up. Sahnün returns to the problem elsewhere.1** He also considers the division of stock and slaves,1*7 a division that raises less problems than those of the lands to which the animal and human stock is bound. Can one oppose the division? No. Even if the individual, among several legatees or associates, wishes it; even if the land is too small and its division renders it impossible to cultivate. Question: When a small plot of land is involved, belonging in common to several persons, and if the part which is due to each of these people, once the plot is divided, is so small that it is of no use, should one, in Malik’s opinion, proceed to the division or not? Answer: Malik said: one must proceed to the division, even if some people are opposed to it. As soon as a division is asked for, even if the demand is formulated by only one person, one must proceed with it.1*'

T he division of land—whether it concerns huge estates or little plots, which stood side by side in Ifriqiya in the 3rd/9th century—often raised complex legal and technical problems. And these divisions should be, in the case of litigation, says Sahnün, in the exclusive jurisdiction o f the qadi, outside the authority of the prefect o f police ($âhib al-Shurta),129 unless the latter is acting under the orders o f the qadi. One should also employ experts (qussâm),130 whose com­ pensation is most often covered in practice by the beneficiaries. Small and large landowners, for differing reasons, often found themselves in situations that did not allow them to cultivate their properties personally. T hen they employed musâqât, sharecropping. In theory, the contract o f musâqât cannot be agreed upon, if the etymological sense of the expression is respected, unless there is irrigation. In fact, this kind o f contract can be extended to dry cul­ tivation—such as olive trees and cereals—which need the care that justifies it.131 This contract of cultivation generally leaves the tenant ( al-'âmil) with half the crop. But this proposition can vary depending on the wish o f the parties.13* Basically, everything depends on the assets which the owner o f the land and the tenant respectively bring to the agreement. T he latter can bring just his labor, but can also provide implements and stock, especially animals and slaves. At

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the time when the agreement is signed, all these points must be covered in detail. Question: A tenant signs a sharecropping contract (musäqät) for palms or other trees. Are all the labor costs the tenant’s responsibility, in Malik's doctrine? Answer: Yes, unless there are already animals and slaves in the orchard concerned who are already engaged in its cultivation. In this case, there is no objection to their continuing to do so. Question: If on the one hand the tenant ( al-musàqî) makes their main­ tenance of the orchard a condition of the contract, and if on the other the owner o f the land wants to withdraw them, has the latter, in Malik’s opinion, the right to effect this withdrawal? Answer: Mälik says on this point: When the contract is drawn up and the terms are fixed, the owner of the land does not have the right to withdraw them. Nor can he stipulate, “I give the orchard on lease ( musâqàtan) on the condition of withdrawing my slaves and animals." But if he withdraws them beforehand and subsequently offers the orchard for rent, there is no objection to his acting in this way.133

This passage, and others too,134 confirms the use on a large scale of slave labor in Ifnqiyan farming. This raises numerous legal prob­ lems. Should the owner or the tenant, depending on the case, re­ place slaves who have died during the term o f the contract?135 Who is responsible for the upkeep of these slaves?136 Can they be sup­ ported on the farm given for rent? In general, it is the responsibility of the tenant to meet the needs of animals and slaves used in farming), whether they are provided by himself or the landowner. And it can even happen that a slave ( al-'abd al-ma’dhün lahuß'l-tijära), taking the role in some way of supervisor, or of deputy, acting on the author­ ity of his master, himself signs sharecropping contracts.137 This method of farming must have suited all those who could not person­ ally attend to their lands, especially rich merchants who had invested a part of their profits in real estate, and many of the great landowners whose occupations in town demanded much of their time. T he ‘arâya, 138 and the minha, which the Mudaunvana discusses at some length, must also correspond to certain kinds o f farming, although this is never clearly stated. The 'ariya or ‘àriya (pi. 'arâyâ) is certainly presented as a gift (hiba). In theory, it consists in offer­ ing the produce of a certain num ber of orchard trees to a third party, before the fruit is ripe and the harvest gathered in. T he owner never­ theless retains the option of buying back the subject of the gift from the beneficiary, by offering him, after valuation, the equal value of this gift in kind or in cash. The m inha139 is a kind o f ‘arïya that is

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specially concerned with livestock: camels, sheep, and cattle. It in­ volves offering a third party, for a limited period, the interest in a certain num ber o f animals, an interest which can be bought back before the expiration o f the contract. T he ‘ariya and the m inha no doubt covered certain agricultural practices. They must have constituted a kind o f payment, in kind and at an appointed time, for services rendered, with the landowner always retaining the opdon o f recovering his goods if there was an upturn in his liquidity o r his reserves. Agricultural work also naturally dem anded the use o f hiring or rendng land and hiring animals or services. T he land was divided into two categories: what was irrigated and what was not. In general, the rent o f irrigated land was due immediately upon the signing o f the contract,140 since no climatic risks were involved. T he rent on land given over to dry farming, on the other hand, was only payable once the capacity of labor and seeds were insured.141 For these lands, the renting, moreover, could only be firmly agreed on for one year, and in case o f natural disaster—drought, flooding, locusts, devas­ tation due to the passing o f armies, plant diseases, etc.—total or partial refund o f the rent was guaranteed to the tenant, depending on the scale o f the dam age.14* T he sensitivity o f Muslim law to un­ foreseen circumstances and risks is noticeable in all these provisions. It should also be said that a plot o f land rented out for one kind of cultivation could not be used for another kind, which would cause greater impoverishment o f the soil.143 It was also customary to hire animals: a cow, for example, to carry out the plowing o r to benefit from her milk,144 o r a stud to cover fe­ males.145 All these details lead us to the heart o f life as it was led by small landowners, who were needy, without capital, and did not have the means of production or the means of developing their little plots o f land. Many services were also hired from freem en or slaves. These services were often paid in kind. For example, the harvest was in­ sured by a share o f the yield, sometimes even half.146 These prac­ tices are still current today. T he services o f a shepherd were hired for a year147 in return for payment in cash or kind.148 Many slaves were also hired to cover the needs of agricultural life,149 and it some­ times happened that they were given once, for life,150 just like a house. A slave could be hired for carrying a harvest151 or for other jobs.152 These slaves often worked hard during the day and spent part o f the night grinding the grain.153 They seem to have been especially prized as shepherds,154 which confirms what we have seen

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elsewhere. They were hired from their masters and entrusted with herding o f the flocks. And to make this hiring less burdensom e, they could be authorized to gather together the animals belong­ ing to several landowners. Naturally, small landowners were in­ volved. In the case o f negligence, it was the master o f the hired slave— had the hiring been done without his knowledge—who was re­ sponsible for loss and had to pay compensation. Apart from cases of real negligence, properly ascertained, the responsibility o f the shepherd was never binding. In particular, he was never respon­ sible for losses due to theft o r to any other accident. In this regard, and unless there was proof to the contrary, the shepherd’s state­ ments were believed. All these methods o f farming—which naturally did not concern either the large- or medium-sized farm ers, who had far m ore extensive possibilities for developing their estates—offer us insights concerning this class o f small farmers, peasants with­ out land o r stock, making a m eager living by using all kinds o f ex­ pedients, which increased their dependence on those who possessed, apart from the land, the means o f production. More specifically, they owned animal and hum an resources offered for hire on oc­ casion. Agricultural Decline T he agricultural landscape in Ifrïqiya during the 3rd/9th cen­ tury, as revealed to us essentially through the complementary ac­ counts o f biographical and legal sources, was undoubtedly marked by very profound and flagrant inequalities. It was the landscape of a society which was ethnically and economically very heterogeneous. Did these inequalities have their origins in the policies followed from the Muslim conquest onward? O r had these policies merely pro­ longed existing structures by replacing, on the estates which had fallen vacant because o f war, the form er farm ers by others chosen from am ong the victors, who had to be rewarded for services ren­ dered on the battlefield? In other words, did the large estates of the 3rd/9th century, those of the amirs and big landowners, merely mask o r prolong the ancient imperial estate, or the form er latifundia? This question cannot be answered with any degree o f certainty until the preceding period of the Muslim conquest, which is the most obscure period o f Ifriqiyan history, has been more thoroughly ex­ amined and illum inated.155 Thanks to the abundance o f slave labor, the agrarian structures of the 3rd/9th century in Ifriqiya had functioned perfectly and en-

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as oil was concerned. Prosperity was real. It was certainly not equally so for everyone. But if inbreeding, favored by the law, seems to have been the rule as far as the great estates were concerned, Ifriqiyan society of that period was still not totally restrictive. It often hap­ pened that people o f most modest origins were able to acquire very’ comfortable estates, and it is certain that social mobility was even more noticeable and more widespread in the third sector, which we have barely touched on. Wealth, if it was ill-distributed, was no longer the exclusive privilege o f the descendants o f the illustrious veterans. Why did this prosperity finally disintegrate? Why was the end of the next century marked by a catastrophic increase in the am ount of land lying fallow and the beginning o f an era o f famines? T here are many reasons. But we believe that one must look for them par­ ticularly in the changes that occurred in the balance o f power in the M editerranean from the middle o f the 4th/ 10th century on­ ward. This balance was upset in favor o f Byzantium, and o f Christian­ ity in general. This rupture, in making slaves a much rarer com­ modity, must have had serious repercussions on the Ifriqiyan econ­ omy, and especially on the agricultural sector, which was not able to change in time and adapt itself to the new situation. Why did the change not take place? Perhaps because the heavy tax burden im­ posed by the Fatimids, or more particularly by the Zirids156—paying tribute to Cairo and involvement in ruinous expeditions in central and furthest Maghrib—made this change impractical. T he huge num ber o f salaries that had now to be included in the cost of farm ­ ing, when added to the taxes, probably ruined the profit margin on land, at least the mediocre areas. In certain cases it had certainly become more profitable not to cultivate it. T he state could have re­ acted to the situation by introducing lower taxes, and by extending other incentives to agriculture. But it seems that the state showed total ineptitude. Perhaps too, the palliatives o f imports, facilitated by the relative abundance o f gold, had masked the real problems and the proper solutions all the more easily, since speculation was thriving on it on every level. T he demographic situation was prob­ ably not favorable either, and became increasingly unfavorable after the crises o f 395/1004-5. T he third sector, traditionally over­ developed, absorbed a labor force that could otherwise have filled the manpower requirements of agriculture and taken up where the disappearing slaves left off. Briefly, several factors worked in the same direction. T he decline o f agriculture, which had no doubt begun from the middle o f the 4th/10th century onward, reached

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undeniably catastrophic proportions after the great famine o f 395/ 1004-5. Finally, the Hilalians gave it the death blow. They found many plots of land lying fallow, and thus had no difficulty in accentuat­ ing the movement, and, above all, in giving it an irreversible character and in committing the country to a largely pastoral trend that showed itself to be harmful to the country’s evolution on every level. And thus it is that agriculture, which in the 3rd/9th century was a source of power and immense wealth, became the sole resource of the weak in the time o f Ibn Khaldun. T he latter entitled the eighth section of Chapter 5 o f his Muqaddima: “On agriculture, the means of sub­ sistence for humble folk and peaceful country people.”157 What a road had been traveled since the time when Mançür, lord o f Tunbudha, made the throne of the Aghlabids tremble!

NOTES 1. See Abu Ja’far al-Dâwudî, Kitàb al-amwâl, partial Irans. H. H. AbdulWahab and F. Dachraoui as “Le régime foncier en Sicile au Moyen Âge," Études d’orientalisme dédiées à la mémoire de Léi'i-Provençal (Paris 1962), II 405-9, 428-29. See also H. Moues, “Al-Tanzïm al-idâri wa’l-mâli liII riqiya wa’l-Maghrib khilâla *a$r al-wulât,” Majallat kulliyat al-àdàb (Kuwait), I (1973), pp. 94-97. 2. The chronology is somewhat uncertain; see E l2, III, 271, s.v. Hassan ibn al-Nu‘män. 3. In the sources we find, for example, wada'a al-kharâj ‘alâ 'ajam Ifriqiya (he imposed the khardj on the natives of Ifriqiya), according to Ibn ‘AI k I al-Hakam, Futfthi Ifriqiya wa'l-Andalus, partial trans. A. Gateau as Conquête de l’Afrique du Nord et de l'Espagne (Algiers 1947), pp. 80-81; but on the other hand, wa-sâlaha ‘alà al-kharâj, wa-kalabahu 'alâ ‘ajam IJriqiya (he negotiated the kharäj and made a pact on this issue with the natives of Ifriqiya), in the version recorded by Ibn 'Idhftrï, Bayân al-mughrib, ed. G. S. Colin and É. Lévi-Provençal (Leiden 1948-51), I, 38. The first statement suggests an ‘unwa system of land, the second a sulh system. Such are the problems underlying the uncertainty conceded by Sahnün. It should be noted, how’ever, that Ibn ‘Abd al-Hakam had a definite bias toward solutions of force, which explains his interpretations of the facts. This example is consciously chosen in view of the precise legal implications clearly under­ scored by R. Brunschvig in his article. “Ibn *Abd al-Hakam et la conquête de l’Afrique du Nord par les Arabes: étude critique,” AIEO, VI (194247), pp. 108-55. The version preserved by Ibn ‘Idhâri seems, on the other hand, to be more in line with the general policy of Idassän. who sought to conciliate the natives, and is thus the one I prefer. It should be borne in mind that this policy, like that of Abü’l-Muhâjir Dinar in the past, aroused displeasure in high places and resulted in Hassân's recall and replace­ ment by Müsä ibn Nu$ayr, who introduced a more severe policy.

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4. Mâlikï, Riyâd al-nufüs, ed. H. Mones (Cairo 1951), 1, 36. 5. Ibn ‘Abd al-Hakam, Futùh, pp. 110 f.; Ibn ‘Idhâri, Bayân, I, 44-46. 6. T he accession o f the Fatimids (296/909) must have led to profound changes, with all those who had actively supported the Aghlabids losing their estates. T he upheaval certainly became even more marked later under the Zirids. Whatever traces remained o f the old system disappeared under the impact of the Hilalian invasion (443/1052). 7. Mâlikï, Riyâd. 1. 126-27; Ibn Nâjï, Ma'âlim al-îmàn (Tunis 1902-3), I. 245-46. 8. Al-Masrüqïn still exists, not far from the railway station o f Sidi El-Hani. on the road from Qayrawân to Sousse. T he ethnic surname derived from it. al-Masrüqî, is still in use. 9. See below, n. 16. 10. A bûVArab, Tabaqât, ed. Mohammed ben Cheneb (Paris 1915), p. 234; Mâlikï, Riyâd, I, 81 f.; Ibn Nâjï, Ma’âlim, I, 210 f.; Ibn ‘Idhâri, Bayân, I, 49; Khayr al-DIn al-Ziriklï, Al-A’lâm (Cairo 1954-59), V III, 198. 11. Mâlikï, Riyâd, I< 81; Ibn Nâjï, Ma'âlim, I, 211. Ibn Nâjï adds that his descendants had continued to own important property in Qayrawân until the town was ruined. 12. Mâlikï, Riyâd, I» 81; Ibn Nâjï, Ma'âlim, I, 197. After the assassination o f Yazïd ibn Abï Muslim (103/721-22), it was suggested to him that be­ cause of his rank and the esteem in which he was held, he should provision­ ally assume power in Qayrawân while awaiting the nomination o f a new governor (Ibn ‘Idhâri, Bayân, I, 49). 13. Constantinople was besieged in 50/670 and in 96-98/714-16. It is not possible to say with certainty in which of these two sieges Mughïra (d. about 105/723) had taken part. 14. Ed. and trans. H. R. Idris as Manâqib d'Abu Ishâq al-Jabanyânï (Paris 1959). 15. In his Kitâb al-mamâlik wa'l-masâlik (trans. M. de Slane as Descrip­ tion de l’Afrique septentrionale, repr. Paris 1965, p. 20 o f the Arabie text, p. 46 o f the translation), Bakri cites six Maoris in the Sfax area, none o f which can definitely be identified with the one that concerns us here. It is dan­ gerous under these circumstances to identify Mahris ‘Ali or al-Mahris al-Jadïd with the present town of Mahares (35 km south of Sfax), as Idris has done; see Manâqib, p. 198, n. 9. ‘Iyäd (see Biographies Aghlabides, ed. M. Talbi, Tunis 1968, p. 320) and Tïjànï (Rihla, Tunis 1958, p. 69) are o f no help, since they simply reproduce what Labïdï says. 16. Labïdï, Manâqib, p. 3. Idris’ translation (op. cit., p. 198) here does not take into account the actual situation. The word manzil, used alone o r in connection with the name of a tribe or person, always has the meaning of “village” or “town” in Tunisia (El-Menzel, Menzel Bou Zelfa, Menzel Djemil, Menzel Témime, and more recently Menzel Chaker and Menzel Bourguiba). The mention o f Jabanyäna (Djebeniana), a town that still survives on the coast 35 km north of Sfax. as being among the manâzil

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belonging to *Ali ibn Aslam, eliminates any further doubt as to (he mean­ ing of this word. It should be noted here that in the Madärik of ‘lyäd (see Talbi, Biographies Aghlabides, p. 320), one reads Hassâna instead o f Jabanyäna. surely because of a mistake by the copyist. The meaning of riba', the plural of mb', still remains to be determined. This word is applied to comfortable houses and the space around them. Ibn Manztir ( Lisân al-'arab, Beirut 1956, V III, 102) provides several expressions which confirm this sense, hence the translation above. 17. Labîdl, Manâqib, p. 2. The translation of Idris (op. cit., p. 196) can­ not be accepted here. The question is not one of high office, but rather of gifts o f land; for this interpretation, which is more in keeping with the context, see Ibn Man^ûr, Lisân, VII, 288 f. 18. See Labîdl, Manâqib, p. 2 (trails, p. 197), and n. 4. 19. On him see Talbi, L'Émirat Aghlabide (Paris 1966), pp. 170-99. 20. See Ibn al-Abbâr, Kitâb al-hulla al-si\arâ’, ed. H. Monés (Cairo 1963), II. 382. 21. On this uprising of the feudal lords, see Talbi. L'Émirat Aghlabide. pp. 290-96. 22. Talbi, L’Émirat Aghlabide, pp. 294 f. 23. Op. cit., p. 285. 24. Màlikî, Riyâd, I, 382-83. 25. Ibn al-Abbâr, iiulla, I. 182, 183; see also Talbi, L'Émirat Aghlabide, p. 230. 26. Al-Qâçlî al-Nu‘män, Iftitäh al-da‘wa, ed. YV. al-Qâdï (Beirut 1970), pp. 90 f. 27. Ibn ‘Idhàrï, Bayân, I, 169; A. l.ézine, Mahdiya: recherches d’archéologie islamique (Paris 1965), pp. 16 ff. 28. Talbi, Biographies Aghlabides, p. 215. To evaluate the differences in wealth, it may be recalled that Sahnun's annual revenue, which was said to be comfortable, amounted to 500 dinars. 29. Mâlikï, Riyâd, L 380; Ibn Näjl, Ma'àlim, II. 109. 30. Màlikî, Riyâd, quoted by M. Amari, Biblioteca Arabo-Sicula (Arabic text, Leipzig 1857), Appendix, p. 3. 31. This phenomenon is certainly not exclusively peculiar to Ifriqiya. Research in the Orient could lead to similar findings. Note, for example, that “the rich village of Rawän, near Baikh, belonged to Yah yä ibn Khälid personally“ ( EI 2, 1, 1033, s.v. Barämika). 32. Màlikî, Riyâd, I. 254; Talbi, Biographies Aghlabides, pp. 87 ff. 33. Talbi, Biographies Aghlabides, pp. 97, 123, 126. 127. 34. Op. cit., p. 163. 35. Op. cit., p. 198. 36. Op. cit., p. 128. 37. Màlikî, Riyâd, I, 328; Talbi, op. cit., p. 163.

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38. To clarify our ideas here, it should be mentioned that landowners holding 120 or 170 hectares are not uncommon even today, and that Tunisian olive groves, which have doubled in number since independence, comprise some 55 million trees. It would seem that in the 3rd/9th century the trees were even more numerous. Sahnün gives us an example o f the enormous effort of planting, but the owners of middle-sized properties naturally did not all go in for this activity only. 39. Mälikl, Riyäd, I, 213; Talbi, Biographies Aghlabides, p. 31. 40. Mâlikï, Riyàd, I, 215. Rabäh died at the age of 38; on him see Mälikl, Riyäd, 1, 210-22; Abü'l-'Arab, Tubaqät, pp. 45-52. 41. Talbi. Biographies Aghlabides, p. 168. 42. Ibn ‘Abd al-fia kam, Futüh, p. 86; Ibn ‘Idhäri, Bayàn, I, 40, 43; Talbi. L'Émirat Aghlabide, pp. 32-35. 43. M. Talbi, “Dar $inä‘at Tunis,” in Al-Sha'b, April-May 1967, pp. 22 ff. 44. Talbi, L'Émirat Aghlabide, pp. 35-41. 45. Op. cit., pp. 386-89, 416 ff. 46. G. Musca, L'emirato di Bari, 847-871 (Bari 1964), pp. 70 f. Musca be­ lieves that the number 9,000 is exaggerated, particularly because of the capacity o f the ships, which, even if the slaves were packed in like sardines, could only carry 1,500 each. Note, on this point, that Balawl, the author of Tàj al-mafriq (MS preserved in the BN in Tunis, no. 15060, fol. 24r), tells us that he had embarked at Tunis for the Orient on 17 Rabf II 737/23 November 1336, on a sailing ship carrying 1,000 other passengers. Had the capacity of ships grown so much since the earlier Middle Ages? H. Ahrweiler ( Byzance et la Mer, Paris 1966, p. 413) (joints out that in the ninth and tenth centuries, the same expression, for instance dromon or chélandia, can indicate a small, medium-sized, or large ship of the same class. She concludes that “it is therefore pointless to try to estimate the dimensions and crew serving on a dromon-chélandia." She does note, however, that “the largest important battle ships had two rows of oars . . . and a hundred oarsmen, as well as a crew of 200.” We may conclude that large boats capable of carrying 1,000 men were in existence from the High Middle Ages onward. 47. R. S. Lopez, Medieval Trade in the Mediterranean World (London 1955). p. 34; see also Talbi, L'Émirat Aghlabide, p. 532, and n. 4. 48. Yves Lacoste thus writes, for example, with regard to medieval North African society: “Nor is it a question of a slave society; slaves are num er­ ous there, but they hardly participate at all in production.” See his Ibn Khaldoun, naissance de l'histoire, passé du tiers-monde (Paris 1966), p. 37. 49. Talbi, L’Émirat Aghlabide, pp. 440, 462. For this period we have been able to find some precise details on prices. A young shepherd slave cost ten dinars (Talbi, Biographies Aghlabides, p. 214); a jâriya, or slave girl, 40 dinars {ibid., p. 219); a very beautiful young jâriya, 80 dinars (ibid., p. 216). For the sake of comparison, we should here add that at precisely the same time a modest one-room lodging cost 20 dinars, and that a bar­ ley loaf ( suit) was worth one dirham (ibid., p. 219). These prices roughly correspond to those found for the same period in the Orient by F.. Ashtor,

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Histoire des prix et des salaires dans l’Orient médiéval (Paris 1969), pp. 56, 58. 87 f.. 90 f. This information does not seem wholly convincing (see below, n. 60). It is obvious, however, according to the different accounts found in the Orient as well as in the Muslim West, that a good slave was not worth more than a good mule. When slave labor was plentiful, for instance after mili­ tary victories or successful pirate raids, a slave was even cheaper. This is a constant that can be verified with confidence in more recent times. As noted for another area of Muslim Africa: “Oversupply cuts prices. In the glutted market of Bagirmi (at the southern end of Lake Chad), in 1878, old men could be purchased for two to three dollars; women, old or young, for five; children of six or eight could be exchanged for an ordinary Bagirmi o r Bornu shirt, which in Kuka cost three-quarters of a dollar. A comparable glut was recorded after a successful campaign by Samori's troopers in the west, at about the same time. Six chickens were sold for one slave, a sheep for three slaves, a cow for ten—but these prices may have been the con­ sequence also o f a shortage of food on that occasion.” See Allan G. B. Fisher and Humphrey J. Fisher, Slavery and Muslim Society in Africa (London 1970), p. 165. W'hen a large supply of slaves was available in the markets of Ifriqiya in the earlier period under discussion, and for similar reasons, the price situation cannot have been very different. On this point cf. also J. Mathiex, “Trafic et prix de l’homme en Méditerranée aux XVIIe et XVIIle siècles,” Annales E. S. C., IX (1954), pp. 157-64; Lucette Valensi, “Esclaves chrétiens et esclaves noirs à Tunis au XVIIle siècle,” Annales E. S. C., XXII (1967), pp. 1267-88. It is a pity that in these two articles no prices for other com­ modities are offered for the sake of comparison. The prices given are meaningless without a scale of reference for evaluating their actual sig­ nificance. 50. An example may be found in Talbi, L'Émirat Aghlabide. p. 522. 51. Mâlikî, Riyäd, I. 126. 52. On him, consult AbüVArab, Tabaqât, pp. 27-33; Mâlikî, Riyàd, I, 96-103; Ibn al-‘Imâd, Shadharät al-dhahab (Cairo 1931-32), 1. 240, and Ibn al-Athïr, Kâmil (Cairo 1965), V, 315; VI, 12, 59. 53. Abû’l-’Arab, Tabaqât, p. 28; Mâlikî, Riyàd, I. 100. 54. On him see Abû’l-’Arab, Tabaqât, pp. 84 f.; Mâlikî. Riyàd, I, 189-96: Ibn ‘Idhârî, Bayân, 1, 97, 104; pseudo-Raqîq, Ta’rîkh Ifriqiya, ed. M. Kaabi (Tunis 1968), pp. 124, 181, 232 f. This last work is wrongly attributed to Raqîq. On this point, see M. Talbi, “Un nouveau fragment de l’histoire de l’Occident musulman,” Cahiers de Tunisie, XIX (1971), nos. 73-74. pp. 19-52. 55. Pseudo-Raqîq, Ta’rikh, p. 124. 56. See p. 84; cf. also Mâlikî, Riyàd, I, 193. 57. Ibn ‘Idhârî, Bayân, I, 123. 58. Talbi, Biographies Aghlabides, p. 97. Sec also p. 127, where there is another reference to Sahnun’s slave. On Sahnün’s disciple *Abd al-Jabbär, who tells this anecdote, see AbüVArab. Tabaqât, pp. 145 f.; Mâlikî, Riyàd,

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I, 366-70; Talbi, Biographies Aghiabides, pp. 294 f.; Ibn Nâjï, Ma'âlim, II, 124. 59. This karam is illustrated by numerous traits mentioned in his biog­ raphy; see Talbi, Biographies Aghiabides, pp. 214-25; Mâlikl, Riyâd, 1, 37882. Ibn Tälib was so careful in cultivating his public image that he was suspected of having designs on the throne. This, among other things, was a factor leading to his downfall; see AbüVArab, Tabaqàt, pp. 145 f. 60. Talbi, Biographies Aghiabides, p. 214. We are told another similar anecdote in which Ibn Tälib again frees a young shepherd; see Biographies Aghiabides, p. 215; Màlikî, Riyâd, I> 379. The salary promised to the young freed man seems particularly low. Indeed, in the same biography ( Biographies Aghiabides, p. 219) we learn that a barley loaf (suit) was worth one dirham. If the exchange rate of the dinar is set at a maximum of 1/20 to the dirham, the annual wage o f the shepherd would not be more than the value o f 40 loaves o f poor quality. True, this can be explained by the bond of goodwill, meaning that the young man is still dependent for his upkeep on his former master, who is now his mawlä. Such may well have been the case. And the price of the slave? Ten dinars or 200 dirhams; that is, 200 loaves o f bread. We know for a fact that the price of slaves was not very high. But a slave for a mouth­ ful o f bread! This seems rather far-fetched, and would indicate that the information on prices in our sources, since it does not stand cross-checking, is weak and of limited reliability. Such material must therefore be handled with great caution. For a comparison with some prices reported by Ashtor, see his Histoire des prix, pp. 50, 81. 61. Talbi, Biographies Aghiabides, p. 212; Mâlikl, Riyâd, I, 378. 62. Màlikî, Riyâd, I, 97. 63. Op. ail., I, 189. 64. Talbi, Biograplties Aghiabides, pp. 216, 218; Màlikî, Riyâd, I. 380; Ibn Nâjî, Ma'âlim, II, 109. 65. Màlikî, Riyâd, It 99. 66. Talbi, L'Émirat Aghlabide, pp. 281-97. 67. Màlikî, Riyâd, It 126. 68. Talbi, Biographies Aghiabides, pp. 216, 219. 69. Talbi, Biographies Aghiabides, pp. 322 f.; Màlikî, Riyâd, I, 312. 388. 70. See M. Solignac, Recherches sur les installations hydrauliques de Kairouan et des steppes tunisiennes du Vile au Xle siècles (Algiers 1953). 71. Talbi, L'Émirat Aghlabide, pp. 169. 287-90. 72. Op. cit., p. 532. 73. Talbi, Biographies Aghiabides, p. 30; Màlikî, Riyâd. I, 213. 74. Ibn ‘Idhàri, Bayân, I, 256 f. See also Ibn Nâjî, Ma'âlim, III, 190. 191: Ibn al-Athïr, Al-KâmilJTl-ta’rîkh (Beirut 1966), IX, 185. 75. H. R. Idris, La Berberie Orientale sous les Zirides (Paris 1962), I, 149, 161. 227. 274. 293, 340, 350, 355: II. 658. 76. Idris. Zirides, II. 663. The material in the following pages is also of interest in this regard.

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77. “Le mythe de la ‘catastrophe* hilalienne.’' Annales E. S. C., XXI1 (1967), pp. 1102, 1105. Even if the Hilalian invasion had been made possible only by the economic and political collapse that preceded it, there is still no justification for denying its catastrophic character. One must avoid going from one extreme to the other. In this regard, see H. R. Idris, “L’invasion hilalienne et ses conséquences," Cahiers de chnlisation médiévale, 111 (1968), pp. 353-71—a reply to Poncet’s article. Cf. also Claude Cahen, “Quel­ ques mots sur les Hilaliens et le nomadisme,” JESHO, XI (1968), pp. 13032; M. Brett, “Ifriqiya as a Market for Saharian Trade,” Journal of African History, III (1969), pp. 347-64; J. Berque, “Les Hilaliens repentis, ou l’Algérie rurale au XVe siècle d’après un manuscrit jurisprudentiel,"Annales E. S. C., XXV (1970), pp. 1325-53; idem, “Du nouveau sur les Banù Hilâl?” Studia ls lamica, XXXVI (1972), pp. 99-113. 78. A Mediterranean Society, I: Economie Foundations (Berkeley 1967), p. 32. 79. “No contemporary attributed the same importance to them,” he writes, and to this adds, “Travellers and chroniclers alike at the end of the eleventh century in no way confirm such a picture.” See “Le mythe de la ’catastrophe’ hilalienne,” p. 1100. These statements can only be explained by ignorance o f the sources. It would be interesting to discover which travelers Poncet was referring to. Ibn Hawqal had visited the country in 340/951-52; Bakri (d. 487/1094) never set foot there, and in any case he most often repro­ duces the accounts of Warraq (d. 363/973-74). As for Idrisi (b. 493/1100, d. 550/1156 or 560/1166), he was not alive at the time of these events and usually paints a black picture of the country. Some of our information we owe to lbn Rashlq (d. 456/1064), Ibn Sharaf (d. 460/1068), and Ibn Sa'diin (d. 485 or 486/1092-93), all eyewitnesses, as well as to Abü’l-Salt (d. 529/1135), who had settled in MahdTya in 506/111213 and gathered much of his information from there. Their works are almost certainly lost, but of course such was not always the case. Later compilers, particularly Ibn ‘Idhârï, who was writing in 706/1306-7 and who quotes his sources, and Ibn Khaldun (732-808/1332-1406), who does not quote them, did not create works out of their imaginations. Their works are essentially the compiled testimony of eyewitnesses. They have, to be sure, omitted much, and that is to be regretted; but they undoubtedly invented nothing. They had no reason to do so. 80. Ibn Bassâm (d. 542/1147), Al-Dhakhira, ed. Taha Husayn (Cairo 1939-45), IV, i, 177-84. Ibn Rashiq too has devoted a famous poem to the razing of Qayrawân (Diwàn, Beirut n.d., pp. 204-12; partially reproduced by H. H. Abdul-Wahab in Bisût al-'aqiq, 2nd ed., Tunis 1970, pp. 72-73), but it is too mannered. The sorrow that shines through the poem o f lbn Sharaf is much more genuine and more poignant. His description of the haggard refugees covered with rags, of decimated families, of weeping widows and orphans, and the scenes of horror and violence, convey better than any of the chronicles the enormous extent of the suffering and the vast scope of the disaster. 81. See Archibald R. Lewis, Naval Pourr and Trade in the Mediterranean, A. D. 500-1100 (Princeton 1951). pp. 183-224. 82. To clarify this point and illustrate the reversal of the situation, it

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should be noted that in Morocco in 1708 only 800 Christian slaves are mentioned in the records, and 660 in 1723, as against 9,000 Muslim slaves in Malta in 1749. T he situation was identical in Tunisia in the same period. See Mathiex, “Trafic et prix de l'homme,” pp. 157-64. 83. A. Schaube, Handelsgeschichte der romanischen Völker des Mittelmeer­ gebiets bis tum Ende der Kreuzzüge (Munich and Berlin 1906), p. 23. 84. As W. Heyd writes, “Charlemagne, and after him the popes Zacharias and Adrian I, took severe measures to end this horrible trade”; see his Histoire du Commerce du Levant au Moyen-Âge (Amsterdam 1959), I, 95. 85. A faqth of the period, Ibn al-Çâ'igh, had noticed the danger o f this drain of gold reserves and had warned against it. See Idris, Zirides, II. 666-67. 86. T he contemporary birth-control practices—including abortion—should also be recalled here. They were especially in demand at times of crisis, as they also served to maintain the market value o f slave girls. Not every jàriya was suited to become umm xvalad. See certain fatwds on this point in Idris, Zirides, II, 658 f. 87. Idris, Zirides, II, 663. 88. Idris gives Chapter III o f his work (I, 127-203), a section dealing with the reign of Mu‘izz from 407/1016 to 442/1051, the title “L’Apogée.” Poncet criticizes him, in the article already mentioned above, for allowing himself to be taken in by the acolytes o f Mu’izz, who were interested par­ ties and committed partisans. The chapter in question would have been much more illuminating if its guiding line o f research had been the de­ sire to understand how the Hilalian “catastrophe” had been made pos­ sible. 89. A'màl al-a'làm, partial ed. H. H. Abdul-Wahab in Centenario Amari (Palermo 1910), II, 439. A new edition o f the text has been prepared by A. M. al-‘Abbâdî and M. I. Kattânî under the title Al-Maghrib al-'arabt JTl-'afr al-wasif, al-qism al-thàlith min Kitàb a'màl al-a'làm (Casablanca 1964). 90. Talbi, L'Émirat Aghlabide, pp. 530-36. On the oil trade in classical times, see H. Camps-Fabrer, L ’Olivier et l'huile dans l’Afrique romaine (Algiers 1953). The major part o f the forest of olive trees in the Sahel had been destroyed by the nomads (see Tijânî, Rihla, p. 65; reproduced by al-Wazir al-Sarrâj, Hulal, ed. M. H. al-Hila, Tunis 1970, p. 322). Some years pre­ viously, the traveler Abdari, who visited the country in 688/1289, noticed the same thing. Oil had started to be imported into the Sahel, he wrote; see his Al-Rihla al-maghribiya, ed. M. al-Fâsi (Rabat 1968), p. 237. 91. Bakri, Masâlik, pp. 20 (Ar. text). 46 (trans.). As mentioned above, Bakri generally reproduces Warräq. 92. Mälikl, Riydd, 1, 127. The anecdote that tells o f these exports is found in the biography of an Ifriqiyan ascetic. Abu *ïsâ Marwän ibn ‘Abd al-Rahmân al-Yahçubî, a contemporary o f Buhlûl (d. 183/799), who lived in Alexandria. It is told by another Ifriqivan faqih. Yahvä ibn ‘Umar (d. 289/902).

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93. Ibn Hawqal, §ùrat al-ard (Beirut n.d.), p. 95. The author had visited Ifriqiya in 340/951-52, as he himself states in this work (pp. 83. 90). 94. Talbi, L'Émirat Aghlahide, pp. 130-38. 150, 153. 187. 189. 251. 28485. 292-93. 304. 349, 522. 079. 95. Op. cit.. p. 193. 90. Màlikï, Riyäd, I, 117; Talbi. Biographies Aghlabides. p. 32. 97. On him. see Talbi, L'Émirat Aghlahide, pp. 223-20. 98. Màlikï, Riyàd, I, 388; Talbi, Biographies Agh/abides, p. 322. 99. Dâw’udî, Kitàb al-amwâl, p. 409. 100. On these three qadis, see Talbi. L'Émirat Aghlahide, index. 101. Op. cit., p. 233. 102. On the composition of this work, sec M. Talbi, “Kairouan et le Malikisme espanol,” Études d’orientalisme dediées à la memoire de Lévi-Provençal (Paris 1902), 1. 320-24. 103. Talbi, L'Émirat Aghlahide, index. The Mu'tazilite qadi Ibn Abï’lJawâd, who was dismissed in 232/840-47, had by this time held the post for 18 years. 104. J. Schacht, “Bibliothèques et manuscrits abàdites,” Revue Africaine (1956), p. 381, indicates an 1bâdi Mudawwana attributed to Abu Ghànim Bishr ibn Ghànim al-Khuràsànï (ca. 200/815). whose authenticity is however questionable. 105. Talbi, Biographies Aghlabides, p. 104. 106. Talbi, L'Émirat Aghlahide, index, s.v. I bâdites. 107. We know that Sahnun, the head of the Màlikï school in his time, had come to the qadä’ thanks to Sulaymän ibn ‘Imrän, the head of the Hanafï school, which was then in the majority. And in practice he divided his duties with the latter, allowing him the right to pronounce judgment fol­ lowing the principles of his school. See Talbi, L ’Émirat Aghlahide, p. 233; idem. Biographies Aghlabides, p. 102. 108. On the circumstances of its composition, see Talbi. “Kairouan et le Malikisme espagnol,” pp. 325-30. The work attracted little attention from researchers. G. H. Bousquet, however, gave an analysis published between 1958 and 1962 in La Revue Algérienne, Tunisienne et Marocaine de législation et jurisprudence, and especially in the Annales de l'Institut des Etudes Orientales d'Alger. On the basis of this analysis, he subsequently published an index in Arabica, XVII (1970), pp. 113-50. It should be pointed out that this index, which the author considers to be a “fairly com­ plete” one in which “the leanings of each author necessarily come out." has no headings for “agriculture” or even “culture,” while the one for “l)eating” figures in its proper place. 109. Al-Mudawwana al-kubrâ (Cairo a . h . 1323), V, 399-461. 110. Op. cit., V, 402, the section entitled “Mà là taqa’u fïhi al-shuf *a.” See also op. cit., V, 423. 111. Op. cit., V, 426-31, the section entitled “Mà jä a lï'l-shuPa lï'l-thamara.”

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112. Op. cit., V, 432. 113. Op. cit., V, 424. 114. Op. cit., V, 399. 115.Op. dt., V, 399-401. 116. Op. cit., V, 404-6, 409-10. 117. Op. cit., V. 409. 118. Op. ät., V. 414. 119. Op. cit., V, 421. 120. Op. cit., V, 404.418-19. 121 .Op. cit., V, 418. 122. Op. cit., V, 419. 123. Op. cit., V, 424. 124. Op. cit., V, 462-97, 498-532. 125. Op. cit., V, 465. The section from which this passage is taken is en­ titled “Mä jä'a fi qismat al-qurä wa-fihä dür wa-shajar.” 126. Op. cit., V, 464, 468, 474, 488. 127. Op. cit., V, 472, 486, 488-89. 128.Op. cit., V, 516. 129. Op. cit., V, 488-89. 130.Op. cit., V, 518-19. 131. Op. cit., V, 17-18, the section entitled “Musäqät al-baT’: and that en­ titled “Musäqät al-zar"'. 132. Op. cit., V, 2-3. 133. Op. cit., V, 3-4. We know that many Ifrïqiyans frequented Mâlik's court and that he held them in the greatest esteem. Some o f them, like the qadi I bn Ghänim, continued to consult him by letter on a regular basis. It is therefore possible that all these questions may have been put to Mälik by the Ifrïqiyans, in the presence of Ibn al-Qäsim, who preserved and trans­ mitted his master’s replies. 134.Op. cit., V, 4-6. 10-11. 16. 135. Op. cit., V. 4. 136. Op. cit., V, 6. 137. Op. cit., V, 16. 138. Op. cit., IV, 258-69. 139. Op. cit., IV. 265-66. 140. Op. cit., IV, 541. 141. Op. cit., IV, 528-29. 142. Op. cit., IV. 530-31; V. 25-39. 143. Op. cit., IV. 538. 144. Op. cit., IV. 298. 145. Op. cit., IV. 427.

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146. Op. cit., IV, 459-61. 147. Op. cit., IV. 403. 148. Op. cit., IV, 406-7. 149. Op. cit., IV, 433, 435-36. 150. Op. cit., IV, 266. 151. Op. cit., IV, 431. 152. Op. cit., IV, 434. 153. Op. cit., IV', 434-35. 154. Op. cit., IV, 436-41. 155. On the High Empire, one can consult, among others, H. d ’EscuracDoisy, “Notes sur le phénomène associatif dans le monde paysan à l'époque du Haut-Empire," Antiquités Africaines, 1 (1967), pp. 59-71; on the Low Empire, see Cl. Lepelley, “Déclin ou stabilité de l’agriculture africaine au Bas-Empire,” Antiquités Africaines, I (1967), pp. 135-44. See also Christian Courtois, Les Vandales et l'Afrique (Paris 1955). Charles Diehl, L ’Afrique Byzantine (Paris 1896), is of no help at all for the subject that concerns us here. 156. For example, the amount exacted for the year 366/976-77. See Ibn ‘Idhârî, Bayân, I, 230. 157. Ed. Beirut 1956, p. 711.

7 Socioeconomic Structure and Continuity: M edieval Spanish Islam in the Tax Records of Crusader Valencia Robert /. Burns, S.J. Methodology T he disastrous battle of Las Navas de Tolosa, in 1212, shattered the monolithic Almohad power over the Maghrib and sounded the death knell o f Spanish Islam. For half a century, political his­ tory became a kaleidoscope of temporary principates, intrigue, dema­ goguery, and civil war, while the crusading armies moved relentlessly down the Iberian peninsula and even struck out at Atlantic Morocco and Islam’s Mediterranean ports. Like their Muslim brothers in the east, who were recoiling under the hammer blows of the Mongols during these same decades, the western Muslims eventually rallied their broken forces, coagulating after midcentury into a series of petty states, from Granada and the sultanate of Ceuta to Marinid Morocco and Hafsid Tunisia. T he social and economic history of Spanish Islam, obscure to historians even of the Almohad noonday, becomes nearly invisible under the dust of the collapsing regime. Literary sources flare in the darkness, illuminating segments of the scene but revealing very little o f the course or quality of the life burgeoning below the frantic political surface.1 Where Islamic sources falter, paradoxically, the records of the infidel rush in to fill the vacuum. Crusader documentation proliferated from end to end of conquered al-Andalus. Surveyors and notaries described the farms, num bered the mosques, garbled the names of innumerable inhabitants, and registered every sort of institution fromfunduq and râbifa to waqf shop and mufollâ esplanade. Surrender treaties, bearing the signatures of notables who comprised a given locality’s establishment, outlined the local custom and lifestyle. Legal decisions found the Crusader king on the vacated seat of the sultan, •Portions of this chapter have appeared in my book Medieval Colonialism: Postcrusade Exploitation of Islamic Valencia (Princeton 1975); reprinted by permission of Princeton University Press.

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citing his predecessor's decisions. Reports and records o f various ecclesiastical bodies, from the castles o f military orders to the Arabic language schools of the mendicants, added their levels o f document­ ation that m irrored the conquered populace. Historians o f Spain have resorted to these materials mostly for the study of Christian society; the trickle o f bibliography about thirteenth-century subject Muslims (“Mudejars,” from mudajjan) contrasts both in quantity and quality with the flood o f scholarly works on the later, pseudo-convert Moriscos who constituted an intrusive crisis within that Christian society. To exploit these Mudejar materials, some methodology analogous to ethnohistory must be devised: a capacity for viewing from an alien vantage documents composed in quite different spirit and purpose, an ability not merely to adjust, correct, or supplement but especially to recognize. As with any methodology, this would com­ prise a constellation o f techniques and approaches. One such tool might be a prosopography focusing on the thousands o f Muslims’ names on Christian documents from every corner o f Spain. A nother could be the exploitation o f tax returns, to reveal not only the complex ensemble o f taxation antecedent to the conquest but also something o f the society and economy reflected in it. T he present paper will essay an experiment along these latter lines; if tax records are by their nature intractable, petty, and dull, they are by that same nature abundant, universal, and productive o f hard information. T o cope with their chaotic abundance in a short paper, one must restrict investigation to a single place and time and to a selection o f illustrative taxes. T he Kingdom of Valencia An appropriate place to begin the discussion o f tax records is the sharq al-Andalus, the sweep of eastern Spain from below Tortosa down to Murcia, ruled by the Almohad wâli Abu Zayd and then wrested away by the king o f Arago-Catalonia during a protracted Crusade from 1232 to 1245. King Jam es the Conqueror, by entering this “kingdom of Valencia" as the ally of Abu Zayd against the nativist usurper Zayyän, and by conducting his anomalous Crusade through a strategy of induced surrenders, contrived to absorb the region and to displace both these Muslim sultans with a minimum of tur­ moil. A prudent conquest of the Balearics set the stage by controlling the sea lanes; two major sieges, a multiplicity of raids, feints, and maneuvers, and one pitched battle at AnTsa against the field reserves, delivered the area almost intact. A generous policy of privileged constitutions or enclave society, establishing the Islamic religion,

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customs, juridical complex, schools, boundaries, local administration, and lines o f economy, sufficed to keep the bulk of the population in place. Inevitable losses by emigration were recompensed by a pro­ gram o f inviting Muslim immigrants both for settlement and for ex­ pansion. Valencia, roughly the size and shape o f the C rusader Holy Land or o f m odern Israel without the Sinai, immediately constituted by reason o f its extent, variety, and prosperity a coordinate kingdom, economically the most im portant o f Arago-Catalonia’s confederated realms. During its first forty years, the generation after the Crusade, it rem ained in much o f its appearance and most o f its population an Islamic land, characterized more by the call o f the muezzin than by the toll o f the bell. King Jam es (1213-76) and his son Peter the Great (1276-85) prized it as a royal makeweight against the feudal baronage and as a cornucopia o f resources for expansion overseas. Their royal archives at Barcelona, now commanding inexpensive paper from the famed mills of Valencian Jàtiva, busily set about registering thousands o f Valencian documents during the early decades; these paper registers of the realms, unparalleled for abun­ dance and scope elsewhere in Europe except at the Vatican, fur­ nish myriad details about the life o f the submerged Muslims. As a final prefatory note, we should recall that Islamic secular taxation did not jibe with the utopian or scholastic schemes elaborated by Muslim jurists and sometimes mistakenly proposed today as the reality. L0kkegaard distinguishes “the complex and motley” mingling of traditional and local, which made up the tax reality, from the efforts o f fiqh scholars to bend such tax customs into acceptable Qur’änic shape.* Ben Shemesh, a current student o f Islamic tax treatises, concurs, insisting “that the Fiqh literature dealing with taxation is not a picture of the real state o f affairs, and that it only furnishes us with certain ideas o f what would be most acceptable to the Sharfa.”3 For our period, scholars like Cahen, Goitein, and Lapidus have recovered valuable details about Middle Eastern taxes; Rabie has ju st contributed the most profound and minute study for a single region, unfortunately the most atypical, Egypt.4 For Spain, Lévi-Provençal gloomily concluded that taxation is an ob­ scure topic, much in need o f light, “and it is evident that this light is not going to come from Hispano-Arabic docum entation.” His diffidently offered outline for the earlier caliphal era has passed from author to author, fleshed out with hisba notes or other gleanings: a standard scheme o f the canonical tenth, the territorial tax as its anomalous substitute, and that vague range of extralegal impositions

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about whose multiplication Ibn tfazm complained.9 T he Valencian Mudejars’ taxation, advertised in their charters as “all those taxes which they used to pay before the Moors left the land” o r “the revenues which the ra’ts—that is, the lord—used to get,”* consequently assumes unique importance as a retrospective view o f the practices of Almohad Spain. Its greater value remains, however, in the clues or glimpses of Islamic society at that transitional moment, o f its homely institutions, levels of prosperity, and worka­ day economy. I have already offered various studies based upon Valencian tax materials concerning baths, funduqs, irrigation charges, treasure-trove, and agricultural rents.7 In this paper, 1 shall deal with three lesser sets o f taxes, whose documentation is relatively exiguous, to demonstrate how useful every revenue source can be­ come in probing Mudejar society. T he Sofra. Labor service makes a convenient door by which to en­ ter the ordinary m an’s tax world. T he m odern mind recoils from the picture o f wretched serfs toiling at corvées; but labor services were neither heavy nor frequent in the thirteenth century. One historian o f the Mudejars even denies their existence. T heir in­ cidence and severity were to increase throughout the Renaissance, becoming, in the fifteenth century, a grievous burden. This tax, as a category though perhaps not in specific manifestations, illustrates the similarity o f taxation on both sides o f the Islamic-Christian fron­ tier, a phenom enon rooted in similarity o f agricultural circumstances. If one follows the methodology o f Juliàn Ribera y Tarragô, such services might be proposed as examples o f transcultural assimilation. Since Christians sometimes used the Arabic term instead o f their own servicia or opera, the borrowing would seem to have moved north into Christian districts. T he formal designation, whose meaning baffled Villarroya, was sofra, from the Arabic equivalent for this kind o f work, al-sukhra; the preferred Valencian form was qofra, both Latin and Catalan usually avoiding the Castilian form azofra. Retention o f the word for Mudejar taxpayers reinforces the king’s claim for continuity with previous Almohad taxes.* Sofra fell both on persons and on their animals, in such manifes­ tations as a day’s contributed labor (jom als), haulage, repair work, and plowing. Documents speak more frequently of a sofra “on wood and water.” Logically, this had to be provisioning o f the lord’s house, and possibly irrigation for his fields, or the equivalent money. T hus

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the Mudejars at Huesa, in Aragon, had their obligation explained as a specific num ber o f “boxes” of wood per farm er each month, or, for those who had animals, an equivalent num ber of “loads.” At Nabal, the Mudejars “do sofra, and this means to bring to the castle every Saturday wood or whatever other thing, and, besides, they also do service to the castle on other days of transporting and of equipment when there is need.”* T he traditional term opera had been applied to the Mudejars at Tortosa in 1174, when dispensing them from labor service. T he same term applied again in 1258, at La Aldea, above Valencia’s border, this time as formally identified with sofra; each Muslim owning a house had to contribute one day’s labor a month “to our needs.” T he Hospitalers undertook to feed the workers gratis that day; men who fell ill ceased to owe work until they had recovered.10 T he duty o f sofra was prom inent enough in Mudejar Valencia, a link with the Islamic past both semantically and in life. T he Uxô Charter, by way of privilege, formally dismissed it both for persons and animals. T he royal charters for Eslida, Veo, and other towns freed Mudejars from sofra on wood, beasts, and waters. T he seignorial charter at Chivert, on the other hand, extended exemption only to persons, wives, children, and animals of the civic and religious leaders o f local communities—those with the status of qä'id, faqth, or imâm. Jâtiva Muslims paid it; the king exempted a merchant and his family there from sofra and other taxes, on condition of his settling at Jâtiva, which meant nothing if the other Moors already possessed exemption.11 T he Mudejars of Penfscola specifically had to give “sofra on wood . . . every m onth.”12 At Almizra, in 1260, one Mu­ hammad al-Abmar (“el Ruvio”) renewed for his son and heir the lifetime exemption he had held by formal charter, so that he was not “to give sofra, by reason o f the aforesaid property, for himself or for his animals, at any time of his life.”13 In conveying the castles and countrysides of Cocentaina and Alcoy in 1268, King James de­ creed “that all the Saracens of the aforesaid castles and their regions, future as well as present, are to make sofras there of water and wood.”H The king referred in 1263 to the sofras “which we have and ought to have in Biar, from the Saracens resident there.”13 Collection was made as well at aljamas like Alfandech,14 Chulilla,17 Confrides,18 Gallinera with Alcalâ,1* and throughout a region comprising “Dénia, Segârria, Vail de Laguart, Pop, Jalén, Calpe, Olocaiba, and Polop.”20

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A general document for 1264 concerns sofra collection at all the aljamas below the Jucar River.21 It appears too in a formulary for contracts as among the burdens normally imposed upon late-medieval Valencian Mudejars.22 Sometimes this labor service appears in an obviously physical guise. King James, in 1260, reduced the “çofram” owed by Muslims o f the Castellôn region in northern Valencia to their lord, the prior o f St. Vincent’s, down to “only one day in each month [by] each house­ hold.” T he Muslims had to carry “wood for the operadon o f his kitchen,” but only when the prior was “personally in residence” at the town o f Castellôn.23 Here the service was tailored to actual needs, specifically the cookery needs o f the landlord. Equally clearly, a series o f documents for southern Valencia display comm utadon into money. T h e sums do not appear singly in that set o f accounts, but rather as lumped with the similarly commuted obligation to provide one’s lord with chickens; occasionally, other taxes were also reckoned into the total under this one entry o r item. At Benigänim, for example, “sofra and chickens" brought 32 solidi and 6 pence. At Jaraco and Jeresa together, the two taxes came to 37 solidi and 6 pence; and at Benirredrâ and a companion town, to 40 solidi. At Sumacârcel, in 1268, “sofra and besant and chickens and oven” for twenty-three households totaled 268 solidi or a little over 11 Vi solidi per house; subtracting the besant, the other three taxes averaged out at just under 8 solidi per house, the oven or communal bakery probably accounting for most of this. Next year, the same entry rose to 290 solidi, but rather because o f a higher assess­ ment: 12 solidi and 1 pence “for each house." In a separate listing for sofra and chickens, the Moors o f Martin Sanchis brought 10 solidi; those of Isabel 25 solidi; and those of La Xarquia 35 solidi, while “a poor Moor" gave 2 solidi and 6 pence. A similar auxiliary list in 1269 had “the Moors of Don Blasco" giving 45 solidi for the two taxes, while those of neighboring landholders gave respectively 20, 40, 5, 20, 25, 30, 35, 5, and 5 solidi.24 Both labor and chickens appear in these accounts as specific sums of money, sometimes in terms allowing the reader to prorate the total by households. U nder the circumstances, it seems unlikely that only the poultry-half of the average entry was paid in kind and its price added to the money commutation o f sofra. In some places, however, the chick­ ens were actual fowl; unless the Valldigna monastery estates had evolved a different tax pattern in later years, their custom o f taking live chickens may serve as illustration.25 T he connection between sofra and chickens is too constant in the records to be extrinsic. Another

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meaning o f sofra, in fact, and the dom inant meaning at a later period in Aragon proper, was the surrender o f a fixed num ber of chickens or their money equivalent.2* Perhaps a logical relation may be traced through evolution o f sofra as provisioning, or supplying one’s lord, somewhat along the line o f the Christians’ hospitality levy ( cena). Since the chicken played a noble role in the tax structure o f contemporary Egypt, perhaps its prominence in M udejar Valencia echoes a more uni­ versal feature o f medieval Islam’s rural economy.27 Fowl such as chick­ ens. peacocks, and doves did hold a special place in the heart o f the Spanish Muslim. During various surrender negotiations o f the Valencian Crusade, King Jam es and the Muslim agents dined on chicken as well as on m utton and game; during raids, the king could count on sweeping up “many fowl” from Islamic villages.2* As a service dem and, chickens sometimes stand in the accounts unaccompanied by the companion entry o f sofra; the place o r per­ son involved may have held exemption from one o f the two charges. Thus, a Pego entry in 1268 recorded 45 besants or some 168 solidi for “the chickens”; two entries the following year divided the col­ lection into 7 besants for chickens and 97 besants for oven and chick­ ens. C areer and Sueca entered “the besant and chickens for twenty households” together as one item.29 In the La Aldea C harter, the nexus between chickens and labor service becomes explicit; “Those who make the said sofra are obliged to give us one chicken on the feast o f the birth of the Lord every year.” This fell upon house­ holds, and elsewhere was a pair of chickens.30 T he price of a chicken, at least for a wealthy and presumably more extravagant household, ranged from 8 to 11 pence, the better part of a solidus, though a pullet m ight cost as little as 3 pence. A special form o f labor involved periodic forays into vineyards; hoeing around vines o r gathering faggots were prime examples of this tax. Its name, venema, o r the garbled verema, represents a corruption o f Latin vindemia, or harvest. T he Uxö C harter freed its Muslims from such obligation.31 At Alcira, the crown collected it along with calonias and servicia.32 A document o f King James, in dispensing Jâtiva’s Moors from this very labor in 1262, discloses its existence in that region. “We grant to all you Saracens in the greater Moorish quarter o f Jâtiva, present and future, and to your descendants forever,” it ran, “that you or yours are never to be bound to dig around the vines which we had you plant in the district of Jàtiva for o u r purposes; nor are you or yours bound to plant any vine for us ever again nor to contribute any work in the said vine­ yard existing o r to be made, nor to go to any other expense.”33

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Vineyard labor service continued into the next century. Chelva’s authorities expected two men from each Mudejar house to dig around vines and provided a salary o f eight pence apiece. Cheste, in 1371, required digging and similar labor, recompensed with twelve pence daily.34 T he money may have represented the lord’s obligation to feed each worker, as seen above in the La Aldea Charter. Such vineyards provided both the raisin crop and the wine which Valencian Muslims commonly drank despite Q ur’änic prohibition. A labor not commonly considered as personal service was the haulage or delivery o f taxes in kind; thus the Chivert Charter twice adverted to sofra, but took up separately the requirem ent of carting up to the castle the Hospitalers’ share o f produce and vintage. T he same obligation o f delivering tax in kind sometimes fell on peasants in Islam, though there was some opposition to this burden. Here in Valencia it seems to represent continuity from Islamic into Crusader times.35 Yet another category o f labor, far more im portant and widespread than the rural obligations, but subtly removed from them in con­ text and status, affected community utilities o r resources. This work o r its money equivalent was obligatory, even in the cities, upon every citizen o r subject. In 1251, the king admonished Christians of all classes at Valencia city, including clergy and nobles, not to re­ fuse their share “in the building and repair o f [city] walls and moat, the building, repair, and cleaning . . . o f public roads and bridges, and the care o f the city.’’ T he kingdom’s Furs incorporated his dem and in much the same words.36 Such duties weighed also upon the Mudejars. In the Crusader states of the Holy Land, where Islamic rural taxes continued unchanged under the new lords, the only labor service explicitly revealed by surviving evidence was precisely this kind of work on public resources.37 Contem porary Islamic Egypt also required personal labor, work animals, and provisions from the fellaheen for construction and repair o f the larger dams, an obligation that could also be redeem ed by money. Presumably, the local author­ ities responsible for lesser projects arranged for similar participation; in 1283, the sultan Qalàwün went out to a province to supervise canal digging himself.38 In a more local context, o f course, such work on utilities shaded into labor service, acquiring the taint and sometimes the name of that more inferior charge. Thus, at Chivert, where the overlord Hospitalers undertook to construct a segregat-

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ing wall between their castle and the Moorish quarter, they agreed not to require from the Mudejars “contribution of money or sofra of their persons.”39 Repair o f walls provided so common an oc­ casion for sofra that T orres Baibas, an authority on medieval Spanish cities, viewed the latter too closely in that context.40 Community service of this more elevated kind resembled repair of one’s own home; it involved one’s immediate environs, o r related somehow to one’s own welfare. King Peter underlined this character in a directive of 1280: “You are not to force the Saracens of Cabanes to construct the bridges in their districts which the lord king ordered to be constructed for carrying the roadways, unless the said Saracens at some time shall wish to make use o f the aforesaid roads.”41 Earlier that year, the king had occasion to commend a crown project to those Muslims inhabiting the upper half o f the Valencian kingdom, down to the Ju car River. Whatever he was building, perhaps an irrigation canal or road, they had to contribute their services: “Know that we have appointed Vives ibn Vives, our Jew of Valencia, for the care and progress of our project in Valencia; wherefore we command all those among you, whom the said Vives considers needed for the aforesaid work, to help him and it.”4* Military work such as repair of fortifications, mounting of local guard, and providing pack animals for campaigns, related some­ what to this community labor service. So did the upkeep o f any public facilities, repair of mosques or churches, maintenance of irrigation ditches, or helping at salt works.43 Perhaps the “bridge obols" (sub­ pennies levied as toll on every loaded animal entering a city, until construction costs for a new bridge were met) assumed in the eyes of residents at places like Valencia city or Alcira the nature of a com­ muted labor service, especially since the bridge charge could enter a list o f farmed taxes as though it were itself a straightforward tax.44 As time went on, sofra grew heavier. By the sixteenth century, the complex of services under that title comprised a burden peculiarly Morisco, persisting even after a Muslim’s conversion; it rendered the condition o f Valencia’s Moors “almost servile.”43 In thirteenthcentury Valencia, however, the light nature o f the service where visible, the frequency o f commutation, and the small sums involved, argue to an obligation relatively negligible but widespread. The (Al)magran. A mysterious tax, more localized but much heavi­ er, was(al)magran or(al)magram. Villarroya consulted “the most learn­ ed men of Spain” in 1780 without penetrating its meaning or dériva-

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tion. T he monumental Catalan lexicon by Alcover in our own day has advanced no further into the mystery, repeating earlier descrip­ tions of it as “a tax Moors paid" annually.4* T he revenue history o f later Islamic Granada, and of Mudejar rents in that area when con­ quered, compounds the difficulties o f investigation. T here the magran or magraner was a ten percent import or sales tax paid by the consumer. It also became confused with almaguana, and sometimes stood for that tax, a two and a half percent ad valorem charge on real property; Granadans regarded this as illegal, an arbitrary im­ position devised outside the framework o f classical or even neces­ sary taxes in Islam.47 Neither of these meanings applied in Valencia. Valencia's almagran was akin to the Christians’ peita, insofar as it involved every householder, but it differed in that it fell on land alone and within water-communities only. It was more closely allied to the shares-of-produce “tribute” since it substituted for this on some huerta properties. Almagran might seem to assimilate to agrarian rents with difficulty; at Biar, the civil tenth appears along­ side it, as do “the tributes or rents” at Mudejar Târbena and Jalôn, and in a general notarial formulary for Valencia, “the agrarian rents.” From our meager information on its nature in Valencia, however, its equivalence with the shares seems clear. It fell upon sections or units o f land. At Pego, in 1269, it was en­ tered as “almagram o f the land sections o f P ego.. . [on] 930 sections, assessed at one besant for each section, which equal 930 besants” or over 3,000 solidi. Since the besant or household capitation ap­ pears in this list as bringing only 53 besants, almagran was not only the largest single revenue at Pego, but almost twenty times larger than the important besant. This same set o f accounts, when com­ pared to those o f the previous year on a preceding folio, reveal that the complicated entry under almagran in 1269 is almost the same entry one finds under the rubric rendus de Pego in 1270; almagran therefore is a synonym for agricultural rents or o f some portion o f them .48 King Jam es included almagran when farming the Mudejar revenues of Biar to its aljama in 1258, in a four year renewal in 1263, in a two year renewal in 1267, and in an exemption in 1270.4* Career, Sumacârcel, and Tous included it in their revenue lists o f 1257 and 1258, Târbena and Jalön in a 1268 list, Alcalä and Gallinera in a revenue farming of 1270, and Chulilla in an exemption that same year.50 Pego listed it in 1258 and again in 1259. Both the Alfandech

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and (he Pego valleys recorded it among regular regalian (axes in 1275.S1 In the transference of Sagra to Raymond o f Villanueva in 1296, it figured prominently among the revenues. A very late charter, at Chelva in 1370, called it “almagra of the land [tierras]" setting it at 800 solidi for the community. In a list of 1315 for four towns below the Jucar—Elche, Elda, Aspe, and Novelda—“almagera,” or assessment, stood in first place for three of the four towns and ranked as by far the largest revenue. At Aspe, it provided a third of the Mudejar taxes, at Novelda two-thirds of the total, and at Elda three-fourths; at Elche, no tax approached its volume, though the alfarda, water, and butchery charges together equaled two-thirds o f the huge almagran.52 Almagran also played a prominent role in the revenues of Valldigna, the hilly region o f Valencia just north of Gandi'a. T he Moors here paid a proportional part of the tax, in money rather than kind, and were thus exempt from giving shares of produce as rent. King James did exempt a property o f a financial aide, the Jew Samuel ibn Vives, or rather his tenant, with “a privelege that he not pay magram for all his life” on a half jovate of irrigated farmland here. T he valley’s Register of Magran Tax (Cappatrô del dret de magram) recorded the amount owed by each unit of land. Christians paid no almagran here at first, since they had no access to the traditionally apportioned water except indirectly as landlords.53 After a mid-fourteenthcentury revolt, the status o f these Mudejars came under review, and shares were imposed as rent upon the irrigated land, running between a third and a fourth o f produce. Almagran itself continued but may have diminished in volume and importance, becoming “a small cash sum,” long fixed, for holding the best land.54 In Valencian records generally, almagran is distinguished by the infrequency of its appearance, the considerable volume it repre­ sents whenever a sum is expressed, the subordinate role indicated by its position within lists, and a lack of information. T hough only Muslims paid under this name of “tribute,” their situation was not thereby marked off from that o f Christian taxpayers; huerta land with access to irrigation water naturally paid higher taxes. T he magran fits into the wider system of contract or sharefarming, too complicated to enter into here except to note again the symbiosis of institutions indicated by the Christian term for such a sharefarmer: exaricus, from al-sharik, or sharer. At this period, the word

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meant neither a concessionaire nor a serf, but rather a tenant-owner, any kind o f free farm er capable of disposing o f his property as his own, even though it was burdened by a tax o r rental of a proportion o f crops and by other charges. T he proportion varied widely, de­ pending on the value and nature of the crops and on local custom. An exaricus could be the lowest peasant, occasionally even a slave, or the most affluent landowner holding his own exarici. Livestock. Taxes on livestock comprised a category apart. Arabs and Berbers had a long tradition as skilled herdsm en, and the wool they produced in eastern Spain was highly valued for industrial products like cloth and carpets. Spanish Christians had long been stockmen, too, with a solid tradition o f transhumance, either native or borrowed from their Berber neighbors in whole o r part. T rans­ humance, whose controversial origins for Christian Spain are not relevant here, involved the pasturing o f flocks in the highlands during the summer, then removing them to protected lowland pastures in winter, a skilled profession with considerable logistical problems. Wool constituted a raw material for the great cloth industry of the M editerranean world, and every advance o f the Reconquest in­ creased Christian Spain’s role in providing that wool. Both Muslims and Christians in Spain used sheep and goats as the basic source o f fresh meat; Christians added pigs. Farmers in both communities, o f course, kept domestic stock such as oxen and mules. Valencia’s conquest made that area immediately a favorite seasonal grazing ground for most o f the Aragonese and many Castilian transhumants. T he northern part of the new kingdom, and the uplands away from the huertas, particularly favored stock-raising.5* Charges could fall on livestock in a variety o f ways in either Islamic or Christian Spain, depending upon local historical evolution, kind o f stock, choice o f variable o r fixed fees, or decisions as to taxing domestic animals or taking shares o f flock increase. Some cattle exactions pertained rather to import and transport duty, sales tax, o r butchery fees. In Islam, the classic Q ur’änic contribution o f the zakät on “growth” objects affected herds as well as produce o r trade. Muslim moral theologians tended to exclude riding and pack ani­ mals and those that fell rather under trade. They allowed the herd tax on horses (not a common stock in Valencia) but rejected it for mules and asses, since these did not pasture in the technical sense. Various schools estimated the tax differently; for a string o f five to nine camels, for instance, an owner might pay the authorities

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a goat. Sheep and goats paid nothing until their num ber reached forty, when one was taken; a hundred and twenty paid two, two hundred paid three, and so on.58 One such theorist in the canon o f tax commentators devoted a chapter to the complexities o f “Çadaqât from Camels, Cattle, and Sheep.” He provided a range o f opinions on the age, kind, and num ber taken, distinguishing five classifications o f sheep, such as “a ewe feeling its lamb moving in its womb” o r ”a buck needed for breeding” (which were exempt). O n flocks num bering between forty and a hundred and twenty, one ewe was taken. T he author spent a fu rth er chapter on causes to which this levy had to be devoted. The historical reality may well have been different. In eleventhcentury Spain, Ibn Hazm did make reference to novel, extraordinary taxes being directly placed upon flocks, causing popular resentm ent. Some analogy might be seen, too, in thirteenth-century Egypt, which had a choice between a fixed charge on pasture land and a head-ofstock o r variable per capita tax, with an additional fixed fee to cover collection.57 S urrender and settlement charters for Valencia's Mudejars lumped pasturage demands into a general category, relying upon immemorial custom to supply details. T he charter o f Eslida said simply that Mudejars could pasture flocks throughout the district as in the time of Islamic rule. Similarly, their colleagues at Tortosan La Aldea could "pasture beasts—namely, cows, mares, asses, sheep, and goats— without any fee [logerium].” Ux6 Muslims retained “all their pas­ turages and their stock, at Uxö and Nules and Almenara, and the grazing o f Urmell in the Plana" just as “in the time o f the Moors," and their stock “can go over all the pasturage o f Chova.” Chivert’s people pastured freely “on the wastelands far and near to the four quarters." T h e markedly commercial-industrial charter o f Jâtiva did not bother to specify stock or grazing taxes except for a butchery fee.58 T h e Christian tax herbatge appears in a few Mudejar documents and may have substituted in places for Islamic equivalents. Intro­ duced by Jam es I, it took six out o f every thousand lambs and kids born during a given year among transhumants; in return the crown waived all pasturage and passage fees. This description, from a T eruel document for Christian-owned transhumants, is echoed in a Valencian M udejar privilege o f 1257: the king granted to Yabyä ibn M uhammad ibn ‘Isa (Yafia Abenmafomat Abenaiça), lord of

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Montesa and Vallada, on a transhum ant route, “that you may take the herbatge on all stock o f Aragon and Castile in the jurisdiction of Montesa and Vallada, namely on a thousand sheep bearing young, six lambs, and on a thousand goats bearing young, six kids, just as we take the said herbatge in the jurisdiction o f our other places of the kingdom o f Valencia.’’59 In cases o f attempted fraud, this stand­ ard fee doubled. Revenue accounts at Pego in 1269, possibly mixed but probably Mudejar, reported an income o f “79 besants” o r roughly 290 solidi under herbatge; at Sumacàrcel, in 1268, similar accounts reported 150 solidi.60 A livestock obligation apparently universal was the direct headof-stock ( bestiar). T hough Chivert Mudejars gave neither pasturage nor butchery fee, they did owe one penny of Jaca every year “for each head o f lesser livestock: sheep or goats, large or very small.” T he distinction was standard between such bestiar menut and bestiar gran, the latter including larger animals like mules or oxen. T he tax may have used the terms quite differently, as Piles Ros suggests, opposing newborn stock o f any kind to stock over a year old. Since the bestiar gran was waived in these documents, such an understand­ ing of the bestiar m enut would make the fee a growth tax not unlike the Christians’ herbatge, though more severe. It would lie somewhere between a head-of-stock charge and a classical zakät. When the tax appears in the general run of Valencia’s Mudejar charters, how­ ever, it seems clearly a direct head-of-stock charge. As at Chivert, the Mudejars at Tales gave a penny in April for every goat, ram, or sheep. At La Aldea, just beyond Valencia’s northern border, the penny fell likewise “on each head o f sheep and goats.”61 At Castellôn de Burriana, the Mudejars paid the yearly penny “on your smaller animals [winu/M].”62 This recurrent bestiar menut goes into the actual revenue rolls under the title zaque del bestiar. Eslida’s charter explained it as the “açaque on stock according as they were accustomed” to pay under their wall. T he Uxö C harter explained the “claim of bestiar” not as a head charge but as the classic growth tax: “out of forty, one.” T he differing explanation here need not exclude the head-charge penny, since each charter’s stock obligations were presented as continuing in the context o f precrusade custom. Uxö’s tax may relate to a different pattern, however, more along the lines of the requirement written into the Tortosa surrender charter a century before: “to give direct fadaqa (açadaga) on their sheep as is their custom and their Law.”63 This “livestock zaq” at Jaraco and Jeresa in 1268 fetched 11 solidi

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and 2 pence. At Pego, in 1268, it brought 13 besants or about 48 solidi, a third more than the meat market but only half the profit from bees; a special entry listed “a tenth on lambs” at over 13 be­ sants. Next year’s accounts repeated the bestiar sum, which com­ pared very unfavorably with the herbatge there, amounting to less than a sixth o f that larger total. At Benamer that same year, the zaque was a little over 14 solidi; this rose in 1269 to 18 solidi and 4 pence. Sumacarcel in 1269 had a grand total of over 48 solidi. Cârcel with Sueca in 1268 listed no zaque but rather “the third on the kids, 7 solidi” and “19 lambs o f the tenth, 22 solidi and 2 pence.” Both places omitted these items in 1269, substituting a zaque of 69 solidi and 3 pence.64 Corbera in 1263 reported a tithe on kids amount­ ing to only 3 solidi, Gandfa a “tenth on animals” o f 7 solidi, Cullera a bestiar tenth o f 17 solidi, and Onteniente a similar tenth at over 10 solidi; but these are more probably mixed than pure Mudejar revenue.65 Perhaps in line with the third and the tenth o f stock just cited, o r perhaps in connection with pasturage, King Peter in 1279 ordered his functionaries at Olocau “not to demand from these Saracens of Barbagena any of our fifth on livestock.”66 Specific returns in money accounts are hard to come by, and the various series available seem at times to be mixed Christian and Mudejar payment. Nor is there any assurance that the scribes were not grouping minor livestock returns under one heading. Major towns of Valencia and centers for pastoral activity undoubtedly brought larger sums than these to the treasury. After the turn of the century, a fiscal report noted that the atzaque returns from Aspe in the Alicantine region amounted to 350 solidi every year, from Elda 300, from Novelda 350, and from Elche 500. These sums con­ trasted with 1,000 solidi at Elche from “the herbatge o f the flocks which enter to graze in the district,” though this entry included Christian shepherds and applied rather to alien flocks; at Gallinera, herbatge from Muslims alone reached the surprising annual figure of 10,000 solidi, from which the crown assigned pensions o f 1,000 and o f 240 solidi to Christians.67 Though moderns do not commonly consider them as livestock, bees shared the zaque tax and were listed along with cattle. T heir tax went under the name o f colmenes (hives) or under the rubric “zaque o f bees.” At Ux6, the hives followed the classic one-out-offorty assessment. At Aldea, Chivert, and Tales, each beehive yielded a penny. At Pego, in 1268, this tax on bees or beehives came to 7 besants, 4 miliareses, and 2 pence; for some reason Müsä had his

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hive entered separately at 3 millareses. In 1269, the same item totaled 17 besants and 6 millareses, after deduction o f expenses for col­ lecting, or about 64 solidi. At Benamer, it was only 5 solidi and 8 pence in 1268, dropping to 3 solidi and 6 pence in 1269. At Sumacârcel, in 1269, the bee income entered into the accounts has lost its sum to manuscript deterioration.68 At Chulilla, in 1260, when ar­ ranging rents with the local Mudejars, King Jam es gave careful atten­ tion to crops, but expressly imposed a tax on only two animals: a penny for every goat and “one Valencian penny for every hive o f bees.”69 T he various entries for bees, and the governmental attention they attracted, indicated the importance o f Islamic Valencia’s apiculture. The Hum an Factor To view the subject Muslim within the framework o f a single tax, then within another and another, until the totality o f such structures has been delineated and all the available data housed, seems a logical procedure. T he three taxes thus far presented, while illustrating the value of such an approach, reveal its concomitant shortcomings. Emphasis falls on the tax, for example, rather than on the persons in­ volved. It may be well to abandon the steady highway toward inclusive understanding, therefore, in favor rather o f the tourist’s swift round of representative sights and persons, a descent from the comprehensive to the episodic. Any num ber of notables and religious personnel crop up in tax records. In encumbering future revenues of a district with bondlike rent-charges called violaris, for example. King Jam es granted to Muhammad, a resident of Gandia, “thirty solidi o f Valencia,’’ to be drawn “from the community levy” of Beniopa Muslims.70 T he king made a like grant in 1260 “to you Muhammad o f Morelia, qadi of the Saracens of the Moorish quarter o f Valencia, each year while you hold the qadi function for the said Saracens,” to be drawn from the local paper industry: “from our revenues and income from the mill tax on paper which the said Saracens pay.”71 A similar case was the grant as salary in 1267 “to Sa‘d ibn Yabyä, qadi o f the Saracens of the city of Valencia, throughout your life, [of] a hundred solidi of Valencia, to be had and received yearly from our revenues and receipts from the meat stalls of the Saracens of Valencia, because of your aforesaid office of qadi.” This was to be paid him “in such wise that you will have, and are to have and get, the said hundred solidi from our revenues and receipts in the meat stalls, every year henceforth all your life, as long as you exercise

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the said office and conduct yourself well and faithfully in it,” specifically as salary “for your labor and office as is contained above.” In closing his directive, King James “firmly” ordered “our bailiff at Valencia that you be given and paid from our aforesaid revenues and receipts of the aforesaid meat stall annually a hundred solidi.”72 This same Sa‘d turns up elsewhere as owning a shop “in the Moorish sector” of Valencia city, for which he paid the crown annually two morabatins in rent.73 An early annuity, awarded by King James, turned up again, when its holder presented his charter or claim for confirmation by King Peter in 1277: “Peter by the grace of God etc. to his faithful bailiff of Beniopa, health and favor; we order that you pay those thirty solidi of Valencia which Muhammad ibn Yumn [Abeniumen] Saracen of Beniopa, is accustomed to receive, [and which] he claims, showing a charter o f the said James of happy memory, king o f the Aragonese, our father, from the revenues of Beniopa annually, as you will see contained in the said charter.”74 “Muhammad the painter and ‘Abdullah the woodworker, Saracen brothers” appear in a tax exemption of 1259.75 ‘All o f Gallinera received an exemption too, but only with the proviso that “you are to give and pay us 600 solidi of Jaca, when you shall get this money from your trade as hairdresser.”76 Barbering seems to have held an important place as a craft then both in Islamic and Christian Spanish societies.77 “ ‘Alt al-Lurl [Allauri] the silk worker, coming now into Jâtiva” and “ ‘All the Saracen, dye-master at Jâtiva,”78 as well as “each and every master of dyes who shall come to Jâtiva” to establish residence among “the community of Saracens of Jâtiva,” were among the many given similar favors.79 T he tax documentation embraces scribes and tax-collectors, a fishing community on a lagoon, farmers hawking their surplus figs, potters and ceramicists busy in the town plazas, transient field laborers, a valued stratum o f crossbowmen drafted at large for defense, converts to Christianity embroiled in property disputes, the slave class, and irrigation communities. Through these records, one may visit a large qaysàriya (alcaçeria), a prison (where debtors might also be confined), a huge water-mill boasting fourteen wheels, other mills and bakeries galore, a cattle süq, or a public granary ( almodi). They list Muslim-owned shops, locate others as alongside or fronting on mosques, deal with a shop­ keeper class, and note eight shops under construction as part of a waqf foundation. They reveal the privileged meat-markets where butchering followed “the Sunna," and suggest the diet or anyway the favorite foods of the consumers. Fines collected “according to

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their Law” show busy courts and sometimes afford a glimpse of moral attitudes; Jâtiva’s charter specified twenty solidi from males convicted in paternity suits but only five solidi from unm arried women wfound pregnant.” Total revenues from a Muslim-inhabited valley like Alfandech indicate that rural areas could be as prosperous o r anyway productive o f income as the commercial town. T he polltax, corresponding to the Islamic jizya on non-Muslims, fell upon households and so is useful in suggesting population patterns. Customs duties and transit charges point out trading activity. Finally, the vice taxes offer details about the despised stratum o f wine sellers and prostitutes. Both in Islam and Christendom the instinct to suppress vice, renouncing all profit from it, battled against the common sense counsel to regulate and punitively tax it. T he Christian authorities did not discourage Islamic Valencian reformist movements, allowing Biar’s Muslims to expel ”all Saracen whores or prostitutes without any person impeding"; but they con­ tinued the custom o f enrolling prostitutes and taxing their profes­ sional activities.80 T he 1281 tax "on Saracen women prostitutes" was so heavy, at “twenty solidi for each,” as to be punitive.81 Revenue accounts for the small town o f Sumacârcel, in 1268, included an item o f 12 solidi for "one prostitute” and 14 solidi for “the other pros­ titute”; the two combined in next year’s lists to pay a lesser total o f sixteen solidi. Similar accounts for Pego put down nine besants or some thirty-six solidi for "the prostitutes,” and, in a mixed item for the next year, nearly three times that sum.88 Men and women from every class, num erous and varied enough to stage a panoram a o f late Almohad society, thus lie concealed below prosaic revenue records. As in a common grave, Muslim financiers and castellans rest cheek-by-jowl with practitioners o f the disgraceful professions. Tax documents, despite their restricted range, lead directly to a community’s essential and valued activities, revealing that com­ munity both in its larger outlines and in familial details. A social psychologist, anthropologist, or sociologist, sympathetic to develop­ mental structuralism, might find here a key to understanding the whole society from a narrow but novel perspective. Like prehistoric bones in a tar pit, this jum ble o f unrelated tax data awaits reassembly, promising at least skeletal resurrection for a vanished world.

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NOTES 1. For background and bibliography see my Islam under the Crusaders: Colonial Survival in the Thirteenth-Century Kingdom of Valencia (Princeton 1974), especially chaps. 1-5; from the Christian side, see my The Crusader Kingdom c f Valencia: Reconstruction on a Thirteenth-Century Frontier, 2 vols. (Cambridge, Mass. 1967). Cf. also my volume drawn from tax documen­ tation, Medieval Colonialism: Postcrusade Exploitation of Islamic Valencia (Princeton 1975); portions o f this paper derive from that study. For the Valencian Mudejar scene in its wider context, see also my “Social Riots on the Christian-Moslem Frontier: Thirteenth-Century Valencia,” AHR, LXVI (1961), pp. 378-400; “Christian-Islamic Confrontation in the West: The Thirteenth-Century Dream o f Conversion,” AHR, LXXVI (1971), pp. 1386-1434; “Le royaume chrétien de Valence et ses vassaux musulmans (1240-80),” Annales, économies, sociétés, ciinlisations, XXV1I1 (1973), pp. 199-225; “Spanish Islam in Transition: Acculturative Survival and its Price in the Christian Kingdom of Valencia." Islam and Cultural Change in the Middle Ages, ed. Speros Vryonis, Jr. (Wiesbaden 1975), pp. 87-105. See also below, n. 7. 2. Frede L0kkegaard, Islande Taxation in the Classic Period, with Special Reference to Circumstances in Iraq (Copenhagen 1950), p. 73. 1 use “taxes” throughout this paper loosely, in the popular or taxpayers’ meaning, to cover every sort o f public revenue from customs dues or mill charges to inheritance tax, hunting license, transit toll on merchandise, and agrarian rents. 3. Abu Yusüf, Kitab al-kharäj, trans. A. Ben Shemesh in Taxation in Islam (Leiden 1967-69), 111, 32. 4. Hassanein Rabie, The Financial System of Egypt, A .H . 564-741 A .D . 1169-1341 (London 1972); his bibliography includes a selection o f Claude Cahen’s articles. S. D. Goitein has intriguing details on duties and taxes in his A Mediterranean Society: The Jewish Communities of the Arab World as Portrayed in the Documents of the Cairo Geniza, 3 vols, to date (Berkeley 1967-78), passim; see, for example, I, 339-46. For the data o f I. M. Lapidus, Muslim Cities in the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge, Mass. 1967), see index under “Taxation.” Standard general works include Nicolas Aghnides, Mohammedan Theories of Finance, with an Introduction to Mohammedan Law and a Bibliog­ raphy (New York 1916), and S. A. Siddiqi, Public Finance in Islam (Lahore 1952). There are, o f course, any number o f works on special taxes, ranging from D. C. Dennett’s Conversion and the Poll Tax in Early Islam (Cambridge, Mass. 1950) to Farishta G. De Zayas, The Law and Philosophy of Zakät: The Islamic Social Welfare System (Damascus 1960). The Encyclopaedia of Islam, both old and new editions, can be useful; see, for example, Joseph Schacht. “Zakät,” E /1, IV, 1202-5, or M. Soberheim, “I f c t a I I . 461-63. 5. Évariste Lévi-Provençal, Histoire de l’Espagne musulmane, 2nd ed., 3 vols. (Paris 1950-59), more generally available in an improved edition

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revised and translated by Emilio G arda Gômez, Espana musulmana hasta la eaida del califato de Cordoba, 2 vols., as nos. 4-5 o f Historia de Espana, ed. Ramôn Menéndez Pidal (Madrid 1957*69), I, chap. 1, pt. 3. Authors like Imamuddin are even more summary in treating taxes (see n. 55). Useful analogies may be gleaned from the tax information from North Africa o r Granada; see, for example, Isabel Alvarez de Cienfuegos, “Régimen tributario del reino mudéjar de Granada (la hacienda de los nasries granadinos),” Miscelànea de estudios arabes y hebraicos, VII (1959), pp. 99*124. The many treat­ ments o f Arago-Catalan and Castilian taxes, including Mudejar, are o f only limited use. 6. King James I, Llibre dels feyts, ed. Ferran Soldevila in Les quatre grans crbniques (Barcelona 1971), chap. 250: “e qu-ens donassen dretura aixi con fayen al lur rey”; chap. 332: “e prenguem les rendes que solia p[r]endre tarais d-Algezira, ço es to se[n]yor.” The same policy can be seen as late as the surrender treaty o f 1491 at Granada: “los dichos moros non hayan de dar, nin den nin paguen, a sus altezas mas derechos que aquellos que acostumbraban dar e pagar a los reyes moros,” nor the merchants “mas derechos. . . de los que pagan los cristianos”; the formula turns up in other surrenders. See Francisco Fernândez y Gonzélez, Estado social y politico de los mudejares de Castilla, considerados en si mismos y respecta de la civilizaciôn espanola (Madrid 1866), appendix, docs. 85, 86, 87. Mudéjares usually takes an accent, omitted in this and a few other authors. T he Valencian Mudejar Uxô Charter states the principle clearly, that “they should give me the taxes just as they did to their king,” and “all those rents which they used to pay before the Moors left the land” ( ibid., doc. 23, August 1250). 7. See my “Baths and Caravanserais in Crusader Valencia,” Speculum, XLVI (1971), pp. 443-58; “Irrigation Taxes in Early Mudejar Valencia: The Problem of the Alfarda," Speculum, XLIV (1969), pp. 560-67. “Mudejar Life and Work,” on agrarian rents, will appear in Spanish in vol. II of the acts. Primer congreso de historia del pais valenciano, 3 vols, to date (Valencia 1973-76; the publication of the medieval volume, vol. II, has unfortunately been delayed). “Treasure Hunters and Treasure Trove,” delivered at the Eighth Conference on Medieval Studies, Western Michigan University, April-May 1973, has not yet been submitted for publication. An allied, but for most Muslims indirect, tax is studied in my “A Mediaeval Income Tax: The Tithe in the Thirteenth-Century Kingdom o f Valencia,” Speculum, XLI (1966), pp. 438-51. 8. On the word itself, see Eero K. Neuvonen, Los arabismos del espanol en el siglo xiii (Helsinki 1941), p. 107; R. P. A. Dozy and W. H. Engelmann, Glossaire des mots espagnols et portugais dérivés de l’arabe, 2nd ed. (Leiden 1869), pp. 227-28; and Vocabulista in arabico, pubblicato per la prima volta sopra un codice della biblioteca riccardiana di Firenze, moot attribution to thir­ teenth-century Ramôn Marti in eastern Spain, ed. Celestino Schiaparelli (Florence 1871), p. 116. Joseph Villarroya, Real maestrazgo de Montesa, tratado de todos los derechos, bienes y pertenencias de patrimonio y maestrazgo de la real y militar orden de Montesa y S. Jorge de Alfama (Valencia 1787), I, 57n.

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for quotation (my trans.); the meaning puzzled other scholars o f Mudejar affairs, such as Macho y Ortega and Torres Baibas. For labor services by Christians, see Luis [Garda] de Valdeavellano, Curso de historia de las instituâmes espanolas de los origenes al final de la edad media (Madrid 1968), pp. 251-52; and Eulalia Rodôn Binué, El lenguaje técnico del feudalismo en el siglo xi en Cataluna (cmtribucion del latin medieval) (Barcelona 1957), p. 235. Servitium, the Latin equivalent of sofira, can translate as money commutation or rents unless clarified by context; see the entry at Pego in 1265: “item de serviciis, lix solidos, iii denarios" from Muslims, and at Liria “item recepit de quodam sarraceno de Liria pro servicio i solidum," but the separate “item de Jahep açofra” (Archivo de la Corona de Aragén, hereafter cited as Arch. Crown, Reg. Cane. 17, fol. 66). 9. T he Mudejar taxes of Huesa in Aragon in 1294 included: “item çaffra de lenna en esta manera es assaber aquellos qui han bestias sendas cargas cada mes, et los otros qui no han bestias sendas faxes de lenna cada mes" (Rentas de la antigua corona de Aragon, ed. Manuel de Bofarull in Coleccion de documentas méditos del archivo general de la corona de Aragon, ed. Prospéra de Bofarull et al., Barcelona 1847-1910, XXXIX, 214). At Nabal in 1294, “fazen [moros] çafre, et es assaber aduzir al castiello todos sabados lenna o qualquiera otra cosa et encara fazen tambien los otros dias servicio al castiello de carriar et pertrechos necesarios quen es menester” (ibid., p. 301). Pertrechi (Catalan pertrets) are the tackle and tools required for a given job. Although bizarre spellings o f the tax might seem to include ceyffa, that was rather the fixed, annual peita when given in kind; see, for example, the 1263 crown exemption to the Moors o f Borgia near Zaragoza from the civana given as ceyffa in August of each year, “racione cavalleriarum et de azemile quas per cavalleris [dant]” (Joaquin Miret y Sans, Itinerari de Jaume / “el Conqueridor,” Barcelona 1918, doc. on p. 334). 10. Carta puebla de Aldea (12 February 1258), “Colecciön de cartas pueblas,” no. 60, Boletin de la sociedad castellonense de cultura, XVI (1935), pp. 289-91: “teneantur in unoquoque mense operare unum diem in nostris necessariis et nos in ipso die teneamur eis dare victum”; this opus is then referred to as “dictam çoffram.” Close to the Valencian border, La Aldea fell under the Valencian monastery of Benifasâ in the next century. Also see the Tortosa Convention of 1174, where the Muslim “[non] faciat operam aliquo modo nobis neque successoribus nostris in Dertuse neque deforis neque in castris nec in aliquibus locis” (Fernandez y Gonzalez, Mudejares de Castilla, appendix, doc. 9. a tax agreement not to be confused with the 1148 Tortosa Charter, ibid., doc. 5, misdated). 11. Uxö Charter: “zofris.” Carta puebla de Chivert (28 April 1234), “Colecciön de cartas pueblas," no. 76. Boletin de la sociedad castellonense de cultura, XXIV (1948), pp. 226-30: “açofram" on a wall, and the more general “açoffres,” exempting “alfachinus, alcaydus, cum suis successoribus et çabacalonis.” Carta puebla de Eslida (29 May 1242), “Coleccion de cartas pueblas,” no. 6 3,ibid., XVIII (1943), pp. 159-60: “azofres.” The Carta puebla de Tuleda (March 1115) freed its Mudejars from sofra on man and beast

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(Fernandez y Gonzalez. Xiudejares de Castilla, appendix, dot. 2). For Jativa see see Arch. Crown, James I, Reg. Cant. 9, i'ol. 53 (7 September 1273): “et de çofra.” 12. Arch. Crown, ibid., Reg. Cane. 11, fols. 182v-183 (26 October 1260): “vobis universis et singulis sarracenis qui nunc estis in Peniscola et successoribus . . . [quod] teneamini pro çofra lignorum alcaido nostro castri de Peniscola [sed non detis] de cofra lignorum unquam [nisi semel] in unoquoque mense.” The manuscript is badly worn, and represents my reconstruction in the bracketed parts; the date is borrowed from the entry immediately above it. Since this document is a concession, yet imposes sofra, it probably represents a diminution, as reconstructed. A further concession concerned “leudam ab aliquo ligno vel barcha inde transeunte,” where lignum was used in its meaning as ship. 13. Ibid., fols. 192v-193 (5 February 1260): “laudamus . . . tibi Mahometo el Ruvio de Villena sarraceno franquitatem . . . et quod non donet ipse vel filius suus pro se nec pro bestiis suis çofram aliquo tempore vite sue ratione predicte hereditatis.” The concession had previously made clear that it applied also to “filius tuus sive filia,” in case a daughter inherited. 14.Ibid., Reg. Cane. 10, fol. 68 (28June 1258): “volumus etiam et mandam­ us quod sarraceni omnes jam dictorum castrorum et terminorum eorum presentes atque futuri faciant ibi çofras de aqua et lignis.” 15. Ibid., Reg. Cane. 12, fol. 119(1 October 1263): “çofras . . . et omnia alia iura que nos in Biar et a sarracenis ibidem habitantibus habemus et habere debemus.” 16.Ibid., Reg. Cane. 20, fol. 245 (27 April 1275): “soffram." 17. Ibid., Reg. Cane. 16, fol. 229v (28 January 1270): “ab omni scilicet. . . çofra . . . et eorum redempeionibus et ab omni alio servicio, exaccionc, seu demanda regali.“ This exemption for a Mudejar resident argues for the general obligation. 18. Ibid., Reg. Cane. 10, fol. 140 (29 May 1259): “çofram.” 19. Ibid., Reg. Cane. 15, fol. 88 (1 March 1267): “aliame sarracenorum de Galinera et de Alcalano . . . ratione reddituum, exituum . . . zofre nec alicuius alterius exaccionis regalis.” The sofra occurs here in a context of general revenue farming for a two-year period. 20.Ibid., Reg. Cane. 10, fol. 20v (24 September 1257): “de omnibus redditib u s. . . çofris. . . de castris et villis Denie, Segarrie, Alaguar, Pop, Exalo, Calp, Olocayba, et Polop.” Segarria is not nearby Sagra but the hill region and valley named Segarria, which bounded the old marquisate of Dénia at the north; the name also appears without accent, and in the Catalan form Segària. The Martinez Ferrando catalogue regularly gives it as Segarra. Laguart is also Lauar and Lahuar as well as archaic Alaguar. See the similar document in Reg. Cane. 9, fol. 39r, v ( 19 September 1257): “castra el villas de Alguarr et de Exalone, cum . . . ço[fris]. . . çofris. . . et aliis iuribus omnibus”; the grantee can settle Moors temporarily or permanently there. James II transferred the sofra for Sagra to a lord, Raymond of Villanueva (Archivo Hislörico

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Nacional, Madrid, Ords. milils., Celés, caj. 301, no. 1 [26 September 1296]). 21. Arch. Crown, James 1, Reg. Cane. 14, loi. 55v (30 May 1264): “in castris, [villis], et locis totius baiulie regni Valentie quam pro nobis tenebatis a rivo Xuchari ultra tam videlicet de. . . çofris, serviciis. . . et computavisitis nobiscum de opéré turris de Biar et de tota missione quam in ea fecistis.” The revenues were probably mixed Christian and Mudejar. 22. Formularium diversorum contractuum et instrumentorum secundum pratiquam et consuetudinem civitatis et regni Valende (Valencia 1499[?]), loi. xxviii: "Cofris." 23. Itinerari, p. 308 (5 November 1260): “non teneamini facere çofram p rio ri. . . nisi tantum unusquisque casatus vest rum unam diem in unoquoque mense . . . ; concedimus etiam vobis quod non teneamini dare eidem priori et suis successoribus ligna ad opus coquine sue nisi tantum quando ipsi fuerint in Castilione personaliter constituti.” This is from the manuscripts of Poblet monastery in the Archivo Histörico Nacional, Madrid. 24. Arch. Crown, James I, Reg. Cane. 35, fols. 3-4 and fols. 7-8 (1268, 1269, 1270), a series of accounts, loosely dated: “B[e]nig[a]na, çofra e gallin[es], xx[x]ii sous, vi diners; . . . çofra e gallines, x) sous; Benerida [e] Alcana, çofra e gallines, lii sous, vi diners”; “Exaracho [cum] Exeresa, çofra e gallines, xxxvii sous, vi diners.” Fol. 7: “rendas de Somacarcel: çofra e besa[nt] e gallines e forn, xxiiii cases, cdxviii sous.” Fol. 7v: “[renjdas del raval de [Car]cel e de Sueca. . . [çofra] e [g]allines, ii sous, vi diners”; “de las alcherias del termo de Somacarcel, item l’alcantera, çofra, e gallines, xx sous; item don Pere Çabata, çofra e gallines, xx sous; item Anabairon, çofra e gallines, xx sous; item dona Soriana, çofra e gallines, xlv sous; [item] de do M[ar]ti Sanchis, çofra e gallines, x sous; item de do Pere Sanchis [çofra e gallines, xx sous]; item de do Guillem P[ercs] çofra e . . . .” Fol. 8: “item de [d]ona Isabel, çofra e gallines, xxxv sous; item de La Exarquia, çofra e gallines, xxxv sous; item d'En Bartolomeu, çofra e gallines, v sous; item de i moro pobre, ii sous, vi diners.” Fol. 8v: “[re]membrança de lo que prisimos de los moros del terme [de Carcel e de Çuecha]. . . los moros de don Blascho P[eres], çofra e gallines, xlv sous; [item de] do Pere [Çabata], çofra e gallines, xx sous; [item de dona] Soriana, çofra e gallines, xl sous; [item de] do Marti Sanchis, çofra e gallines, v sous; [item de do] Pere [San]chis, ç[ofra] e gallines, xx sous; [item de do] Guillem Peres, ço[fra] e gallines, xxxv sous; [item de] dona lsabel, çofra e gallines, xxx sous; [item de La E]xarquia, ço[fra] e gallines, xxxv sous; [item d'En Bartolomeu], çofr[a] e gallines, v sous; [item. . ., çofra] e gallines, v sous.” Since the last list is explicitly only Moorish rents, and the preceding is identical in form and in several specific entries, both must be unmixed Moorish accounts. 25. The tenants of Valldigna protested against the monastery's attempt to collect money instead of chickens (James Casey, “Moriscos and the De­ population of Valencia,” Past and Present, L, 1971, p. 33). 26. Francisco Macho y Ortega could describe the fifteenth-century so fra: “variaba en significaciôn, pero generalmcme sc referia al pago de un numéro determinado de gallinas por cada familia,” or a money equivalent; see his

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“Condiciön social de los mudéjares aragoneses (siglo xv),” Memorias de la facultad defitosofia y letras de la universidad de Zaragoza, I (1922*23), p. 203. 27. Rabie, Financial System of Egypt, p. 103; during the thirteenth century the Ayyubid state distributed chicks to the fellaheen to raise, later collecting two-thirds of the adult birds in recompense as a tax, taking care also to make the sale or growing of chickens a state monopoly. 28. Llibre dels feyts of King James, as cited in my Islam under the Crusaders, chap. 5, pt. 3. 29. Arch. Crown, James I, Reg. Cane. 35, fol. 3 (1268): “item las gallines, xlv besants"; fol. 4 (1269): “item gallines, vii besants; item forno e gallines, xcvii besants, viii millareses, [e] colidura ix besants, viii millareses”; fol. 7 (1268): “besant e gallines de vii moros barranis, xxx . . . sous, v [diners]"; fol. 8 (1269): “besa[n]t e gallines de xx casados del [r]aval, vii sous, viii diners.” The barranis were residents lacking true domicile, usually resident aliens; another case is on fol. 8 for Sumacârcel with Sueca: “besant e gallines de xii [moros] barranis, lx sous.” 30. La Aldea Charter: “illi qui dictam çoffram fecerint, teneantur nobis dare unam gallinam in festo natalis domini singulis annis.” At Avencalles near Tortosan Ulldecona, in 1257, the Christian settlement charter re­ quired “pro capmasio par gallinarum annuatim in natale domini persolvendum,” but this was a kind of acknowledgment for the bit of farraginal, or grazing land for the domestic animals, given to each house (iCartas de poblaciôn y franquicia de Cataluna, ed. J. M. Font y Rius, 1 vol. to date, Madrid 1969, I, pt. 1, doc. 302); capmàs meant head of a farm household. Here the Christians' chicken-tax was double that of the Mudejars. 31. Uxô Charter: “la venema dels arbres.” Early in the next century the revenues for Aspe record the tithes falling on the tax of verema as a hundred solidi yearly. 32. Arch. Crown, Red. Cane. 17, fol. 27 (30 December 1263): “vindemia, calonie, et servicia” in mixed Moorish-Christian returns. 33. Ibid., Reg. Cane. 12, fol. 40v (6 May 1262): “concedimus vobis omnibus sarracenis in ravallo maiori Xative comorantibus presentibus et futuris et vestris imperpetuum quod nunquam vos vel vestri teneamini fodere vineas quas fecimus vobis plantari in termino Xative ad opus nostrum, nec teneamini vos vel vestri plantare aliquam vineam pro nobis decetero nec aliquid laboris facere in dictam vineam factam nec faciendam nec aliquam aliam missionem facere.” 34. Carta puebla de Chelva (17 August 1330), in Fernàndez y Gonzalez. Mudejares de Castilla, appendix, doc. 71. For Cheste, see Miguel Gual Camarena, “Mudéjares valencianos, aponaciones para su estudio,” Saitabi. VII (1949), pp. 181-83. 35. Chivert Charier: “aportent ubi fratres voluerint intus Castro [sir]”; “de vindemia similiter. . . aportent ad trullum intus Castro ubi fratres voluerint”; trull means a winepress. On haulage in Egypt, see L0kkegaard,

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Islamic Taxation, p. 119. For this transport charge among Christians, found in northern Valencia only at Cervera, see Honorio G arda y G arda, Estado econômico-social de los vasailos en la gobernaciôn forai de Castellôn (Vich 1943), p. 43. Haulage as a labor service was commonly referred to as traginum in northern Christian documents. See Cartas de poblaciôn de Cataluna, I, doc. 223 (1207): “traginum, id est servitium asinorum aliarumque bestiarum”; doc. 322 (1273): “facere traginum nisi bis traginum in annum, unum scilicet per duos dies in anno ad bladum defferendum. . . nec facere teneantur aliquod opus vel operam. . . nisi tantum de fusta.” These seem, in part at least, the equivalent of the Mudejar sofra. 36. Fori antiqui Valentiae, ed. Manuel Dualde Serrano (Valencia 1967), rub. CXX1V, no. 16. Colecciôn diplomdtica de Jaime I, el Conquistador, ed. Ambrosio Huici Miranda (Valencia 1916-22), doc. 399 (19 June 1251): “ad construccionem et reparacionem m urorum et vallis, construccionem, reparacionem et mundacionem et ad instrucciones et mundaciones viarum publicarum et poncium et civitatis custodiam.” 37. Claude Cahen, “Notes sur l'histoire des croisades et de l'orient latin: le régime rural syrien au temps de la domination franque,” Bulletin de la faculté des lettres de Strasbourg, XXIX (1951), p. 297. 38. Rabie, Financial System of Egypt, pp. 70-71, 115. 39. Chivert Charter. In the early fourteenth century, at Aspe, 200 solidi were returned to local authorities every year “cn reparacio dels murs del loch,” an entry which must have come under the heading of sofra ( Rentas de la corona de Aragon, p. 126). 40. Resumen historico del urbanismo en Espana (Madrid 1954), p. 77. See also his Ciudades hispano-musulmanas, ed. Henri Terrasse (Madrid 1971), II, chap. 4. 41. Arch. Crown, Peter III, Reg. Cane. 48, fol. 187 (28 November 1280): “non compellare sarracenos de Cabanes ad aptandum pontes terminorum suorum quos dominus rex aptari mandavit ad opus carreriarum, nisi died sarraceni aliquo tempore se juvare voluerint de carreriis predictis.” 42. Ibid., fol. 67 (26 June 1280): “noveritis nos posuisse Vives Abenvives iudeum nostrum Valencie pro custode et opere regali nostri Valencie; quare mandamus vobis quatenus omnes illi vestrum quos dictus Vives in predicto opere necessarios habuerit ut. . . iuvetis eundem ac eidem.” The o rder is directed to the Moors of Valencia “a rivo Xucar citra.” 43. At Nabal, in 1294, the Moors not only paid the usual “calonias de sal,” but worked in and coadministered the six salt works—“tambien christianos infançones o otros como moros tienan, lauran, et aministrean todas las ditas salinas” ( Rentas de la corona de Aragon, pp. 303-4). Mudejar work on Christian churches, apparently rare in Valencia, may have fallen under a similar rubric o f public works or may have represented a substitute for labor owed as rent; Alfonso X of Castile in 1267 ordered all available Mudejar carpenters, sawyers, and masons to work two days in repairing Cordova

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Cathedral, with meals supplied free, a program widened to involve Mudejars generally for two days a year by King Sancho in 1282 (Miguel A. Orti Belmote, “El fuero de Cördoba y las clases sociales en la ciudad: mudéjares y judios en la edad media/' Boletin de la real academia de Cordoba, XXV, 1954, pp. 4142). 44. Arch. Crown, James I. Reg. Cane. 10, fols. 25v-26 (28 November 1257): “obulos pontis, censualia, percasia, aventuras, servicia, cu[m] redditibus seu tributis sarracenorum" at Alcira; the list occurs again later in the doc­ ument. See also fols. 33v-34 (9 February 1258): “obulos pontis" to a different tax farmer at Alcira. At Valencia city, from 1243, each loaded animal, whether of resident Christian or Moor or of outsider, had to pay a penny for entering, until the pennies had paid for the new bridge (Archivo Mun­ icipal de Valencia, perg. James I, sig. no. 9). Johannes Vincke has a study in hand on the crown's deliberate control of bridge construction, its political significance, and the fees. This construction fee was distinct from pontatge (Latin pontaticum) a transit fee related to cespaticus (see Rodén Binué, Lenguaje técnico del feudalismo, pp. 54, 199). 45. Tulio Halpern Donghi, “Recouvrements de civilisation: les morisques de royaume de Valence au xvie siècle," Annales: Économies, sociétés, civilisations, XI (1956), p. 159: “presque servile." At Perpunchent, in 1334, the com­ mander could requisition Muslims and their mules for repairs or new build­ ings as often as he wanted, paying 6 pence for each day's work, plus 6 to 12 pence more if an ass or mule were involved; at Cheste, in 1371, each Moor had to "fer çofra a nos e als nostres, tota hora que nos e los nostres vos hauren menester," receiving only daily bread and any animal's forage; at Ribesalbes, each household had to give two days* work free, after which the lord could demand work usually only within a distance of five leagues and according to a pay schedule running between 1 and l 2h solidi (Gual Camarena, “Mudéjares valencianos, aportaciones,” pp. 181-83). The 1370 Chelva Charter required a large commutation: “item por zofra cuatro sueldos por casa, los cuales seades tenidos pagar un ano en dos pagas," half in January and half in August. 46. Villarroya, Real maestrazgo de Montesa, I, 56-57n. Diccionari catalàvalencià-balear, inventari lexirogràpc i etimologic de la llengua catalana en totes les seves formes literàries i dialectals, recoUides de documents i textos, ed. A. M. Alcovcrétal. (Palma de Mallorca 1930-62). 1, 130. The Dozy and Engelmann Glossaire des mots espagnols dérivés de l'arabe gives it merely as a tax (p. 152). 47. M. A. Ladern Quesada, “Dos temas de la Granada nazari," in Estudios sobre la sociedad castellana en la baja edad media, ed. Salvador de Moxö (Madrid 1969), pp. 324-25; and Ladero Quesada, Granada, historia de un pais islàmico, 1232-1571 (Madrid 1969), pp. 52-53. See also Alvarez de Cienfuegos, “Regimen tributario del reino mudejar de Granada," pp. 104, 108. 48. Arch. Crown, James I. Reg. Canc. 35, fol. 4 (1269): “almagram de las alfabas de Pego. . . et axi romanefn] dccccxxx alfabas comtadas a i besant cada alfaba. que fan dccccxxx besants." An alfaba varied from two to five or more taf alias of land (Castilian tahulla). according to its productivity: a talulla, still used in parts of Valencia, was one-sixth of a fanecate (fanera).

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itself equivalent to 831 square meters. Fol. 3v: “rendas de Pego son las alfabas por todos dccclxi alfaba et media. . . que munta i besam per quodatn alfaba que son deed besants." 49.Ibid., Reg. Cane. 10, fol. 103v (16 June 1258): “almagran." Reg. Cane. 12. fol. 119 (1 October 1263): “almagrams” (sic). Reg. Cane. 15, fol. 84 (March 1267): “almagram.” Reg. Cane. 16, fol. 229v (28 January 1270): “[ab] almagrama.” 50. Ibid., Reg. Cane. 10. fol. 40 (22 February 1257): “et cum almagram et omnibus aliis redditibus.” Fol. 64 (30 April 1258): “cum almagram et cum aliis redditibus.” Reg. Cane. 16, fol. 193 (1 May 1270): “almagramam et calonias et alia iura nostra.” Fol. 229v (28 January 1270): “ab . . . al­ magrama.” 51. Ibid., Reg. Cane. 10, fol. 66 (14 May 1258): “et cum almagram.” Reg. Cane. 20, fol. 245 (27 April 1275), a form document circulated to both valleys. The “law of magram” is also in the Alfandech Charter, Arch. Crown, James II, Reg. Cane. 196, fol. 164 (1277). 52. Archivo Histôrico Nacional, Ords. milits., Uclés, caj. 307, no. 1 (26 September 1296): with “almagraniis." Chelva Charter: “por almagran de las tierras.” Rentas de la corona de Aragon, p. I l l : “lalmagera quels dits moros paguen” (14,500 solidi at Elche); p. 120 (12,895 Barcelona solidi at Elda); p. 122 (12,173 at Novelda); pp. 123-24 (4,600 for Aspe). The alfarda is erron­ eously copied at 57,000 for Elche instead of 7,000. The later lists include 5.000 solidi for “delmes” (at Elche, where the almagra totaled 20.000), and elsewhere “delmes de la alfarra”; the almaçera service charge on oil-presses appears independently in the lists. 53. José Toledo Girau, Las aguas de riego en la historic de Valldigna (Castellôn 1958), pp. 10-15, 20, 22, 36; definitions on pp. 10, 12. 54. Garcia de Valdeavellano, Instituciones espanolas, pp. 251. 348, 352, 353, 590. The quote is from James Casey, “Moriscos and the Depopulation of Valencia,” p. 33. 55. On Valencia's sheep, goats, and cows see my Islam under the Crusaders, chap. 5, pt. 3, and Crusader Valencia, 1, 221-22. See also C. E Dubler, Über das Wirtschaftsleben auf der iberischen Halbinsel vom xi zum xiii Jahrhundert, Beitrag zu dem islamisch-christlichen Beziehungen (Zurich 1943), pp. 51-60; S. M. Imamuddin, Some Aspects of the Socio-Economic and Cultural History of Muslim Spain, 711-1492 AJ>. (leiden 1965), pp. 91-95; Lévi-Provençal, Espana musulmane, V, 21-22; Garcia de Valdeavellano, Instituetunes espanolas, pp. 263-71, 606, 649. 56. Aghnides, Mohammedan Theories of Finance, pp. 200-201, 244-61; Siddiqi, Public Finance in Islam, pp. 14. 53-54. 57. Qudâma ibn Ja'far, Kitàb al-kharäj, Irans. A. Ben Shemesh in Taxation in Islam, vol. II; see Qudäma's chaps. 9, 18. $adaqa involved almsgiving, both voluntary and (as zakàt) obligatory; see Rabie, Financial System of Egypt, pp. 79-80; also Alvarez de Cienfuegos, Regimen tributario de Granada, p. 104. For the complexity and local variations these pastoral taxes could assume, see, for example, the document of 1497 outlining the stock taxes

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for the Mudejars of the Mâlaga region, appended to Ladero Quesada, “Granada nazari,” pp. 327*28. 58. Eslida Charter. Chivert Charter. La Aldea Charter: “ad pascendum bestias, scilicet vaccas, equas [sic], asinas, oves et capras sine aliquo logerio.” Uxö Charter: “e que hajen tots lurs termens e lurs bestiars de Uxo, e Nulles, e Almenara, o lo terme de Urmell en la Plana.. . en temps de moros; e que pusca anar lo lur bestiar en tot lo terme de Xova, segons que a élis ja legut.” Term , countryside or jurisdiction, here bears a technical meaning of agreed pasture area or waste; bestiar, though not including the same animals every­ where, at its widest applied to all domesticated four-legged work or meat stock, whether pigs, cows, sheep, horses, goats, or mules. Chivert Charter: “in heremo longe et prope ad quattuor partes.” T he Chelva Charter provided free grazing. Privileges to Christians or Jews, or to areas of mixed settle­ ment, often include the Muslims. The Cullera settlers could freely pasture on certain Tem plar meadows, a privilege which probably included their Mudejar exarici ( Colecciôn diplomàtica, doc. 418 [4 April 1252]). Such areas ( boalars) were not part of the general exemption the king had given Valencians. When King James gave an exemption from pasture tax to his Jewish counselor Judah de la Cavalleria, “ipse et exeriqui sui possint pascere seu pasturare mille cabecias ganati ipsius Iahudani et suorum exeriquorum” in the places named (ibid., doc. 1,415 [22 November 1273]). In Arch. Crown, James I, Reg. Cane. 10, fol. 140 (29 May 1259), in renting the “iura nostra. . . a christianis et sarracenis” due at Confrides, King James included “pasturas.” 59. Arch. Crown,ibid., Reg. Cane. 9, fol. 24 (27 February’ 1257): “quod possitis accipere [er]bagium de omnibus ganatis Aragonie et Castelle in termino de Montessa [et] de Vallata, videlicet de mille ovibus parturientibfus sex] oves, et de mille cabras parturientibus sex capras. si[cut] nos dictum erbagium recipimus in terminis aliorum [locorum] nostrorum regni Valencie.” Bracketed parts are missing; a modem hand supplied “castrorum” in the last bracket. The Teruel privilege is in Colecciôn diplomàtica, doc. 294 (5 Feb­ ruary 1246): “racione herbatici, pasquerii, montalici ganatorum suorum non d o n e n t.. . nisi semel in quolibet anno de mille ovibus parideriis tantummodo sex carnerios. . . . " 60. Arch. Crown, James I, Reg. Cane. 35. fol. 4 (1269): “item erbatge. Ixxix besants”; fol. 8 (1268): “item lerbatge, cl sous.” 61. Carta puebla de Tales (27 May 1260). in “Colecciôn de cartas pueblas,” no. 84, Boletin de la sociedad castellonense de cultura, XXVIII ( 1952). pp. 437-38. La Aldea Charter. Chivert Charter: “unum denari urn monete iaccense pro unoquoque capite bestiarii minuti ovini aut caprini tarn magni quam sutili.” The Latin grossum et minutum corresponds to medieval Catalan bestiar gros e meant, and su[b]tile to sotil, the latter term meaning incon­ siderable or scrawny. Leopoldo Piles Ros, working from later materials, explains the bestiar menut as a tax of six out of each thousand new'born animals, or a money equivalent, though he distinguishes it from herbatge, and the bestiar gran as a tax of three Jaca pennies on animals more than

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a vear old. but two pennies per pin ( Estudio documental sohre el bayle general de Valencia, su autoridad y jurisdiction, Valencia 1970, p. 8H). 62.llinerari, p. 308 (5 November 1260): “de animalibus vestris ininutis nisi tantum pro unoquoque unum denarium in anno.” 63. Eslida Charter: ”et dent açaque ganatorum secundum quod consueverunt.” Uxö Charter: “e que sien tenguts de pagar lo dret de b estiar.. . CO es de cuaranta una." Tortosa Charter: udonet sua açadaga directa de suas oves, sic est lure fuero et lure lege.” T he Tudela C harter had: “vadat ganado. . . securament, et prendant ilium azudum de illas oves, sicut est foro de azuna de illos moros.” Dozy and Engelmann, Glossaire des mots espagnols dérivés de l'arabe, p. 222 ( azadeca); Arnald Steiger, Contribution a la fonética del hispano-arabe y de los arabismos en el iber-romànico y el siciliano (Madrid 1932), p. 146 (al-zakâ). On the non-tax nature of zakât and more generally $adaqa, and the challenge of Ben Shemesh to Siddiqi and Zayas in this matter, see Taxation in Islam, III, 27-32. 64. Arch. Crown, James I, Reg. Cane. 35, fol. 3 (1268): “zaq del ganado, xi sous ii diners.” Fol. 3v (1268): “zaque del bestiar”; “item diesmo de corderos, xiii besants, v millareses.” Fol. 3v (1269), the same. Fol. 4v (1268): “zaque del bestiar, xiiii sous. . . iii diners”; fol. 7 (1269): “zaque del bestiar”; fol. 7 (1268, Sumacârcel); fol. 7v (1268): “item corderos de diesmo, xxii sous, ii diners,” and “item el tierço de los cabritos, vii sous.” Fol. 8 (1269): “zaque [del bjestiar, lxix sous, iii diners.” 65.Ibid., Reg. Cane. 17, fol. 28 (30 December 1263): “décima de corderiis, iii solidos”; “décima animalium, vii solides"; fol. 29: “dccimum bestiarii, xvii solidos minus i denarium"; fol. 29v: “decimum bestiarii, x solidos, v denarios, obolum." 66. Ibid., Peter III, Reg. Cane. 42, fol. 133 (26 August 1279), though this year he was not to take it: “non exigatis ab ipsis sarracenis de Barbagcna aliquant nostram quintam ganati.” 67. Rentas de la corona de Aragon, pp. 92, 102, 110 (“latzaque quels dits moros paguen por lo bestiar menut que tenen. . . tro a d sous”), p. 112 (“lerbatge de les cabanes que entra pexer en lo terme”), p. 120 (“munta latzaque del bestiar del dit loch cascun any tro a ccc sous”), pp. 122, 124; the adjoined tax is “les gallines," and all figures are net after collection expenses. Many places return lumped, unitemized tax totals. T he camatge for Gallinera every year was merely 100 solidi. 68. Arch. Crown, James I, Reg. Cane. 35, fol. 3v (1268): “item zaque de las colmenas, vii besants, iiii millareses, ii diners”; “i colmena que fue de Musça, iii millareses.” Fol. 4 (1269): “item zaque de las abellas, xvii besants, vi millareses; colidura, xvii millareses, ii diners.” Fol. 4v (1268): “item çaque de las abellas, v sous, viii diners” (de Benaamira). Fol. 7 (1269): “item zaque de las abellas, iii sous, vi diners.” Fol. 7v (1269): “zaque de las abel[as. . .].” Uxö Charter: “pagar lo dret. . . de colmenes." Chivert Charter: “et pro unaquaque arna de apibus similiter unum denarium eiusdem monete (jaccensis]."

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69. Arch. Crown, ibid., Reg. Cane. 11, fol. 186 (17 December 1260): “de qualibet am a apium donetis et dare teneamini nobis et nostris unum denar[ium] regale tantum, et de unaquaque capra i denarium tantum.” Honey served as the poor man’s sugar, and a tax on hives was common in Islam. Qudâma ibn Ja ’far has a passage on this moot honey tax and various opinions concerning its amount (Kitàb al-kharäj, pp. 39-40). See also Imamuddin, Socio-Economic and Cultural History of Muslim Spain, p. 89. 70. Arch. Crown, ibid., Reg. Cane. 9, fol. 29v (4 May 1258): “triginta solidos regalium Valencie censuales. . . super peyta.” In one later account­ ing for the whole kingdom, 47,000 solidi from the revenues above the Jücar River went to violaris, to assigned salaries of higher officials, and to burdens such as rebates for use in public works: they included three claims on the city granary and one “sobre les dites rendes de la moreria per violari”; below the Jücar the total was 57,000 (Rentas de la corona de Aragon, pp. 95-105, 116-19). 71. Arch. Crown, ibid., Reg. Cane. 11, fol. 191v (20 January 1260): “per nos et nostros damus et concedimus tibi Mahometo Almorelli alcadi sarracenorum ravalli Xative c solidos regalium quolibet anno dum alcadiam dictorum sarracenorum tenueris, ita quod habeas ipsos et recipias quolibet anno in redditibus et exitibus nostris de almaxeram papyri quem sarraceni faciunt." Note the form alcadus here rather than alcaydus, indicating a q&4i instead of a qä'id. Almaxera, or millage, derives from the Arabic for a grinding-mill; Catalan almàssera and almàrsera, for an olive-press, has the same derivation. 72. Ibid., Reg. Cane. 15, fol. 85 (14 March 1267). “Per nos et nostros damus et concedimus tibi Çahato Abinhaia alcaydo sarracenorum civitatis Valentie in tota vita tua centum solidos regalium habendos et percipiendos annuatim in redditibus et iuribus nostris carnicerie sarracenorum Valentie ratione predicti officii tui alcaydi. Ita quod tu singulis annis de cetera in vita tua dum dictum officium exerceris et in ipso bene et fideliter te habebis, habeas et percipias dictos c solidos de redditibus et iuribus nostris carnicerie . . . pro labore et officio tuo ut superius continetur. Mandantes firmiter baiulo nostro Valentie . . . quod de redditibus et iuribus nostris predictis carnicerie predicte donetur et solvatur tibi ut dictum est annuatim c solidos." The name Abenhaia might suggest something like Ibn Hayyän, but three variants elsewhere for the same man afford a wider base o f interpretation. 73.Ibid., Reg. Cane. 19, fol. 30v (8 July 1273): “duos morabatinos censuales quos annuatim nobis facere tenetis”: the name is Çahat Abinafia here. The usual shop rent required by Jâtiva’s charter was a silver besant, or between 3 and 4 Valencian solidi. The gold morabatin equaled 814 Valencian solidi. 74. Ibid., Peter 111, Reg. Cane. 40, fol. 26 (7 October 1277): “Petrus Dei gratia etc. Hdeli suo baiulo Beniope salutem et gratiam. Mandamus vobis quatenus illos triginta solidos regalium, quos Mahomet Abeniumen sarratenus de Beniopa recipere consuevit ut asserit cum carta dicli Iacobi indite recordacionis regis Aragonum patris nostri de redditibus Beniope, ipsos sibi solvatis annuatim ut in dicta carta videbitis contincri.”

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75.Ibid.. James I, Reg. Cane. 11, foi. 154 (10 October 1259): "vos Mahometum pictorem et Abdala fusterum fratres sarracenos." 76. Ibid., fol. 157v (21 December 1259): "facimus te Ali de Galinera . . . (ranchum, quitum ac immunem . . . te tarnen dante ac solvente nobis sexcentos solidos iaccensium prout ipsos lucratus fueris de officio tuo barbitonsorie.” 77. In Christian Valencia, the barbers were among the fifteen guilds who gained political power over the municipality in 1283. A law at Lérida in 1257 forbade barbers their trade on Sundays and feast days: “nullus barbitonsor rädere aut tonsurare présumât alicui persone per se vel per alium__ a vigilia cuiuslibet festorum predictorum,” nor to lend his “rasorium sive forcipes.” T he law covered also “sarracenos barbitonsores tarn liberos quam captivos” ( Coteccion diplomàtica, doc. 587 [17 September 1257]). The celebrated Ibn al-Abbâr, a literary figure later eminent in government in Morocco and Tunisia, left a poem from Valencia's last Islamic months, in which he complained that the barber of his master, the usurper Zayyän, was well paid for a tonsorial session, "but empty is the hand that brought a poem” (A. R. Nykl, Hispano-Arabic Poetry and its Relations with the Old Proi'cnçal Troubadours, Baltimore 1946, p. 334). 78. Arch. Crown, James I, Reg. Cane. 19, fol. 53 (7 September 1273): “franchos et liberos facimus te Ali Allauri sederium et uxorem tuam Nuxam et L'becar et Mahometum filios tuos, venientes modo Xativam.” Nuxam may represent Nu'm; L'becar, recurring in a separate document about this family as Bocaron, seems to be Bakr with and without augmentative. Since Aloar had been the Romance version of al-H urr (ibn al-Rahmän), third governor after the invasion, that form may be an alternative choice. T he three documents on ‘All show him to be a dyer of silk. Muslim-conducted dyeworks show up also in revenue accounts for such unlikely places as Gandia (1263) and Biar (1267); three Muslim dyemasters at Valencia city received from King James “buildings next to St Mary's [cathedral] so as to manufacture dyes in them .” 79. Ibid., Reg. Cane. 21. fol. 141 (7 June 1273): “indulgemus vobis aliame sarracenorum Xative. . . quod omnes et singuli. . . magistratus purpurarum qui venient apud Xativam et ibi residenciam fecerint. . . sint franchi.” 80. Itinerari, pp. 275-76 (16 June 1258): “omnes putas seu meretrices sarracenas sine impedimento alicuius persone." 81. Arch. Crown, Peter III, Reg. Cane. 50, fol. 231 (17 January 1281): “de mulieribus sarracenibus meretricibus viginti solidos pro qualibet”; this was the highest rate o f household tax on Muslims in Valencia, and fell on the only stratum o f society so singled out for a tax otherwise adjusted by property values. 82. Ibid., Reg. Cane. 35, fol. 3v (1268): “item las putas, ix besants”; fol. 4 (1269): “item la tarquena e las putas, xxx besants"; fol. 7v (1268): “una puta de la exarquia, xii sous," and “otra puta, [x]iiii sous”; fol. 8 (1269): “item de ii putas, xvi [sous]."

8 Reflections on the Role of Agriculture in M edieval Persia A. K. S. Lambton

No single picture of agriculture in medieval Persia or o f its eco­ nomic role holds good for either the whole o f the period or the whole o f the country. Natural and climatic conditions were extremely varied; physical diversity fostered regional separation; mountains, deserts, and, in the north, forests were barriers to movement; and although natural disasters—drought, sudden storms, floods, earth­ quakes, ravages by locusts and other pests—from time to time caused much damage and sometimes heavy loss o f life, these were usually local in character. It might be expected that agriculture would flourish most in regions where natural conditions were most favor­ able: river valleys and districts with abundant water resources, re­ gions where there were no natural obstacles to the establishment of transport routes, and regions where there were other useful re­ sources. T he history of agriculture in Persia cannot, however, be explained by natural conditions alone. O ther factors also influenced its de­ velopment. Demographic movements, some connected with cli­ matic changes beyond the confines of Persia, brought about political changes, which in turn affected agriculture. Political unity was fre­ quently fragm ented and centralized government interrupted. Such developments were often accompanied by a breakdown in security, a spread in the extent both o f dead lands (because of the slaughter or flight of the inhabitants) and of crown lands because the new holders of power seized not only those lands held by the previous dynasty but also those abandoned by their owners. These changes were often disastrous for agriculture. Disorders also facilitated the usur­ pation of property in that they led small men to seek the protection

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o f the powerful, who in the course o f time tended to absorb the land o f their neighbors. Moreover, the absence of effective government, so far as it led to a decline in agricultural prosperity, tended to re­ sult in increased indebtedness on the part o f the peasants and this also contributed to the transfer o f ownership. These various fac­ tors were in large measure responsible for the changes in owner­ ship and tenure that accompanied the rise and fall of the great empires. Dynastic changes were also often accompanied by a transfer o f the capital city, which in turn was followed by a growth in the pros­ perity of one area and the decline or decay of another. These vicis­ situdes were sometimes of a temporary nature, sometimes more permanent. Even such minor incidents as the rise of a minister oc­ casionally had implications for local prosperity, while alterations in international trade routes and political and other changes in the peripheral countries sometimes affected agricultural development inside Persia. Lastly, there was the quality of human response to agricultural growth, though this factor is difficult, if not impossible, to assess. Nevertheless, given that there are today marked differences among the local population in their innate ability and aptitude for agricultural occupations and in their initiative and openness toward outside influences, there would seem no reason to suppose that this was not also the case in the past, though the extent and nature o f the differences may have varied. T he chronicles abound in remarks concerning rulers, governors, and others, who are alleged to have encouraged agricultural develop­ ment, built qanàts (kàriz), repaired irrigation channels, and founded villages. Similarly they contain numerous statements bearing wit­ ness to the decline o f agriculture at different times, because o f the passage o f troops or the tyranny of rulers, and the consequent dis­ persal of the peasants. Less frequently, they contain references to the introduction of new crops by rulers and others. Quantita­ tive data on matters such as agricultural production, prices, food consumption, population figures, and the growth of towns are, how­ ever, non-existent. T here are fairly frequent references to land taxes and dues levied on the rural population, records of remissions of taxation on account of natural disasters and measures for the revivification o f dead lands, but precise details are lacking both for fiscal affairs and for such matters as the structure and organization

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of agriculture, the size o f estates, the tenure on which they were held and how they were exploited. Large and small estates prob­ ably existed side by side throughout the medieval period, but in both cases the unit o f cultivation was almost always the plow-land or peasant holding. Although the large landed estate became the dom inant form o f tenure because o f the reasons set out above, it is by no means clear when this occurred; in any case, it was never completely to the exclusion o f the small estate and the peasant pro­ prietor. In this paper I would like to examine, against the general political background, the importance attached to agriculture by those who wrote on the theory o f government. I shall omit any consideration o f agricultural methods, partly because there is very little information available and little evidence to indicate that major changes occurred during the medieval period. Nor shall I be concerned in this paper with the large and complicated field o f tenure, which 1 have discussed elsewhere, or with taxation, while admitting that both profoundly affected the history o f agriculture. Further, since few writers wrote directly on agriculture or considered to what extent agriculture was affected by the ebb and flow o f economic movements, much of what follows must necessarily be inference. T he Sasanian state appears to have rested on a land economy and it is probable that agriculture was then, as later, the basic occupa­ tion and that the peasants form ed the majority of the population. Whereas the Avesta had recognized only three estates, priests, war­ riors, and tillers o f the soil, under the Sasanians society was regarded as being organized into four estates. According to the Tansar-nàma, there were first the clergy, who were further subdivided into judges and priests, ascetics, temple-guardians, and teachers; secondly the military; thirdly scribes, who were subdivided into various groups and categories (writers o f official communications, accountants, recorders o f verdicts, registrations and covenants, writers of chron­ icles, physicians, poets and astonomers); and fourthly the estate known as that o f the artisans, which comprised the tillers of the land, herders of cattle, merchants and others who earned their living by trade.1 A somewhat similar hierarchical order of society is also found in the works o f many Muslim writers. T he Sasanian theory saw prosperity and virtue as the spiritual and material sides o f the good creation, the whole being subordinate

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to the good government o f the king of kings.* The latter was an autocrat, but his absolutism was limited by the power o f the Zoroastrian clergy, the large landowners and provincial governors or satraps. The head of the tax administration was the västryöshänsälär, whose title meant Mthe head of the farmers.” Taxation rested pri­ marily upon agriculture.3 T he peasants were attached to the land, and were liable to corvées and service in the army as footsoldiers. They paid taxes to the state or to the holder of the land, or possibly to both. Landed estates, whether held in absolute ownership or in return for service, probably varied in extent from the large es­ tate or province held by members of the royal family and feudal lords to small estates. T he village was, to a great extent, a self-con­ tained community, whose relations with the government were con­ ducted, for the most part, by the dihqâns. Not a great deal is known o f the organization of agriculture or of the crops grown. T he fact that the irrigation system was already fairly highly developed sug­ gests that agriculture was both important and profitable. On the plateau qanäts, underground conduits using less slope than the soil surface, brought water to the surface from the water-bearing layer, while on some of the big rivers there were substantial dams. T he Muslim conquest of Persia involved a social convulsion o f no mean order, but the fact that the local communities in many parts of Persia largely preserved their autonomy lessened the violence of this convulsion. So far as agriculture was concerned the break was less marked. T he owners of private properties, who in many parts of the country probably practiced pastoral as well as arable farming, continued, as Professor Cahen has pointed out, to culti­ vate their estates so far as they had not fled or been killed. Lands which had belonged to the state or whose owners had disappeared were distributed as emphyteutic concessions ( qatFa) to Arab notables, who became responsible for their development. T he bedouin did not receive the right to settle on cultivated land. “In general,” ac­ cording to Cahen, “the pastoral nomadic economy took possession of the areas that, for geographical reasons, had necessarily been left vacant between blocks of cultivated land, made possible the utilization of ground that would otherwise have remained unpro­ ductive, and enabled mutually beneficial exchanges to be made on the basis of the complementary needs and produce of the stock­ breeders and agriculturalists.”4 It follows, if this view is correct—and the evidence on the whole

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would seem to support it—that the Muslim conquest was not accom­ panied by a spread o f nomadism or, on the whole, a recession of agriculture. T here was, however, especially in some o f the south­ western provinces o f Persia, a transfer o f large areas o f land to new ownership, and an influx into the new garrison towns o f peasants and agricultural laborers who had abandoned their lands. Much of the old administrative organization, so far as it related to agrarian affairs and agrarian taxes, seems to have been assimilated to Islamic practices, though there are records o f attempts to replace local agrarian customs by Islamic practices, which led in some cases to financial disorder and social dislocation. If, as would appear to be the case, land and agriculture maintained their importance as a potential source o f wealth, prudence, if nothing else, dem anded that agriculture should be encouraged and protected.9 T he fact that agriculture depended, in many parts o f the country, upon irrigation imposed a certain pattern on society. Care in the construction and maintenance o f irrigation works was vital to pros­ perity. Neglect was followed by rapid decay. T he digging o f qanäts was a highly-skilled operation, and their upkeep required constant attention and concerned the whole village which was watered by the qanät. Irrigation works connected with rivers, perennial streams and wells were also easily destructible. These circumstances, coupled with the uncertainty engendered by the capricious nature of the climate, produced a certain caution among landowners and peasants whose income and subsistence depended upon agriculture. But this was not all. Irrigated agriculture dem anded a rotation system fixed in advance and determ ined by rules observed by the users. Further, except in the case o f the great rivers, for which there was special legislation, the distribution of water was controlled not by the cen­ tral governm ent but by local officials. Irrigation practices, by im­ posing the acceptance o f a common discipline, thus fostered the cohesion o f local groups and communities, and also made for local particularism. T he very fragility of the irrigation system on which agricultural prosperity depended thus paradoxically contributed to political stability. Politics were preferred to war, agreem ent to conflict. Subtle nuances and ambiguities prevailed and tem porary expedients predom inated over clear and unequivocal decisions.6 Although after the Muslim conquest the majority of the popu­ lation continued to live on the land, the new civilization which de­ veloped was nevertheless an urban civilization. Islamic law was con­

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cerned primarily with an urban society and with the morals of a m er­ cantile rather than a landed society, though in the case o f Persia, as M. Jean Aubin has pointed out, the view o f Islam as the religion o f the townspeople must not be pressed too far. T he ideal o f Persian manhood continued to be in the early centuries o f Islam not the merchant or the tribesman, but thedihqän,7and instances of the culti­ vation o f the land as an act o f pittas were, no doubt, to be found in medieval as in modern times.8 T he more common view, however, was to regard the land as a source of income. Kay Kä’üs ibn Iskandar, who wrote the Qäbüs-näma in 475/1082, looks upon landed estates in the light o f the revenue they afforded. Advising his son on the purchase o f an estate, he writes, “When you have bought an estate ((/rot) strive continually to develop it. Undertake daily some new development so that you may continually obtain some new source of income. Do not rest from developing your estates, because an estate is valuable for its income.”9 Reflecting the importance of the land as a source o f revenue, Islamic law contained detailed provisions for the payment of land tax and water dues, and for the regulation o f crop-sharing agreements (muzära'a) and similar agreements relating to fruit trees and other trees (musâqàt), which were a form o f exploitation already known in pre-Islamic Persia. Perhaps more typical o f the ethos of the new society than the measures reladng to land was the development of the hisba jurisdiction, the functions of the muhtasib, and the attempt to organize economic order implicit in these measures. Essentially this aspect of Muslim law was concerned with the small merchant and the craftsman, both of whom required credit to carry on their business. Hence the attempt to regulate trade partnerships and the insistence on a just price and just dealings, which it was the muhta­ sib’s duty to ensure. T he measures concerning ways o f circumventing the shar'i pro­ hibition o f usury also suggest a society of small tradesmen and arti­ sans on the one hand and of small farmers and peasants on the other. Both groups frequently required loans (which were made for con­ sumption not investment). T hen as now, the peasant was often in need of seed grain, or draught animals, and, in a bad year, of food to tide him and his family over until the next harvest. The law was well aware of this and took cognizance of such procedures as fore­ selling (salaf). The ideal of a society composed of “small men” en­ visaged in the law is also reflected in the works of Ghazâli.10

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It was not only Muslim law which was concerned primarily with an urban society. T he ideal o f the philosophers who through Fârâbî look back to Plato was also “the good city." Fârâbî enum erates three types o f perfect society, “the great society,” comprising the whole world, “the middle society,” consisting o f a single people, and “the little society,” the community o f a city. It is perhaps significant that the last, although the smallest o f the perfect societies, was for Fârâbî the most im portant. Still smaller societies, such as villages o r town­ ships, were, in his view, imperfect and were there only to serve the city." By early Abbasid times there had been a considerable growth in the towns and a vigorous commercial life had developed accom­ panied by an expansion in trade and a swift increase in wealth. It is difficult to assess the contribution o f agriculture to this economic growth. In the initial stages, at least, it was probably important, contributing to the emergence and growth o f other sectors. Over the country as a whole agriculture probably continued to be the major producer o f wealth, and was in turn favorably affected by the increased prosperity in other sectors of the economy. T he effect o f this economic growth was not, however, by any means uniform over the whole country. T he increased dem and from the urban communities led in all probability to some expan­ sion o f agriculture and more intensive cultivation in the neighbor­ hood o f the big cities, but in the more remote districts the country received litde from the towns.1* Merchants, partly for security and partly for social prestige, if not for economic gain, invested some of their profits in land; they probably also to some extent provided the peasants with credit for their agricultural operations. They may have also financed livestock rearing and wool production. At the same time the conditions o f security assured by the strong cen­ tral governm ent o f the Abbasids, coupled with the growth in com­ munications and towns, made possible some degree o f agricultural specialization and diversification, enabling higher returns to be ob­ tained from the land. T he lists o f crops grown, as recorded in the geographers o f the 3rd/9th and 4th/ 10th centuries, bear witness to a highly-developed and prosperous agriculture in many districts.13 It is clear that livestock must also have played a major role by the provision of meat and milk products, wool and skins. T here may well have been considerable exchange between the pastoral sector and the villages and towns, though we have little information about this.

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Land Tenure and Taxation

Along the great Baghdad-central Asian trunk road and the roads that branched off from it, there were many flourishing towns. These were often closely linked to their surrounding districts and often not distinguished from them in nomenclature, the same name being used for the district and the chief locality in it. With the fragmentation o f the Abbasid empire, the favorable conditions that had prevailed in the early Abbasid period were inter­ rupted. Subsequently, from time to time they were again achieved to a greater or lesser extent, sometimes over the whole country, sometimes only in some province or provinces. T he crucial m atter was strong government, and when this was joined with good gov­ ernm ent, prosperity ensued. Yâqùt (d. 626/1229) underlines this in his description o f Kirmän: “A large part o f the province is de­ populated and ruined because o f the different persons who have held it and because of the tyranny of the sultans. For many years, instead o f being governed by a particular ruler, it was administered by governors whose only concern was to amass riches and send them to Khurasan. Further, any land whose resources are spent on an­ other will be ruined. Moreover, the presence of a ruler and a court contributes much to the prosperity o f a state.”14 A few random examples will perhaps be indicative of the depend­ ence of the towns on their surrounding districts, the interdependence o f agriculture and trade, and some of the factors affecting the rise and fall of agricultural prosperity. Nishapur, one of the great cities of the Islamic world from the 4th/10th to the 6th/12th century, was closely dependent upon the surrounding agricultural area, with its rich soil and qanät-irrigated agriculture, which produced a variety of crops and much fruit. Good pasture land was available nearby for flocks from which it could draw supplies o f meat and milk products. In addition it had a flourishing long-distance trade. A combination of commercial wealth, ownership of land, and re­ ligious scholarship, as a recent study has shown, gave the notables of the city their social pre-eminence.15 Nishapur was plundered by the Ghuzz in 549/1154-55 (according to Yâqût in 548/1153-54). T he survivors removed to the suburb of Shädyäkh, which became the new town of Nishapur.16 It was later destroyed by the Mongols in 618/1221-22 and never again achieved its form er prosperity, although Ibn Battuta, who visited it in the fourteenth century, states that it was one of the four metropolitan cities of Khurasan.17 Its place as the chief city o f western Khurasan was taken first by Tûs and, finally,

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in the sixteenth century, by Mashhad. T he latter, like Nishapur, was surrounded by fertile land and well-served by communications, but perhaps the crucial factor in its rise was its position as a Shfî pil­ grimage center and the deliberate policy o f the Safavid rulers to encourage it as such. U nder Nadir Shah it became, for a brief period, the capital o f Persia. Isfahan, in some respects, held a position somewhat similar to that o f Nishapur. It too was one o f the great cities o f the Islamic world. It was surrounded by an intensely cultivated area, watered partly by qanäts, but mainly by the Zäyanda-rüd, and had rich pasture lands in the neighboring districts. It served as a distributing center for the villages in the neighborhood and many o f the smaller towns of ‘Iräq-i ‘Ajam. Although not on the great trunk road from Baghdad to central Asia, it was favorably situated as regards communications, had an im portant long-distance trade, and was also the center o f many local industries, especially textiles, which, together with “luxury articles” (zarä’ifliä), were carried to all parts o f the world.1* Its leading citizens, like those o f Nishapur, also probably derived their wealth and influence from a combination o f trade, landownership, religious scholarship, and, especially from the 10th/16th century onward, from these sources combined with government service. Whereas Nishapur had been the center o f the Seljuq em pire for only a brief period under Tughril Beg, Isfahan was Malikshäh’s capital and remained one o f the im portant cities o f the Seljuq empire. It did not lie, as had Nishapur, in the main path o f the Mongol invasion and escaped complete destruction; but the center o f affairs under the Ilkhanids moved to Azerbaijan, and Isfahan did not fully recover its importance until Shäh ‘Abbäs made it his capital in 1005/1596-97. T he fall o f the Safavids in the 12th/ 18th century proved disastrous for Isfahan. T he city and its neighborhood were reduced to ap­ palling straits by the Afghan invasion. This, together with the ex­ actions suffered during the reign of Nadir Shah, and the confusion and disorder affecting land tenures, coupled with the dramatic fall in the population o f Isfahan, adversely affected the agricultural prosperity o f the surrounding area. In the latter decades of the nineteenth century, for reasons partly connected with external trade (including the growth o f the opium trade), the city revived and its agriculture again flourished. Bayhaq, one o f the districts o f the province of Nishapur, presents a slightly different picture. In Tahirid times it consisted o f twelve

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divisions o r r o b * each containing a num ber o f villages, o f which 74 paid ‘ushr and 321 kharäj. Yäqüt, writing somewhat later, states that it was said to have 451 villages,20 though whether this increase represents new foundations or simply the redrawing of old bound­ aries is not clear. T he district was rich in grain, fruit, and nuts. In his Tàrîkh-i Bayhaq, which was finished in 563/1165, Ibn Funduq states that the villages of Mihr and Shishtmad were said to produce cream the like of which was not to be found in the whole o f Khurasan or Mâzandarân,21 while in Khusrawäbäd carpets were woven that were unequaled in the rest o f Khurasan.22 This implies the exist­ ence o f flocks producing good quality milk and wool. T he main town of Bayhaq, Sabzawär, in contradistinction to Nishapur, was not a great city but merely a market town, though, situated as it was on the east-west trade route, some of its wealth possibly came from the transit trade. T he Tàrikh-i Bayhaq gives the impres­ sion o f a flourishing rural civilization with well-to-do families deriv­ ing their wealth from the land, commerce, and government service and closely interrelated with the religious classes.23 T he author gives no indication o f the size of their estates, with one exception. This was the estate belonging to a certain Zaki Abü’l-Tayyib T ähir ibn Ibrâhîm ibn 'All (for whose death no date is given, but who seems to have lived for some time before Ibn Funduq). It is said to have produced every year 2,000 maims o f corn and 10 dinars (or, ac­ cording to one text, 10 dïnàr-i zar). T he latter figure presumably derived from produce other than grain. If the mann was the mann-i shar'i of 260 dirhams, and even if half o f the land (or a considerable proportion o f it) was left fallow in alternate years (or once in three years), the acreage must have been fairly small.24 This Abü’l-Tayyib T ähir, according to Ibn Funduq, nevertheless surpassed all the khwäjas o f Bayhaq “in competence, perspicacity and courage.”23 Many landowners of Bayhaq probably disposed o f larger estates and very considerable wealth, part of which was derived from sources other than land. One such was the father of Nizam al-Mulk. He seems to have acquired great wealth, mainly from his position as bundàr, or tax farm er of Tüs, though he is said to have lost this in the disorders that occurred toward the end of the Ghaznavid per­ iod. His grandfather Ishäq had been a landowner (dihqän) in the village of Ankü in the Upper Rustäq district of Bayhaq, which area he had made prosperous and the hearts of whose peasants ( ra'äyä) he had rejoiced by his efforts.28 He does not appear, however, to

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have accumulated liquid funds—perhaps because he put back into the land what he made (and hence “rejoiced the hearts o f the peas­ ants“). W hen his death approached, he brought out 5,000 mahmùdî dirhams and gave this sum to his son Abü’l-Hasan, the father of Ni?äm al-Mulk, saying that this was all that he had been able to save during a lifetime o f some ninety-five years.27 T h e wealth o f another prom inent man o f Bayhaq, Fakhr al-Tujjär M uhammad ibn ‘AH al-Bazzäz (d. 522/1128), probably came, if his name is any indication, primarily from trade,28 while among the de­ scendants o f Abù ‘Ali al-Husayn ibn Muhammad ibn Ziyäd there were to be found, according to Ibn Funduq, umara', ulema, akâbir, and dahàqin,*• which underlines the close connection between the religious and landowning classes. Ibn Funduq also quotes nu­ merous examples o f ulema and a’imma who came from the villages of Bayhaq.30 Several of them possessed many estates, as for example Abü’l Hasan ‘AH ibn Muhammad, who was born in Sawiz and moved to Sabzawâr,31 and ‘All ibn Muhammad ibn Yabyâ al-‘Alawi (d. 447/1055-56), who lived in Farimad.32 Num erous instances of ulema who entered governm ent service are also given. Bayhaq declined in the Mongol period. Ham d Allah Mustawfi states that it had only some forty villages.33 At first sight the decrease in the num ber o f its villages is startling, and must, 1 think, be ac­ counted for in part by the transfer o f some o f the districts o f Bayhaq to neighboring centers. Hamd Allah in fact states that the great upland plain o f Juwayn to the north had formerly been part o f Bayhaq.34 As the latter declined, Juwayn prospered. This change in their status appears to have come about because the main eastwest trade route took a curve to the north in the Ilkhanid period, by­ passing Bayhaq and embracing instead Juwayn, the northern dis­ trict o f which, Isfaräln, had also been in earlier times a fertile and prosperous district.33 T he new alignment was probably not un­ connected with the fact that Juwayn was the home o f various leading officials o f the day.30 By the nineteenth century, the southern route had regained its earlier pre-eminence. Meanwhile, in the middle o f the 8th/ 14th century Sabzawâr became the center o f the short­ lived Sarbidär dynasty.37 Yazd presents a rather different picture and shows how a topo­ graphical situation at the intersection of trade routes facilitated the growth o f agriculture even in unfavorable natural conditions. B ordered on the north by the central desert, subject to severe sand

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storms in spring and summer, and faced by the problem of encroach­ ing sands, it had little good agricultural land and limited water sup­ plies. In the 7th/15th century it did have, however, a flourishing trade based partly on local textile manufactures and partly on tran­ sit goods. Marco Polo, who visited it, states that it had much traffic and that the silk and gold cloth manufactured there was “carried thence by merchants, with great profit, to one or another foreign land.“38 It seems probable that some of the profits from trade were invested in agriculture, though the shortage o f land and water must have limited agricultural expansion. Grain was imported, but a num­ ber of cash crops, including cotton, were grown, and excellent pome­ granates and silk were produced.39 In the 8th/ 14th century, contrary to much o f the rest o f Persia, Yazd flourished under the orderly gov­ ernm ent o f the Muzaffarids and grew in size,40 thus illustrating the importance o f strong government, even if only on a local scale, for prosperity. Under Shährukh also there appears to have been a period o f agricultural well-being.41 In Safavid times, Yazd bene­ fited from inter-regional trade and was the most important point in the long caravan route from Bandar ‘Abbas to Khurasan. It be­ came a center for forwarding goods to other parts of Persia. Fruit and almonds were exported to other parts of the country and wool for felt hats to Europe. Yazd continued to prosper, though not with­ out interruption, into the nineteenth century, when changes in inter­ national trade caused fluctuations in its prosperity. Opium, cotton, and almonds were important exports; also henna and silk. In spite of the political, social, and religious changes that resulted from the Muslim conquest of Persia, the old theory that agriculture constituted the basis of prosperity was not entirely forgotten. As large landed estates in the form of a qaffa, a tax farm, and, finally, of an iqtä‘, became a dominant feature o f society, the theory gradually reasserted itself and was reflected in the manuals of statecraft and ethics, and especially in the Mirrors fo r Princes, which are a recurrent feature of Persian, as they had been of Byzantine, literature. In these there was formulated an ideal harmony in which the ruler was seen as the link between the human and the divine and his sovereignty as a reflection o f the omnipotence of God; divine justice was reflected in his justice, divine wisdom in his wisdom, and divine compassion in his compassion.4* The economic foundation of the state over which he ruled was seen to be a flourishing agriculture. From this it follows that public works such as the construction and mainten­

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ance o f irrigation works and roads and the building o f caravan­ serais were incumbent upon the ruler, and that the peasants should be his special care and receive assistance in the event of natural ca­ lamities such as famines and earthquakes. This is not to say that rulers were always, or even usually, affected by this divine harmony. T here was all too often a cynical unscrupulousness in high places, especially with regard to the peasants, but this was not necessarily incompatible with a general belief in the validity of moral standards. As Professor Tawney pointed out many years ago, resounding prin­ ciples are compatible with a very sordid practice.43 In the 3rd/9th and 4th/ 10th centuries, a widespread political break­ down occurred resulting in the fragmentation of authority. This was accompanied by certain developments in the field of fiscal ad­ ministration that reached their climax in Iraq and the western provinces o f Persia during the Buyid period, when it became the common practice to allocate the pay of the military on the revenue from the land. This brought about agricultural ruin and led to pro­ found changes in rural conditions, and eventually resulted in the emergence of the large land assignment, which became the dom­ inant form o f tenure under the Great Seljuqs. Once the control o f the central government weakened, these assignments were often, by usurpation, transmitted by inheritance and transformed into virtually hereditary domains. In these circumstances, it is not al­ together surprising that in the Seljuq formulation of the theory of state there should be a reassertion o f the importance o f agriculture as the basis o f the state and the importance of justice as providing the security necessary to assure agricultural development and pros­ perity. Ni?âm al-Mulk, whose Siyäsat-näma is one of the most important political expositions of the period, has, it is true, not a great deal to say about agriculture, and there is little sign that he inherited his grandfather’s love of the land. He seems to have accepted as normal a situation wherein a great deal of the land was alienated from the direct control o f the state to the muqta's. In theory he set certain limits to their rights when he stated: “Let those who have iq(â‘s know that they have no authority over the peasants beyond this, that they should take the due amount which has been assigned to them from the peasants with civility. When they have taken this, the peasants shall be secure in their persons, money, wives, children, goods and estates, and the muqta’s have no claim over them. Let the muqta’s

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know (hat the kingdom and the subjects all belong to the sultan. T he muqta's who are set over them and the governors are like shihnas in relation to them as the king is to others [on non-assigned lands], so that the subjects may be happy, and the muqta's may be safe from punishment and torment in the next world."44 From this it would appear that the interposition o f the muqta* between the peasants and landowners on the one hand and the state on the other had, in theory, little effect on the organization of agriculture, though in practice the case may well have been otherwise. Convinced and orthodox Muslim though he was, Niçâm al-Mulk was also influenced by the Sasanian theory o f a hierarchical society, at the base of which were those who tilled the soil, and he saw any tendency on the part o f an individual to exceed the bounds set by his particular function as a threat to existing order and stability. It was for the sultan to order his kingdom so that the people might occupy themselves in their various pursuits in security, and it was for him to strive to make the world prosperous by such means as the improvement of irrigation and communications and the building o f new cities.46 T he reasons for this were basically practical ones. A declining agriculture would not produce the revenue needed for the administration of the kingdom and, therefore, in order to ensure a full treasury it was necessary to treat well those who lived on and from the land. GhazâlI pays even less attention to agriculture than Ni;äm al-Mulk. In the Kîmyà al-sa'äda he barely mentions it, while in the Nafihat al-mulûk, addressed to Sanjar ibn Malikshâh when he was governor o f Khurasan on behalf of his brother Mubammad, his approach is, like that o f Ni jam al-Mulk, practical. The true sultan was he who practiced justice, upon which depended the prosperity of the king­ dom, which in turn enabled the ruler to maintain an army to guaran­ tee his kingdom. T he efforts of the Sasanian kings to increase the prosperity of the world, he points out, were made because they knew that the wise had spoken truly when they had said, “Religion depends upon kingship, kingship upon the army, the army upon material pos­ sessions, and material possessions and material prosperity upon justice.” A contrary practice would lead to the ruin of the kingdom, to the flight of the people from the country and a decrease in the revenue.46 Broadly sim ilar views are expressed by w riters in th e Seljuq suc­ cessor states in K irm än, A leppo, and Rum. In a m irro r ad d ressed

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to the Ghuzz leader Malik Dinar, which is included in his history of Kirmän, the ‘Iqd al-ulâ, Afçial al-Dïn Kirmânï also accepts the hierarchical nature o f society. He believes good administration to consist in keeping all classes o f men—princes, those of noble birth and lineage, the ulema and the learned, the servants o f God and the righteous, dihqâns and landowners, merchants and artisans—in their proper places and in that station to which they are best fitted.47 He underlines the connection between agricultural prosperity and justice in a story that he attributes to Alexander the Great. In this he states that the latter, in whatever place he arrived, took the agri­ cultural development of the district and the wealth o f the peasants to be a measure o f the justice o f the king.48 T h e author o f the fiaAr al-fawä'id, which is dedicated to Alp Qutlugh Jabûghâ Ulugh, the atàbeg of Arslân Äba (the son o f Äq Sunqur, the Seljuq ruler o f Aleppo), and was written probably between 552/1157-58 and 557/1161-62, similarly states that kingship depended on three things: the army, the treasury, and agricultural develop­ ment, and these were, in turn, secured by justice.48 Repeating the old tag in a slightly different form and attributing it to Anüshirawän, he states that kingship could only be exercised through people, who could only be brought together by wealth, and wealth could only be acquired through agricultural development, which could only be achieved through justice.80 As in the old Zoroastrian theory, the author o f the Bahr al-fawä’id, in spite o f the emphasis which he lays on shar*I government, sees a close connection between goodness and prosperity, evil and temporal disaster. T o bring this point home, he quotes a tradition that if the king acted with justice, many thousand blessings and great abundance would appear in his kingdom, while if he committed tyranny, famine and calamity would result. Citing the sayings of various ulema in support of this view, he continues, “T h ere is no pest worse for the crops than the tyranny o f kings.”81 In another passage he states that blessing (barakat) came from sheep and goats (gûsfand) and from agriculture.82 A similar point of view is found in the Lafâ’if al-hikma written by Siräj al-Dln Mahmüd U r maw! in 655/1257-58 for the Seljuq ruler o f Rüm, ‘Izz al-Dïn Kay Kä’üs ibn Kay Khusraw. Siräj al-Din states that if the king followed the path o f justice and equity and occupied himself in putting right his own affairs and those of his subjects, this would manifest itself in security and low prices, and plants and animals would abundantly reproduce themselves, while if the king

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acted in a contrary sense the reverse would be the case.53 T he belief in the connection between virtue and prosperity on the one hand and tyranny and decay on the other was widespread. It still, incidentally, survives among the peasants today, who steel themselves against adversity by the conviction that tyranny will not ultimately prevail (zulm pâydàr namïmànad, as one said to me not many years ago). As described in the mirrors and other works written in the eastern part of the Islamic world under the Great Seljuqs and their successor states, the prosperity which came from virtuous rule did not consist in the material wealth o f cities and trade (as it tended to be portrayed in the works of the philosophers) but lay rather in a flourishing countryside, rich in crops and flocks. This may have been a desperate cry for a reassertion o f the old system which had been superseded by a new social order, but there would seem to be good grounds for assuming that the economy o f Persia between the 5th/11th and the 7th/13th century was in fact predominantly based on land. One o f the main duties o f the vizier, the head of the supreme diwan, was to increase agricultural development. This is significant: he was the head o f the financial administration, and if revenue derived mainly from agriculture, then it follows that he would be concerned with the well-being o f agriculture, since unless agriculture was prosperous taxes would not be forthcoming. The frequent admonitions to the vizier to foster agriculture may also, of course, have been a demand for a reassertion o f the old equilib­ rium: indeed, we know that in the Seljuq period a large part o f the empire was alienated from the direct control o f the state and did not pay revenue to the central government. T hat much o f the land had been made into iq(â*s, although it involved a decline in the revenue of the state, did not in itself, however, imply a decline in agriculture: it was in the muqta*’s personal interest to maintain the agricultural prosperity o f his iq(ä*. But once the control of the central govern­ ment broke down, as it did progressively, though not uninterrupt­ edly, after the death of Malikshäh, the depredations of m araud­ ing armies and the interruption of trade routes consequent upon the breakdown in security almost certainly had an adverse effect on agriculture. T he Mongol invasion, as the researches of Professor Cahen and M. Aubin have shown, brought about a great increase in the num ­ bers of the nomadic population and a recession in agriculture. Further, for a brief period, the theological mold, which had shaped

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political theory in Persia after the Islamic conquest, was broken: the ideal was no longer Islamic theory modified by and adapted to Sasanian theory, but expediency based on Mongol concepts of rule. Whereas after the Islamic conquest there had developed a dichotomy between Arab and ‘Ajam (non-Arab), the basic dichotomy was now between Mongol and non-Mongol, between T urk and Tajik, which corresponded broadly to that between the nomadic and the settled elements and that between the military and the non-military. Wher­ ever the Mongols penetrated, their great need was for pasture for their animals and flocks. According to Juwayni, it was their prac­ tice to reserve pasturage in any district through which the army might pass, declaring such a district to be quruq (a special reserve).34 It would seem very likely that in practice the Mongols grazed the crops in those areas through which they passed or in which they established their camps; as a result, much cultivated land went back to pasture. ‘Umar! mentions their lack o f interest in agriculture.33 Even after they had established a more or less settled administra­ tion, the Mongol ruling classes continued to own large flocks for which pasture had to be provided. This is not to say that the Seljuqs and others before them had not possessed flocks. But the problem was now on an altogether different scale, and, temporarily at least, the power of the government was behind the nomadic element, which did not regard the settled element, even in theory, as fellow members of the same community, but rather as a conquered people with no rights. For a period the nomads dominated society. T he ethos o f their society, their conception o f rule and the economic basis upon which their society rested were very different from those o f the society that they had temporarily overthrown. T heir ideal was war and the pursuit o f military arts, whereas that of the society which they had supplanted was stability and peace. Nomadic society was es­ sentially fluid. Success was the foundation of power, authority, and growth. T he primary consideration was to attract followers; ter­ ritory was a secondary consideration. T he unity of the tribe or fed­ eration of tribes was essential to success, and this in turn depended upon the confidence felt in the leader o r leaders, whose rule was thus personal and functional. Success was followed by growth, fail­ ure by dispersal and eventually a new grouping around a new chief.34 This pattern of growth through success and agreement between leaders can be observed under the Seljuqs, but it was a transient

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Land Tenure and Taxation

phase followed by (he rapid reassertion o f settled government. T he circumstances o f the Seljuq invasion had been very different from those o f the Mongol. T he form er involved only a few thousand families. T he latter was carried out by a huge horde organized for war. T he Seljuqs were converted to Islam before their invasion o f Khurasan. T heir leaders were familiar with settled life and had inherited the existing traditions o f Islamic society. U nder their rule Islamic civilization flourished. Some o f the Turkom an tribes who had accompanied the Seljuqs into Persia, o r joined them after they had achieved some measure o f success, moved on to the west­ ern frontiers o f the Abbasid empire, where they carried on holy war. Others remained in the interior o f the empire or on the bor­ ders o f central Asia, where they constituted a somewhat unruly element. T heir numbers, however, were not large enough to up­ set the balance of the economy or to destroy the agricultural basis o f society, except towards the end o f the reign o f Sanjar when the Ghuzz from central Asia in 548/1153 overran much of Khurasan and, from about 574/1178-79, Kirmän. So far as Kirmän was con­ cerned, the damage done by the Ghuzz appears to have been o f a limited and temporary nature. Afdal al-Din states that they developed the garmsir and that it was only the sardsir that had remained in a ruined condition. When the Ghuzz leader Malik Dinar came to Räwar in 581/1185-86, on seeing good land available he asked the local peasants (dahâqîn) why they did not develop it and was told that the nomads prevented them and were grazing the land. Malik Dinar ordered the animals of the nomads to be driven out, and the peasants began again to develop the land.*7 T he Mongols, on the other hand, were pagans, and their invasion was accompanied by the destruction of many cities, the massacre of many thousands of their inhabitants, and the devastation and abandonm ent of much cultivated land. T heir numbers were too large for them to be absorbed into the local population, with whom in any case they had no cultural links. So far as they had any affinity to anyone, it was to the Turkish tribes who had settled in Azerbaijan and Anatolia and to the Qarä Khitày in Kirmän. As at the time of the Muslim conquest, much land became crown land because o f the slaughter and dispersal of the inhabitants. This, or much of it, was held as dâlây land by the ruler or as înjü by his rela­ tives and prom inent Mongol amirs. It seems not unlikely that so far as it was alienated to these classes much of it was converted into

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pasture land. Some o f it, however, became dead land. By the time of the accession of Ghäzän Khän (694/1295) the extent o f this cat­ egory o f land had become considerable. Moreover, even after the Ilkhanids had established themselves as the rulers of Persia, frontier districts were depopulated because o f the continual passage of armies, and much land fell out of cultivation.58 Once the Ilkhanids had established themselves in Persia, they were no longer able to base their power on personal relationships and tribal tradition, as Dr. J. Masson Smith has shown. T he mobility o f the Mongol army, an asset during the period o f expansion, now became a liability. Forces were needed to garrison the frontiers and strategic points. T he Mongol tax system, appropriate for the supply and maintenance of an army, the movements o f which con­ formed with the movements of a nomadic horde, was no longer suitable. It was money that was required for the administration o f Persia, not milk and meat. This involved a reconsideration of the position o f the nomads in the state. Gradually, as a result, there came about an amalgamation of the Mongol and Islamic taxation systems. T he critical period in this transformation was the reign o f Ghäzän Khän (694-703/1295-1304), whose reforms were intended to encourage and revive the sedentary sector of the economy be­ cause o f the impossibility of providing for the needs of the state from the nomadic sector, and abolished, for tax purposes, the differences between Mongol and non-Mongol, and between the nomadic and sedentary population. Rashid al-Din, Ghäzän’s vizier, in particular, and his son Ghiyäth al-DIn Muhammad after him exerted great efforts to revive agri­ culture. T here was some amelioration in the condition o f agriculture, but the balance between the nomads and the sedentary agricultural population remained precarious, with the advantage probably still going to the form er in many parts of the country. Rashid al-DIn himself, and various other Ilkhanid ministers, acquired vast wealth and large estates. Some were obtained by royal grant, some by pur­ chase, some perhaps by inheritance, some by virtue of revivifica­ tion, and some by usurpation.5* It had not been unknown for mini­ sters in earlier times to enrich themselves, but this tendency would appear to have reached greater lengths under the Ilkhanids than heretofore. Part of the wealth o f ministers came also from trade. They, like the Mongol leaders, invested in trade. 1'abriz, the Ilkhanid capital

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Land Tenure and Taxation

for much o f the period o f their rule, was on the main east-west trade route and benefited from the transit trade, though it would seem that the country as a whole profited little from this trade. Tabriz increased greatly in size and population, and there was also probably some growth in gardens and vineyards round the town.*0 Some new towns were also founded, but it seems that these represented merely a transfer o f population from one district to another41 rather than an urban growth accompanied by agricultural expansion such as appears to have taken place in early Abbasid times. On the other hand, Rashid al-Din claims that more than one thousand houses were built annually in every city in the dme o f Ghäzän Khan, and that the price o f houses had multiplied tei* times.** T he precise significance o f this statement is difficult to assess. If it is an indication that there was considerable building in many towns during the reign of Ghäzan Khän and that there was urbanization, was this due to an increase in trade and a revival of crafts, or had there simply been a flight of the peasants into the towns because o f a decline o f agriculture? T he alleged increase in house prices could be accounted for in either way, or it may have been' due simply to an increase in security. T he sources, or nearly all o f them, allege a decline in agriculture, or in revenue deriving from agriculture, as a result o f the Mongol invasion, and the steps taken, or proposed, under Ghäzän Khän to revive agriculture suggest that this decline had been very wide­ spread. T he Tärtkh-i Ghäzäni o f Rashîd al-Dîn is full o f allegations concerning the ill-treatment o f the population by Mongol officials and the decay o f the countryside.63 It is possible that Rashid al-Din was painting this in the most lurid colors either to point out the con­ trast between the actions of his own patron, Ghäzän Khän, and those of earlier Ilkhanid rulers or to convince Ghäzän Khän o f the need for reform. T here is, however, an interesting passage entitled, “On arranging for the provision of seed, draught oxen and agricultural implements throughout the empire,“*4 in which it is proposed that the state should give advances to the peasants on a country-wide scale to induce them to cultivate the land and to bring more land under cultivation. T he inference to be drawn is that agriculture had been reduced to a very low ebb, whether for the reason that there was no incentive to development in the prevailing insecurity or that there was no capital available to develop the land because many landowners had been killed during the Mongol invasion or had abandoned their lands.65

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If, as seems likely, there was widespread agricultural decay, a much longer period of peace and security than that achieved under Ghäzän Khan would have been needed to restore the country to prosperity. Rashid al-Din alleges improvement during his reign, but it is doubt­ ful whether this was o f a radical or perm anent nature over the whole of the country.86 If nothing else, the need for a stable source of revenue must nevertheless from time to time have turned the eyes of the Ukhanid rulers, however unwillingly, as well as those of their ministers, to agriculture. It is an interesting fact that the remains of a num ber of dams belonging to the Mongol period are to be found in different parts o f Persia, and that a special type of arch dam (barrage-voûte) appears to have been developed in Persia in the 8th/ 14th and 9th/ 15th centuries.*7 Water is as necessary for flocks as for agriculture, and the construction of dams could have equally served both purposes. It was, perhaps, more natural for the Mongols, in view of their steppe background, to have built dams rather than qanäts. So far as can be ascertained from the somewhat fragmentary sources, there was in the 8th/14th century some redrawing o f the provincial district and subdistrict boundaries, though the reasons for this are not clear. T here was also a decline in the num ber o f townships ( qafaba) and villages ( qarya, dih) coupled with an increase in the number of mazâri‘ (sing, mavra'a). T he word qa$aba appears to have been used in Ilkhanid times to denote the central settlement, whether a township or a mere village, of a territorial unit. T he precise signification of mazra‘a is more difficult to define. In general, it would seem that it was a small settlement belonging to a parent village, sometimes inhabited permanently, sometimes temporarily, at certain times of the year, by persons from the parent village. So far as it was assessed for tax purposes, it seems to have been included under the parent village. If the crucial distinction was that the mazra'a did not have a separate and independent tax assessment, then size was not of param ount importance. A large mazra‘a might exceed a small village in the num ber of its population and the extent of its land. If this was the case, an increase in the number of mazâri* and a decline in the number of villages would not necessarily involve a total de­ cline in population or in the land under cultivation, but merely a redistribution of population. M. Aubin, examining this phenomenon in Quhistän in east Persia in Mongol and Tim urid times, suggests that the mazra'a often represented in the Mongol period the remains of a pre-existing village. While expressing the need for caution in

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interpreting the figures given in the sources, he concludes that the num ber o f mazäri*, coupled with the decline in the num ber o f villages, indicates an agricultural and dem ographic decline in the region.68 I f the mazäri* were for the most part hamlets o r farmsteads, it is difficult to explain the growth in their num bers at this time except on the hypothesis o f their being the remains o f pre-existing villages. Security, irrigation and agricultural practices, local solidarity, and fiscal convenience had all fostered group settlements and the growth o f villages. It is possible, though not very probable, that the conditions prevailing un d er the Ilkhanids led the population living on the land to seek security in a new way. Experience o f the countless massacres and the widespread destruction o f towns had shown that num bers gave no security against the ruthlessness and extortion o f the Mongols. T h e group settlement may indeed have attracted their cupidity so that the population adopted the expedient o f dispersing and settling in isolated farmsteads. T he evidence is not sufficient to decide w hether this was o r was not the case. Broadly, however, while allowing for the fact that some mazäri* may have been new foundations and that some may have been large settlements, the evidence on the whole would seem to support M. Aubin’s conclusion that there was an agricultural and dem ographic decline in eastern Persia under the Ilkhanids. Fur­ ther investigation is needed to reveal occurrences in other districts. Although the histories and geographical works bear witness to the agricultural decay caused by the disorders prevailing on the eve o f the Mongol invasion and by the invasion itself, and to the ensuing decline in the revenue, neither they nor other political writings, such as the Mirrors fo r Princes, reflect the new importance o f the nomads. W riters in the Mongol and post-Mongol period continued to express the belief that agriculture was the foundation o f prosperity, and in this case there is perhaps more reason to suppose that this was a cry for a retu rn to the Golden Age o f the past. Najm al-DIn Râzï (d. 654/1256) affirms the excellence o f agriculture and employment therein and rests this belief upon the Q u r’än and the Traditions. He discusses the conditions and customs appropriate to the status o f landowners, their bailiffs, peasants, and agricultural laborers.66 Naçïr al-Din J ü s i lays down in the Akhlàq-i Nàfirî (which was written just before the Mongol invasion and later re-dedicated to Hulägü), that the first three orders o f society were the men o f the pen, the m en of the sword, and the merchants and that the basis to this hierarchical o rd er was form ed by “husbandm en, such as agricultural laborers

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( banigarän) and peasants (dahäqin), those who planted trees and carried on agriculture, who prepared the food of all groups, and without whom the continued existence of all would be impossible.”70 Fakhr al-DTn Râzï states that agriculture was a science “full o f benefit” and the basis o f all crafts.71 Mahmüd-i Ämull similarly expresses the view that agriculture was “the best o f all natural crafts, upon which the o rd er o f the world rested and the continued existence o f the hum an race depended.”7* Qâsim ibn Yusuf Harawi, who wrote the Irshäd al-Zirâ'a in H erat in 921/1515*16, lived in rather different circumstances, when there was no conflict between agriculture and stock-raising. U nder the T im urid Shährukh (807-50/1404-47) and his successors, a great agricultural revival had taken place. Qâsim ibn Yüsuf recounts the statem ent o f a certain sufi, Amir Shams al-DIn Tabâ(abâ, made in the audience of Abü Sa‘ïd (855-72/1452-67) in Samarqand toward the beginning o f his rule to the effect that salvation in this world and the next depended upon four principles, and that whoever acted upon them would receive riches (dawlat). T he first was submis­ sion to the command o f God, the second respect for the traditions o f the Prophet, the third compassion toward the people o f God, and the fourth the exertion o f effort in agriculture.73 Shams al-DIn went on to explain that the purpose o f such effort was for the king to re­ ceive land tax (kharäj), which would increase only if the country was prosperous; the country would become prosperous only through agriculture; and, unless conciliation and compassion were shown to the subject, agriculture would not be furthered.74 Like Najm alDIn Râzî, Qâsim ibn Yüsuf cites prophetic authority for the excel­ lence o f agriculture and states that a fatwä had been given to the effect that after the study o f religious knowledge ( ‘ilm), the best occupation was agriculture and after that trade. He quotes Sayyid Ismâ‘11 G urgäni as stating that although the continued existence o f th e world rested on agriculture, crafts, the coercive authority of kings and sultans (since the order o f the world depended upon the sword), and the religious knowledge o f the ulema, who, by their writings, preserved equality among the people, the last three, in fact, depended upon the first; if agriculture disappeared, the lives of all created beings would cease, whereas if the other three did not exist, life, though it would be hard, would not be completely inter­ rupted. Due consideration, Qâsim ibn Yüsuf continues, would reveal that agriculture was the best and most necessary o f crafts and that

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no creature provided such good things for mankind as the peasant (dihqän) produced by his crops. On this basis, the peasant was better than every other class of people.75 Quoting ‘Alâ al-Dawla Simnânl, the disciple o f the KubrawT su fi, N ûr al-Dîn Isfarâ’ini, Qâsim ibn Yüsuf also states that it was the duty of whoever held any land to cultivate it to the best of his ability. If he reaped only 900 manns where he could obtain 1,000 manns, he would be answerable for the 100 manns of which the people had been deprived through his lazi­ ness or inefficiency.76 T he best course anyone could adopt was to strive to increase the cultivation of the land and to encourage the people to engage in agriculture and agricultural development and to exert himself in making kârïz and canals.77 T he Ilkhanids in the last resort failed, not any less than earlier or later dynasties, to solve the problem o f financing the state. For them the problem had been made all the more acute by the fall in agricultur­ al output, which had resulted in large part from the disequilibrium between the agricultural and nomadic sectors of the economy con­ sequent upon the Mongol invasion. They tried the familiar round o f expedients: treasure was hoarded and dissipated, land was alienated to the military, the currency was debased, offices were sold, officials mulcted, forced loans were raised, and resources which should have been used for investment were spent on consumption, but all to no avail. Finally the Ilkhanid empire, like the Seljuq empire before it, broke up into a number of successor states. Some of these succeeded for a period in restoring or maintaining pockets of local prosperity, but for the most part they either destroyed themselves by internecine strife or were engulfed by the new upsurge of nomadism which accompanied the Tim urid invasion. To conclude this somewhat fragmentary survey of the role of agriculture in medieval Persia, I would suggest that agriculture was the basis not only of economic prosperity but also of political stability. T he two were closely dependent upon each other. A decline in the one led to a breakdown in the other. T he towns were provisioned by the rural surplus, which also supported in part the service sector and contributed to trade. A flourishing agriculture, thus, made possible the growth of a flourishing urban or quasi-urban society. With the Mongol invasion and the influx into Persia o f large numbers of nomads, the old order was temporarily destroyed and the balance between arable and pastoral farming, crucial to the well-being of agriculture, was upset. Attempts to re-establish the old patterns

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were only partially successful. The balance between settled agricul­ turalists and nomads remained delicate, and was to be repeatedly upset to a greater or lesser extent in the post-Mongol period. Only when equilibrium between them was achieved and was coupled with good communications, security to bring the agricultural surplus safely to the towns, urban growth, and an expansion of inter­ regional and foreign trade, such as was finally achieved under the Safavids, did prosperity fully return. Wide though the gulf between idealism and actual practice may have been, the dictum of medieval theorists that the state rested upon agricultural development ap­ pears to have coincided with the realities of the times.

NOTES 1. M. Boyce, The Letter of Tamar (Rome 1968), p. 38. See also A. Christensen, L'lran sous les Sassanides (Copenhagen 1936), pp. 93 ff.: idem. Les types du premier homme et du premier roi (Stockholm and Leiden 1918-34). 11, 27, 46, 67 If. 2. R. C. Zaehner, The Dawn and Twilight of Zoroastrianism (London 1961), p. 285. 3. Christensen, L'lran sous les Sassanides, pp. 117, 315-16. See further L. Hahn, “Sassanidische und spätrömische Besteuerung," Acta Antiqua, VII (1959), pp. 149-60. 4. “Economy, Society, Institutions,” in The Cambridge History of Islam, ed. P. M. Holt, A. K. S. Lambton, and B. Lewis (Cambridge 1970), II, 511. 5. This was the case not only in the provinces that had formerly been part of the Persian empire, but also in Egypt. Tähir ibn al-Husayn in an epistle composed in 206/821-22 for the guidance o f his son 'Abdullah, when Ma’mün made him governor of Raqqa and Egypt, exhorted his son to keep the country prosperous so that the people would pay their taxes willingly. For this letter, see Tabari, Ta’rikh al-rusul wa’l-mulük, ed. M. J. de Goeje etal. (Leiden 1879-1901), III, 1046-61. 6. Cf. P. Veille, "Mode de production et imperialisme: le cas de l'Iran,” L'homme et la société, XXVII (1973), pp. 81-103. 7. “Les agglomérations urbaines dans l’Iran,” in The Islamic City, ed. A. H. Hourani and S. M. Stem (Oxford 1970), p. 74. The term dihqân in Sasanian times designated the head of a village who held certain lands by heredi­ tary right and acted as the government tax-collector. In early Islamic times it meant a landowner. Later it became debased and was used also to desig­ nate a peasant.

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Land Tenure and Taxation

8. Cf. Shaykh Jâbir Ançâri, who in an open letter to his son, MTrzä Jawäd Âqâ, written probably about 1914-15, admonishes him not to squander the modest amount of agricultural water that had belonged to his fore­ fathers (äb-i bärik-i pidarànat), because in spite o f all the hardships and difficulties involved, the tilling of the soil brought wealth, and the life o f the peasant and the countryman was in every way the nearest to virtue (Isfahan nitf-i Johan, undated lithograph, p. 212). Cf. also the oft-quoted story of Anüshirawän and the old man who planted a walnut tree in his old age (Qâsim ibn Yûsuf Abu Naçri Harawî, Irshâd al-zirà'a, ed. M. Mushîrï. Teheran 1967, pp. 13-14). 9. Qâbüs-nâma, ed. R. Levy (London 1951), p. 69. 10. Cf. Kïmyâ al-sa'âda, ed. A. Aram (Teheran 1973-74), pp. 255 ff. 11. F. Dieterici, Alfarabi’s Abhandlung der Musterstaat (Leiden 1895), pp. 53 ff.; “Al-Siyäsat al-madaniya,” in Rasä'il al-Fârâbi (Haydarabad 1926), pp. 39-40. 12. Cf. Cahen, op. dt., p. 516. 13. See B. Spuler, Iran in frühislamischer Zeit (Weisbaden 1952), pp. 387 ff.; A. von Kremer, Culturgeschichte des Orients unter den Chalifen (Vienna 187577), II, 320 ff.; A. Mez, Die Renaissance des Islams (Heidelberg 1922), pp. 405 ff. 14. Mu'jam al-buldän, ed. Ferdinand Wüstenfeld (Leipzig 1866-73), IV, 264, partial Irans. Barbier de Meynard as Dictionnaire géographique, historique et littéraire de la Perse (repr. Amsterdam 1970), p. 483. 15. See R. W. Bulliet, The Patricians of Nishapur, a Study in Medieval Islamic Social History (Cambridge, Mass. 1972). 16. Hamd Allah Mustawfî, however, states that the reason for the re­ moval to Shädyäkh was that Nishapur was destroyed by an earthquake in 605/1208-9. Shädyäkh was itself damaged by an earthquake in 679/128081 ( Nuzhat al-qulùb, ed. Guy Le Strange, Leiden and London 1915, p. 148). 17. The Travels of Ibn Batfufa, trans. H. A. R. Gibb (Cambridge 195871), III, 583. 18. Mujmal al-tawârikh, ed. Malik al-Shu‘arä Bahär (Teheran 1939-40), p. 525. 19. Ibn Funduq defines mb' as the rural equivalent of the mahalla of a town ( Târikh-i Bayhaq, ed. Ahmad Bahmanyâr, Teheran 1928, pp. 34 ff.). 20. Barbier de Meynard, op. at., p. 35. 21. Târikh-i Bayhaq, p. 279. 22. Ibid. 23. See J. Aubin, “L'aristocratie urbaine dans l'Iran Seldjukide: l’exemple de Sabzavar." Mélanges offerts à René Crozet (Poitiers 1966). pp. 323-32. 24. In modern times, one plowland in Khurasan produced on an average 1.000 mantis of grain (P. M. Svkes. Report on the Agriculture of Khorasan, Simla 1910, p. 3). 25. Târikh-i Bayhaq, pp. 126-27. 26. Ibid., p. 73.

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27. Ibid., p. 78. 28. Ibid., p. 128. 29. Ibid., p. 129. Amir in this context presumably does not have the sense of military commander, but rather designates, as it was later to do. a leading member o f the bureaucracy or of the religious classes. 30 .Ibid., pp. 137 ff. J. Aubin points out that in Seljuq times the families en­ gaged in jurisprudence, or whose ambition it was to engage in jurisprudence, were either families who had newly risen from the position of village pro­ prietors, or families who had come to Bayhaq after the end of the 4th/10th century (“L’aristocratie urbaine dans l’Iran seldjukide,” p. 325). 31. Tdrikh-i Bayhaq. pp. 184 ff. 32. Ibid., p. 186. 33. Nuzhat al-qulùb, p. 150. 34. Ibid. 35. Cf. G. Le Strange, Lands of the Eastern Caliphate (Cambridge 1905), p. 393. 36. J. Aubin, ’’Reseau pastoral et reseau caravanier des grand'routes du Khurassan à l'époque mongole,’* in Le monde iranien et l'Islam. I (1971). pp. 123 ff. Many learned men had come from Juwayn in earlier times; see Barbier de Meynard, op. cit., p. 181. 37. See also B. Spooner, “Arghivân. The Area of Jäjarm in Western Khurasan," Iran Journal of the British Institute of Persian Studies. Ill (1965), pp. 97-108. 38. The Travels of Marco Polo, trans. A. Ricci (London 1931). p. 39. 39. Nuzhat al-qulùb, p. 74. 40. Ahmad ibn Husayn-i Kâtib, Tàrikh-i jadid-i Yazd, ed. Iraj Afshär (Teheran 1966), pp. 83-84, 88. 41. Ibid., pp. 8. 198. 42. Cf. H. St. L. B. Moss, “T he Formation o f the Eastern Roman Empire 330-717,” Cambridge Medieval History (New York 1911-36), IV, i, 15-16. 43. Religion and the Rise of Capitalism (London 1926), p. 11. 44. Siyâsat-nâma, ed. C. Schefer (Paris 1891-93), p. 28. 45. Ibid., pp. 7, 18, 35. 46. Ghazâlî, Nasihat al-mulûk, ed. Jalâl Humâ'T (Teheran 1972), p. 100. 47. ‘Iqd al-ulâ, ed. ’Alî-Muhammad ’Âmiri Nâ’inT (Teheran a.h . 1311), p. 58. 48. Ibid., p. 30. 49. Ed. M. T. Dânishpazhûh (Teheran 1966), pp. 245-46. 50. Ibid., p. 432. 51. Ibid., p. 434. 52. Ibid., p. 470. 53. Ed. Ghulâm Husayn Yûsufï (Teheran 1972-73), p. 232. Sirâj al-I)ïn relates the following story to illustrate his point:

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Land Tenure and Taxation

One day a certain king, while out hunting, became separated from the rest of the company. When night fell, he reached a village. He went to the house of an old man and an old woman. They had a cow in milk. When night came, they milked it for the king. It gave much more milk than the other cows gave. The king said to him­ self, “This cow among all cows is an unusual beast. I'll take this cow and give them something good in return.“ When on the next day the cow, as was its habit, came to the house and was milked, it gave very little milk. When told in answer to his question that it had been given the same water and fodder as the night before, he asked, “Then why has it so little milk tonight?” They answered, “It is because the king has meditated tyranny in his heart and as a result blessing has departed from the earth." The king said, “You speak the truth. I am the king, and I meditated evil in my heart. Now, by God, I will return [from this evil], and I will think no more evil.” On the next night when the cow came and was milked it gave as much milk as it had given on the first night. The king again asked if it had been given the same water and fodder as the night before. On being told that it had, he asked how this could be. They replied, “The king has returned to the path of justice.” He was astounded at this and resolved in his heart never to allow himself to intend evil or tyranny again. ( Und., p. 232.)

Fakhr al-Mudabbar, who wrote his Ädäb al-harb wa’l-shajà'a for Shams al-Dln Iltutmish, the sultan of Delhi, probably some time after the year 626/1228-29, similarly expresses the belief that blessing would encompass the kingdom of the sultan or governor who resolved upon or acted with justice, and conversely that disaster would come upon his kingdom if he resolved upon evil. From the good intention o f kings, he states, rain would come at the due time. Springs, qanäts, and streams would fill and there would be an abundance of crops. The roads would be safe and the kingdom prosperous. If, on the other hand, the intention o f the king was evil, the rains would fail. Famine and shortages, highway robbery, the unlawful shedding of blood, and the ruin of the kingdom would follow (ed. Ahmad Suhayli Khwänsäri, Teheran 1967, pp. 64-66). Similarly. Na$ir al-Din Tûsî quotes a saying that when governors committed injustice the rains failed and a dry year ensued ( Akhlâq-i muhtashami, ed. M. T. Dänishpazhüh, Teheran 1960, p. 137). 54. Târîkh-i jahângushây, ed. Mîrzâ Muhammad Qazvïnï (London and Leiden 1912-37), iii, p. 93. 55. Masälik al-absär wa-mamâlik al-amsär, in Das mongolische Weltreich, ed. Klaus Lech (Wiesbaden 1968), Arabic text, p. 89. 56. Cf. P. Veille, op. dt. Interesting corroboration o f this is to be found in the Dastür al-kàtib ft ta’yîn al-marâtib of Muhammad ibn Hindüshäh Nakhjivän, which was dedicated to the Jala’irid, Sultan Uways (757-77/ 1356-74). Among the sections containing model letters to meet a variety of imaginary situations, there is one with letters on how to win back fugi­ tives from the umarâ-yi ulùs, and to persuade them to return. In each case the writer of the letter makes vague promises to the fugitives of horses, estates, provinces, districts, and immunities ( suyürghâl) if they will return (ed. Moscow 1964-71, 1, ii, 250 ff.). 57. ‘Iqdal-’ulä, pp. 18. 29-30. 58. Tärikh-i muhärak-i Ghâiânî, ed. K. Jahn (Ix>ndon and Leiden 1940), pp. 349-50.

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59. In his letters, Rashid al-Din mentions various properties in Basra that he had bought with his own money ( Mukâtabât-i Rashïdi, ed. Muhammad Shaft', Lahore 1945, p. 14), dead lands that he had revived in Khuzistan and that had therefore become his property, and other properties that had been legally transferred to him or that he had bought (Ibid., pp. 17981). See also Waqf-nâma-i Rashïdi, ed. iraj Afshär and Modjtaba Minovl (Teheran 1972), for a list of the property that he constituted into waqf. 60. Tàrïkh-i Ghâzânï, pp. 205-7. 61. Ibid., pp. 350-51. 62. Ibid., p. 351. 63. See further A. K. S. Lambton, Landlord and Peasant in Persia (Oxford 1953), pp. 77 ff. 64. Târïkh-i Ghâzânï, pp. 346-49. 65. Rashid al-Din in various letters to his sons and others instructs them to give advances, draught animals, and seed to the peasants on his proper­ ties (cf. Mukâtabât-i Rashïdi, pp. 12, 181). In a letter to his son Jalâl al-Din, when governor of Anatolia, he orders him to dig a new canal from the Euphrates in the Malâtiya district, found in ten villages along the canal, and provide the peasants to be settled in them with seed, draught animals, agricultural implements, advances, and food (Ibid., p. 246). In another letter, addressed to the people of Diyär Bakr, he informs them that Zaki al-Din Mas'ûd had been sent to Diyär Bakr and Diyär Rabfa to make a new canal in the Mawçil district, found fourteen new villages on it, settle peasants in them and give them seed, draught animals, agricultural im­ plements, and advances. Twenty thousand men were to be provided to dig the canal and build the villages, for which they were to be paid wages (Ibid., pp. 244-45). 66. There is an interesting letter from Rashid al-Din to his son Ghiyäth al-Din Muhammad when the latter was sent by Uljâytü to look into the affairs of Khurasan, which was reported to have been reduced to a ruinous condition by the tyranny of officials (Mukâtabât-i Rashïdï, pp. 145 ff.). This implies that Ghäzän’s reforms had not been effective in Khurasan, one of the largest and most important provinces of the empire. Khurasan, however, according to Hamd Allah MustawfTs account, appears to have been something of a special case as regards its revenue accounts ( Nuzhat alqulùb, p. 147). 67. One was discovered near Qumm by M. Henri Goblot. There is an­ other in Säwa and others in Khurasan. See further H. Goblot, “Quelques faits nouveaux dans l'histoire des techniques d'acquisition de l'eau: galeries drainantes et barrages-voûtes," in Actes Xlle congrès international d'histoire des sciences (Paris 1970-71), Xb, pp. 31-34; ibid., “Des hydrauliciens mé­ connus. Les Iraniens de l'antiquité jusqu'à la renaissance,” Sciences et Techniques, XXXI (1976), pp. 6-7. 68. “Un santon Quhistânï de l'époque Timouride,” REI, XXXV (1967), pp. 190-95.

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Land Tenure and Taxation

69. See further my Landlord and Peasant in Persia, xxvii ff. 70. Lahore, lith. 1865, pp. 180-81. In the Akhlâq-i muhtashami, Naçlr al-Din quotes a saying to the effect that the order of the world depended upon five classes, namely kings, learned men, the wealthy, peasants, and warriors (p. 53). 71. Chahârdah maqàla, ed. Sayyid Muhammad, Bâqir Sahzawârï (Teheran 1962), p. 146. 72. Nafâ’is al-funùn f i ‘arà'is al-uyùn (Teheran lith.), II, 159. tfusayn Wâ‘i? Kâshifi (d. 910/1505), whose classification differs slightly from that of Na$îr al-Dîn Tüsi, also places tillers of the soil in the fourth class ( Akhlâq-i Muhsini, ed. Ibrâhîm Täjir Shîrâzî, Bombay lith. 1890-91, p. 48). Muhammad Mufid, writing in the seventeenth century, while retaining a fourfold division, also makes a slightly different classification. He puts the dihqâns in the third class with merchants and craftsmen such as architects and goldsmiths: and artisans, other craftsmen, the people of the bazaar, and workmen in the fourth class (Jâmi'i Mufidi, B. M. MS. Or. 210, fol. 332). Perhaps the greater prominence given by Muhammad Mufid to the dihqàn reflects his Yazdi origin and the special attachment of the people of Yazd to the cultiva­ tion o f the soil. 73. Irshâd al-zirâ'a, ed. Muhammad Mushlri (Teheran 1967). pp. 23-24. ‘Abd al-Ghaffär Najm al-Dawla first published the Irshâd al-zirâ'a together with a number of other essays in a lithograph edition in 1905-6, but attri­ buted it wrongly to Fâdil-i Harawi, in which he is followed by I. P. Petrushevsky, Zemledelie i agramie otnosheniya v Iran xiii-xiv, m>., Moscow and Leningrad 1960 (see Irshâd al-zirâ'a, intro., iii). 74. Ibid., pp. 24-25. 75. Ibid., pp. 11-12. 76. Ibid., pp. 22-23. 77. Ibid., pp. 25-26.

Sodety and Economy

9 Monetary Circulation in Egypt at the Time of the Crusades and the Reform of Al-Kamil Claude Cahen If medieval Arab-Muslim numismatics can boast o f a number of studies of signal value, monetary history proper, as an integral factor of economic history, lags sorely behind it. The form er dis­ cipline is itself frustrated by fundamental problems for which the absence of tenable solutions compromises any comprehensive as­ sessment of its domain.1 This chapter shall deal with only one aspect of the monetary history o f the medieval Middle East; it is hoped that the chosen topic will represent nonetheless a certain historical and methodological pertinence. But first some remarks of a general nature. Economic boundaries clearly do not coincide with denominational, i.e., political, boundaries. One may distinguish grosso modo within the Mediterranean and Middle Eastern lands; however, until more or less the year 1000, three great zones were defined in terms of coinage. Western Europe and, before the tenth century, Muslim Spain and Morocco* possessed a monetary system based entirely upon silver; the rest of the Mediterranean, including tenth-century Spain and the Byzantine Empire, as well as the coastal Muslim lands, possessed a system heavily dominated by gold; finally, in the Muslim east, from Iraq to central Asia, we find ourselves again in a realm of silver. This does not mean that, aside from copper or alloy/bullion coins of local value for petty exchange, each of the two great Oriental and Mediterranean domains remained indifferent to the metal of the other, but that the coinage o f this metal could enjoy only a secondary role, inscribed within the fixed standard of the dominant coinage, even though that standard be a money of account. If each of our sectors had been rigorously monometallic and separated from the others by impervious barriers, no problem of exchange would have arisen between gold and silver. What happens then, within each of these sectors is that the state, when able, will

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authorize only the official and dominant money for administrative and fiscal operations. On the question of unimpeded international relations,3 I once maintained against my colleagues that there did not exist prior to the middle of the European Middle Ages sufficient economic unity to enable us to speak of a single money market and not of only three or four zones of contact. This is not to say that there was no such unity subsequently; from the eleventh century on, matters contribute to the expansion and coalescence of these zones, thereupon to the establishment of one or at most two great zones of this sort. On a local scale, however complex the relation between its value and that of gold, silver frequently plays the role of fractional coinage or small change. It is clear, therefore, that in each of these areas a certain mode of exchange had come to be established. And if one circumstance or another should provoke a difference o f exchange between the communicating sectors, it would tend to result in a drift of one of these moneys toward the other, necessitating a readjustment o f equilibrium, realizable only if these original circumstances had been transitory. In the midst of the classical Islamic world of the latter part of the Srd/9th century, Muslim jurists and administrators, for reasons that are too lengthy to be taken up here, conceived the by no means primitive notion4 that the comparative legal value of gold to silver was 10 to 1, and since the silver dirham had been defined by weight as 7/io of a gold dinar, its value would be 7/ioo. Reciprocally, the dinar should be worth 142/ t dirhams. In terms of modern metric notation, the dinar should weigh about 4.25 grams and the dirham 2.97. Actual coins strove to meet this ideal, or to be valued in relation to it. One must take care to note that in texts, unless indicated to the contrary, an actual gold piece is defined in relation to the legal silver dirham, an actual silver coin in relation to the legal gold dinar. A misunderstanding of this practice has produced errors in the calculation o f exchange. Another form of calculation is required in order to determine the value of exchange between two actual coins of legal value. I n a case where the actual coins are very nearly equivalent to their theoretical worth and are minted so as to rep­ resent sufficient guarantees to the public, they are taken at face value. However, in the more common circumstance, where a coin is either obviously far from its theoretical value or insufficiently guaran­ teed, it goes to the scales, its market/metallic value diminished by minting costs. Muslim jurists were very exacting on this point, ex-

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cept that in the beginning they seem only to have concerned them ­ selves with irregularities of weight,* while subsequent assessments of alloyage were made in a more difficult way, by the method of specific weights. What we must be ever alert for, however, is the fact that these actual coins circulated simultaneously as distinct specie and possessed different values. It is not simply that, for the exigencies of com­ merce, gold or silver fractional coins (thirds, quarters, etc.) were struck upon the legal standard; this amounts to just about the same thing as legal currency. But dinars, and especially dirhams, were struck in variable weights as well and, more importantly, variable alloyage, not to be considered as fractions of the real or theoretical basic coin. T he nature and significance of this latter coinage must be understood. While one may speak o f the stability of the dinar in this period, in comparison to the vicissitudes of the contemporary dollar, this can refer only to the dinar of account, the theoretical dinar according to which the actual value of various types of coins is calculated. But mark well that this “reference” precludes our talk of devaluations. Certainly there were occasions when the state was obliged to strike in­ ferior coinage in order to acquit itself of its own obligations, while obliging others to settle their accounts with the state by means of the “real thing.” However, since these mediocre coins were never re­ moved from circulation, unregulated market-values came to be estab­ lished wherein the coins were taken at their virtual worth, irrespective of the rate to which they had been arbitrarily fixed. It happened not infrequently that governments themselves would mint diverse coinage without dishonest intentions, each defined with respect to the others at the legal standard, such as the various fractional and small change coinage. This represents Arab-Muslim coinage no less than it does the untrammeled situation within the Byzantine* and European7 systems. One particular consequence o f these conditions is that Gresham’s famous law cannot easily be applied. Certainly the public may find one coin more practical or trustworthy than another; here “bad money will drive out the good,” but it is not a case o f two coins o f unequal value pretending to be equal, since value in this case is determined by weight and alloyage. Among the most flourishing professions of the age was that of the money-changer, or fayrafi, whose function was less to make change, properly speaking, than to determine the relative value of coins.

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Nor does (he law hold in the first instance, since the holder may take his bad money to the mint and have it made good.8 Exchange was variable in practice, naturally. T here was an of­ ficial rate o f exchange established by the state in order, first, to fix the procedures o f coin production, and secondly to regulate or cause to be regulated those transactions involving it, relating the currency in circulation to a rate based on legal tender. Assessment was generally forthright, so that the official rate was near to that which prevailed in the marketplace. This holds true, however, only under normal conditions. Specie reserve was often inadequate to demand, in which case the scarcity of a particular coin could cause it to soar far beyond its actual value. It happened also that, given the sluggish­ ness o f communications, the circulation o f money in one area could differ momentarily from that o f another in relative proximity, al­ lowing those fortunate enough to be apprised of the situation in time to engage in fruitful speculation: either to “bull the market” (in other words, hoard the rare coin) or to unload a certain quan­ tity o f this coin in order to purchase another coin at an advantage.8 This situation was complicated by the fact that the political unity of the Muslim world was by this time nothing but a memory; each Muslim state had its own currency. Contrary to what would be the case in the early Middle Ages, coins foreign to the Muslim world were not accepted, except to be restruck as indigenous tender. Money carried in by merchants from other Muslim lands, how­ ever, was circulable. This rule held without exception save for po­ litical disruptions: for example, while the caliphate of Baghdad in the eleventh century forbade the use of Maghribi (i.e., Fatimid) dinars in the territories under its suzerainty.10 Beyond these ex­ ceptions, and as long as one was dealing with sound and regular cur­ rencies, there came to be established an official exchange policy between states; where this situation did not prevail, foreign coins merely complicated the flow o f variable coinage assessed at weightvalue. Until, and largely including, the tenth century, the distribution o f gold and silver remained as it has been described at the outset of this paper. Then, toward the year 1000 occurs an apparent, perhaps actual, revolution. The Asiatic lands that up to that time had subsisted under a regime of silver monometallism witnessed the disappearance or reduction of this metal to the point where it became necessary that they reorganize their monetary system

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on (he same gold-base as their Mediterranean neighbors. At the same time, silver lost its importance in Byzantium as well, and we know that there occurred a contemporaneous crisis o f this nature in Europe itself where a silver-base currency was still in use. It seems that there came to be a general dearth of white metal.11 T he causes of this phenomenon, now regarded as an established fact, have been inadequately sorted out. It is not our intention to take up the debate here, although its treatment appears to be a preliminary condition to any progress in the matter. This silver famine is well attested to by certain formal documents from Baghdad,12 for example, and from the impression to be gained by the greater part of monetary transactions recorded in literature. T he impression is further corroborated by nearly all o f our numis­ matic collections, which for certain countries and certain periods exhibit no silver coinage whatever, or seem only to include rare and mediocre samples. I certainly do not lay much claim by the testimony of these collections; it should be reiterated that no systematic con­ clusion can be derived from this sort of evidence. It is well known that these collections were assembled, for the most part, with rare and beautiful coins in mind, and not to provide an exact represen­ tation o f ordinary currency. Obviously, ordinary currency was not based on rare coinage. Furthermore, certain specie may well have enjoyed substantial diffusion at one point, only to be subsequently recalled—despite what we have said about the simultaneous cir­ culation of diverse types of coins—and re-minted by official decree or general motivation. We shall have the opportunity to observe certain unimpeachable examples of this. Further still, a valid assessment of coins, from the economic viewpoint, would assume that we should be capable of always knowing the precise metallic values. Now, it is well known that numismatic catalogues are generally incapable, due to the indifference of their authors, of supplying us with necessary information, and the analyses recently undertaken with the aid of modern techniques13 are as yet too few in num ber (dealing, as they do, almost exclusively with gold coinage) and insufficiently rallied into a systematic program to palliate this lack. For example, it is often impossible to determine the crucial question as to whether the relative shift in value of two coins is the result of a change in their metallic composition or in the comparative value (or volume of cir­ culation?) o f the metals they contain. Whatever the case may be, and setting aside any attempt at ex-

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planation, let us grant that in the rude facts adduced by the authors o f synthesizing exposés upon the “silver crisis" a good deal of truth can be found. It seems, however, that there has been no effort to determine if every country was equally affected. In light o f this, Egypt, as a country that enjoyed a fulcral position between the east­ ern and Mediterranean worlds, merits closer scrutiny than has up till now been undertaken. When in 969 Egypt was conquered by the Fatimids,14 who had arrived from the Maghrib where, it is said, the gold coinage was o f excellent quality, the comparative value o f dinar to dirham was fixed at 1:15 '/2 (slightly above the 1: 14*/t rate theoretically allowed in the east), whether out of a desire to underscore the excellence o f their dinar, or because the common dirham in circulation at that point had been slightly devalued from its theoretical level. The labors o f Ehrenkreutz have shown that, from a denominational standpoint, the excellence o f the dinar held its own through nearly two centuries, down to the final days o f the dynasty.1* T he reform that followed the loss o f Syria to the Crusaders further under­ scores the desire for technical purity o f the dinar under the caliphate of al-Àmir, for which he is well known.16 T he weight o f the dinar in the final period was legally diminished somewhat, and came to be valued, as will be explained further on, at 1 3 * / 3 dirhams to the dinar. T he dirham itself poses considerable problems, since those coins to which the texts refer by this name are not always the same thing. It is possible that from the middle o f the eleventh century, certainly by the twelfth in any case, the common silver coin is legally reckoned at forty to the dinar. So people have been led to speak of “deprecia­ tion,” a conclusion that, as we shall see, is untenable. As regards Egypt during the period in question, we have the good fortune to be able to consult the inestimable Geniza material provided in the splendid labors of Professor Goitein.17 We are aware that there existed, side by side, two non-equivalent coins both referred to as dirham in the sense o f “silver-piece”: the nuqra and the waraq (also referred to as asxvad, “black,” and misrt, “Egyptian”). T he nuqra was the purest silver coin technically possible. It figures sparsely in our collections, while more common are to be found coins that, to judge by their weight, are Vi dirhams of this cate­ gory.18 This preponderance is to be explained by the fact that it was surely useful to have on hand a coin worth less than a full dirham.

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However, the most frequent textual references are to the waraq, which does not figure in our collections. We must examine more closely the makeup of this coin. What is certain is that, though many transactions are recorded in dinars, actual payment often involved silver, which was used, in any case, for the fractional remainders. It seems, in the eleventh century above all, that silver may have been imported—the texts give testimony. We must, however, guard against reasoning that dictates that this was undeniably and quite simply the case; since a document, we are told, speaks of silver in this period, and our col­ lections provide none, it is assumed that what is being referred to is imported silver from the Maghrib.1* A lacuna in our collections does not give us license to deduce systematic conclusions. This lacuna, as has been suggested, may be otherwise accounted for, while the texts that describe the wild vicissitudes of the Egyptian dirham in, above all, the first half of the eleventh century attest to difficulties, perhaps, but likewise to its continued existence.20 In any case, the silver in question is almost invariably Egyptian, and when the actual name or exchange value is referred to, it turns out to be the waraq dirham. Consequently, it must be admitted that this coin was, be­ sides the dinar, the most common medium of payment in twelfthcentury Egypt, and most likely had been so from the second half of the eleventh. O f what did the waraq dirham consist? Makhzümï ‘s treatise, which discusses the second Fatimid century,21 and that of Ibn Mammâtî, which deals with subsequent conditions,22 define it for us in terms identical to the thirteenth-century treatise of Ibn Ba‘ra, about which I will also have occasion to speak further on.23 It is a 30 percent silver-70 percent copper dirham bearing an official value of forty to the dinar. The Geniza documents and others rep­ resent the exchange value at the same magnitude and tend occasion­ ally to favor the dirham even more. Leaving aside this minor var­ iability for the moment, this near-agreement in our sources seems to indicate that the waraq was not considered a devaluated coin, but as a value entirely distinct from the nuqra or half-nuqra. This value is easily determined. While the twelfth-century dinar was worth 13‘/3 dirhams nuqra, the waraq dirham is then equal to V3 pure silver dirham, and by and large was valued as such. True, for a coin to be worth Vs nuqra it would, theoretically, have to con­ tain 33 percent and not just 30 percent silver; however, aside from

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minting costs, the remaining 70 percent copper cannot be said to carry zero value. We can admit, then, that the metallic value of the waraq, as verified by analysis of the samples in our collections,*4 cor­ responds fully to its monetary value. From this may be derived a critical conclusion: namely that the value of the waraq, as with the nuqra dirham, was always grounded firmly on the classical metalbase relation o f silver to gold at ten to one.** For it to have been otherwise, the weight of the dirham would have had to have diverged appreciably from that of the classic dirham, which was not the case.*6 From this, it follows that the minting of the waraq dirham was not provoked by a scarcity—a survaluation—o f silver, which circulated adequately in Egypt at this time. What, then, could have been the motive for the minting of waraq, and for the value assigned it? It seems easy enough to propose an explanation. For one thing, common exchange required a frac­ tional coin smaller than the dirham and more trustworthy and handy than the copper fulûs. Just as fractional coinage had been struck for gold, silver fractional coinage was also needed. There was a half-nuqra, but it was not enough, and there was a desire to combat the common practice of cutting up larger coins for small change. It is evident that the Vs dirham had become a truly tiny coin and could be easily lost. There was need of a larger coin of equal value; hence the introduction of a high percentage of copper alloy. One might ask, why Va and not Va denominations? Apparently there was to be found, here and there, coinage of Va dirham value, but we must bear in mind the traditional procedures of monetary cal­ culation then current. Just as in other countries in which these calcula­ tions were based on arithmetic increments of 6,12,24, etc., the dirham was divided into six danaqs; that is to say, it was easier to divide by three than by four. A waraq corresponded to precisely two danaqs, whereas the 1:40 relation of waraq to dinar was equally manage­ able in calculation, much more so than the nuqra, or half- or quarternuqra, relation. Most likely we need look no further for the causes of the lasting success of the waraq. T rue, this reasoning lists somewhat to the theoretical side, since the going rate could vary on the 1:40 relation and complicate cal­ culations. But this would be true only of the fairly large-scale trans­ action; for common everyday affairs, one could be happy with the declared legal rate and take the waraq, like the dinar, at face value, not by weight. It may be, though perhaps my fantasy carries me a bit far here, that there may remain still another consideration. As it was not

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a product indigenous to Egypt, silver had to be imported from abroad, most likely, as we shall see, imported from Italy. Italy had various coinage, most of it containing about one gram silver.27 This value, therefore, corresponded grosso modo to Va pure silver dirham, i.e., to the waraq. O f course, no non-Muslim money could be passed in Egypt in that period; foreign coins were taken to the mint, melted down and restruck. But, either for this work or for the calculation o f all current prices, it could have been easy to have specie of more or less equivalent value. I repeat that this is a possibility, in support of which I can bring no conclusive evidence. Nonetheless, this fac­ tual near-correspondence suggests that throughout the Mediterranean, the type of coin for which there was the greatest need corresponded to the value of one gram silver metal. All this is not to say that Egypt never felt the dearth of silver. The fact that mediocre dirhams were generally imported from the Maghrib means that it was hoped they would bring more value there, where the demand was greater, than in the Maghrib. Many dirhams which survive in our collections exhibit signs of wear, suggesting intense circulation and resulting in a loss of weight. It is not known whether the Italians made more use o f silver than gold, despite the fact that their trade with the Maghrib provided them with gold in abundance. However this may be, the Geniza documents indicate that it was occasionally difficult to find proper dirhams; further, the slight su­ periority of their exchange value over the legal rate contributes to the same conclusion. This is all a matter of minor proportions, however, as silver was ever at hand, its commercial function con­ siderable and permanent. How can we account for such apparently contradictory assertions? It must be understood that monetary scarcity may come about without absolute quantitative reduction if the size of the population requiring it and, above all, the scale of trade upon which this need is based, increase. Now it is evident that from the eleventh century, and more clearly in the twelfth century, Mediterranean trade on an inter­ national scale increased. But one may object that gold would suf­ fer the same consequence as silver—a result that may subsequently have materialized. For the period in question, however, it must be admitted that there existed sufficient gold for the transaction of sizable affairs and barely enough for the bulk of petty and inter­ mediate transactions. These may be, I admit, vague notions, but they may lead us into fertile areas. How shall we then account for the scarcity of coinage in our col­ lections? O ur collections were formed, by and large, by hoarding,

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and one did not obviously hoard the dirham, which was needed for everyday affairs. Furthermore, as we shall see, measures were taken to withdraw certain coins, and without deluding ourselves as to the scope of these retrievals, it would be foolhardy to discount this factor altogether. Again, the public may have preferred to turn old coins in to the foundry to be restruck rather than holding onto them, since they may have become difficult to pass, given their used condition. This, though entirely hypothetical, is advanced in an effort to stimulate reflection. Whatever may be made of these considerations, it is also necessary to situate Egypt in its context as I see it. I cannot, obviously, indulge in such detail as I have for Egypt itself, but a fairly surprising con­ trast should be noted. T he Muslim lands of Syria, Upper Meso­ potamia, and Asia Minor have left no trace of gold or silver money in our collections prior to the last quarter of the twelfth century; they would seem to have minted nothing but copper or bullion coins. Silver is to be found only in Iraq, Iran, and the Latin fringe of SyriaPalestine; silver was so scarce in Iraq that in thirteenth-century Bagh­ dad, according to one text, people were obliged to use gold parings.28 After having advanced a caution regarding conclusions to be de­ rived from our Egyptian collections, I do not wish to predicate a claim upon their evidence for the Middle East, but examples in this case are non-existent and we have texts to corroborate: the docu­ ment cited above, in addition to another which informs us that in Syria the powerful atabeg Zenghi constrained Aleppo to issue fi­ duciary money to palliate the lack of specie among the people.88 Nonetheless, one hears occasionally of gold-minting at Damascus,90 and though Nür al-Din had not yet caused gold to be struck in his name anywhere but in Egypt, he never lacked for that with which to endow his troops, from time to time, with liberal rewards.91 Doctrinal considerations may have reserved for the caliph sole right to mint gold coin in the lands over which he exercised direct control. This could not have been the case for silver. Europeans carried silver coin to the Latin east, where it could be circulated directly without having to be restruck. Gold was in use there as well, brought in by the Italians who, thanks to their flourishing trade with the Maghrib, possessed it in quantity. It is known that the Franks would remint some of this gold in a more or less success­ ful imitation of Arab coin. I shall not linger over the crucial prob­ lems which this fact poses. I will simply refer to the fact that my

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colleague Ehrenkreutz has advanced a hypothesis3* relative to this with which, despite the great profit we enjoy from his labors, I can­ not concur. For him the dinar or besant of the Franks, which was of considerably less value than the Egyptian, served as an instru­ ment of economic warfare against the latter, collateral to the en­ suing military campaigns. I am not convinced o f this, at least as formulated thus simply, for the same reasons I have put forward regarding the applicability, or non-applicability, of Gresham’s Law in the present context. The official manuals show various dinars to be circulating in Egypt, among them the Tyrean (i.e., that of the Latin east and the dûqi of the Normans of Sicily. The exchange value of these various dinars is well known, as is their composition.33 It may have been harmful for Egypt to have a portion of the avail­ able gold on the Mediterranean market drained away, along with the profit to be gained by its minting, but there is no reason to draw the further conclusion that the “bad” Frankish dinar had driven out the “good" Egyptian since we cannot make a case for the other dinars, for example the Almoravid, whose use is attested to.34 It is remarkable in any case that Egypt was able to avail itself of nearly adequate monetary means of every type at a time when its co-religionist neighbors of the Middle East possessed apparently far less and were even most likely without tender of their own minting. It is remarkable that even the loss of Syria, where a part o f the Fatimid coins were minted, did not affect the Egyptian monetary system. On the contrary, it was at this point, following upon the disorders o f the eleventh century, that the monetary system was revived to a point which allowed for the appearance of the dnurf dinar, con­ sidered the most successful technique attempted to insure the purity of the gold.33 As with every nation in those times, we know that Egypt attracted foreign precious metals through substantial re­ ductions in customs-duties, and we know that the Italians thereby unloaded a good deal.3* It is true that dinars toward the end of the dynasty betray a tendency toward decline, and that around 1170 (a statement of the famous al-Qâdi al-Fäcjil bears witness)37 gold had become a rarity in Egypt. It may be admitted, however, that this was due in part to the enormous expenditures resulting from al­ ternate or simultaneous incursions of the armies of the Franks or Nür al-Din into Egypt which had to be fought off or paid off. This is an occasional circumstance.38 Since this trend continued under Saladin, deeper motives have been sought. But Saladin had dif-

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ficult battles to wage as well: the troops petitioned for their pay in Syria. At the beginning of his reign, Saladin (who had conquered Egypt in the name o f Nûr al-DIn, appropriating it for himself after the latter’s death, thereby putting an end to the Fatimid dynasty) pre­ served the Fadmid monetary system, changing only the denom­ inations.9* At the end o f his reign he transform ed it entirely. Saladin, though a great leader, was no economist; the modves for this final reform, as it was put into effect, seem to have been more polidcal and doctrinal than economic. T he reform affected gold as well as silver and, as gold was a caliphal privilege, the caliph o f Baghdad prohibited the use o f the Maghribin (i.e., Fatimid and heretic) dinar in his lands.40 It may have become difficult to have, under a single polidcal denominadon, dinars which remained distinct, though their inscriptions had been altered, from the caliphal coinage cer­ tainly used in Syria. In any case, as the dinars struck under the name o f Saladin differed only by this name from the Fadmid dinars, it was doubtless difficult to combat the circulation o f the old coin. T here may have been, however, another theoretical motive capable of bearing weight with Saladin, ardent Sunnite that he was. T he fiqh, established in an age of pluralism and monetary fluctuation, com­ manded that coins not be taken at face value, but according to weight (allowing for alloyage), in order to insure honesty, as one would deal in any other form of merchandise.41 T he dependable reg­ ularity o f Fatimid coinage had accustomed everyone to face values; hence, the only way to re-establish an orthodox system, as had probably remained in effect in the east, was to produce new irregular coin­ age: economically paradoxical but religiously necessary. This ir­ regularity, in fact, seems to have been the principal characteristic o f Saladin’s money. It has been said that49 with this money the stand­ ard had been inverted, that it was then based upon silver, but I know of no text which indicates this. T he weight o f this coin quite sim­ ply comes to be expressed in terms of dirham-weight, its value like­ wise in terms of legal dirham tender, while reflexively the value of dirhams is expressed in terms o f legal dinars. What is more, at the end o f his reign, Saladin attempted to re­ form the dirham as well. In Syria, another o f his territories, silver was minted at this time, but only as pure silver dirham: equivalent, therefore, to the nuqra. It is probable that Saladin, in the interest

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of harmonizing his dominions (especially after the recapture of nearly all Syria-Palestine from the Franks), wanted a dirham to be minted in Egypt upon the same base as the Syrian, while retaining its divisionary character. Thus, he caused new coinage to be issued consisting o f 50 percent silver to 50 percent copper. This coin would be valued at 'Æ dirham (i.e., 26Vs to the Fatimid dinar, though un­ related formally; in fact by virtue of its copper contents and com­ parison with the waraq, bearing a relation closer to 21%: 1). As Saladin’s laqab was al-Nâçir, this new dirham was called ndfirt. But the reform miscarried; the old waraqs continued to circulate for the likely reason that the new coins were incapable of being reckoned with as easily as the old. In any case, a mixed gold/silver system con­ tinued. T he successors of Saladin were to mint dinars and dirhams, and we possess examples of both. This brings us to the thirteenth century, and before long to a new and much misunderstood reform, that of al-Kâmil. This coincides with the reflux of the tide, which had more or less carried away the silver. From Baghdad, in 1230, the caliph collected all the frag­ mentary gold pieces which had been mutilated from coinage for minor transactions during the previous two centuries, and had good dirhams minted.43 Mongol influence has been rather precipitously adduced in this connection.44 It is true that the Mongols established their familiar silver in Iran and that the “return to silver" was ac­ centuated by their presence. By the period to which we are referring, however, the Mongols had just appeared, manifesting little else but devastation. It is difficult to see how their commerce could have by this time extended to Iraq—in other words, how any such in­ fluence could have been felt outside their own domain. It would be better to seek an explanation within the general evolution of Middle Eastern relations. This is the task that lies before us here, and I shall confine myself to this sole reminder, in order to better situate what I have to say concerning Egypt. Let us return to our subject, then, and recall another fact: that is, that Saladin’s successors, the Ayyubids (and above all his brother al-‘Àdil and his brother’s son al-Kämil) took measures during their reigns to alleviate the disorder that resulted from the dynast’s pol­ itics, returning (not, of course, in a religious sense) to Fatimid tra­ ditions, while adapting these to suit new conditions. It is against this background that the monetär)' politics of al-Kämil must be viewed.

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Regarding gold, al-Kämil wished to return to the tradition of al-Àmir and to have coins of at least equivalent quality minted.4* Specimens of these in our collections, however, give the impression that weightregularity was not maintained with as much success as the purity of alloy. Al-Kämil’s name is most commonly associated with his dirham reform. However, our understanding of this monetary develop­ ment is complicated by MaqrizTs report o f this event.46 This writer, usually intelligent and well-informed, assures us in effect that alKämil had coins minted at 70 percent silver to 30 percent copper, a fact which would hold for the first Mamlük coin toward the end o f the century. However, it has been easy to demonstrate that the author (or one of al-Kämil’s scribes) has inverted the figures, and that we are dealing with dirhams o f 30 percent silver to 70 percent copper. T he official monetary treatise of Ibn Ba‘ra composed upon this occasion, as well as contemporary literary sources (in particular the Geniza documents47 and the History of the Patriarchs ofAlexandria4#) and the specimens in our collections attest incontestably to this fact. T here exists another aberrant testimony. T he traveler Ibn Sa'id al-Andalüsf, generally well-informed, assures us that the kàmilî was worth Vs nâçiri, which would amount to V« nuqra. But this assertion is not to be reconciled either with the definition of Ibn Ba’ra nor that of Maqrizf, and conflicts as well with the further testimony mentioned above. It is likely that Ibn Sa’fd confused the nâçirî with the nuqra, which brings us back to the waraq.4* Al-Kämil’s dirham, however, did acquire a name to set it off from the waraq. One referred to it also as the mustadira, “rounded one,” but, since many other pieces were round, the sense has been taken as “globular.”*0 Neither by virtue of extant specimens nor textual evidence can this be deemed necessary. Many of the earlier dirhams had come to be “clipped” in irregular fashion, and were thus referred to as qaf‘ or muqaffa'a.51 In addition, square coins (Damascus) or hexagonal ones (Aleppo) had been minted in the Syrian domains of the Ayyubids.52 It seems likely that the mustadira appellation served only to point up a formal distinction of rounded coins to any number of nonrounded pieces in circulation. It is certain that in order for al-Kämil, who attempted and doubtless largely suc­ ceeded in recalling old coins to be exchanged for his new ones, to profit from this measure, the new coin would have to be clearly dis­ tinguishable from the old, all of this having no bearing on their value. They had begun once again to mint silver in Syria during this

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corresponding period—from the final quarter of the twelfth cen­ tury—but, strange to note, it was minted solely on the pure silverdirham base; this, perhaps because they had grown accustomed to using copper for fractional values, or perhaps also from a kind of technological reticence. This fact is all the more surprising since we are now dealing with a single political denomination encom­ passing Syria, Egypt, and upper Mesopotamia. Still, it is clear that, despite the fact that we cannot know to what degree, the coin of one country circulated freely within the others; this is perhaps es­ pecially true of Egyptian money, as a consequence of Egypt's military expeditions in Syria. This poses the twofold dilemma that we may not regard the Egyptian monetary system as through a fishbowl, nor consider indiscriminately the coins circulating in a particular country alongside the indigenous specie. This system was maintained more or less until the end of the dynasty at mid-century. Nonetheless, a final development begins to take shape, far exceeding the political strategies of the princes. The pamphleteer NäbulsI claims that the quantity of gold minted between the reign of al-Kâmil and that of his successors had catastrophically declined. He blames the incapacity of the princes who were guilty of having removed it from use.93 This assertion is perhaps ex­ cessive, but we must bear in mind that there was a period of troubles having little to do with the general return to more orderly times. Yet it is nonetheless true that we are speaking of an age when the Italians, in advance of other European countries, were to begin again to mint gold, and when this metal, along with silver itself, had become so scarce in the east that they were obliged to accept for­ eign coins of any sort, and to strike copper dirhams for lesser trans­ actions.34 Even if al-Kämil and his successors were obliged to mint copper as well, during his reign we remain largely within the same gold/silver ambiance as in former times. I think that little else can be read into his over-renowned reform. It seems clear that, without scorning the testimony of our numis­ matic collections, these collections must be interpreted critically. We must ask ourselves again (in regard to areas outside Egypt as well) whether, in consideration of the foregoing remarks, there had occurred in fact a silver crisis on such a scale as is generally sup­ posed. Monetary circulation seems to have been a remarkably wellregulated affair of considerable stability, due in part to the inte­ gration of the Mediterranean world. It should not surprise us that this is the case for the country that occupied a paramount position

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in Mediterranean trade, even though this trade was regulated by the Europeans.

NOTES 1. The early reprinted works of Maurice Lombard, as well as his re­ cently published posthumous ones bear sad but eloquent witness to how a broad and inquiring mind and a lively intellect could arrive at unfounded and often untenable interpretations for lack of sure and precise preliminary research. Interesting, albeit somewhat too theoretical, considerations are developed by my colleague Gilles Hennequin in some recent and forth­ coming articles in the Annales Islamologiques of the Institut Français d*Archéologie in Cairo. 2. On this, see the recent Corpus des dirhams idrisites by Daniel Eustache (Rabat 1971). 3. “Quelques problèmes relatifs à l'expansion économique musulmane au Haut Moyen Age," L’Occidente e VIslam nelTalto medioevo (Spoleto 1965), pp. 391-432. It is here that I contest, among other things, Lombard and Bolin in a way which, however, should be somewhat qualified. See the forthcoming proceedings of the colloquium held at Binghampton, May 1975. 4. It can scarcely be doubted that the exchange rate, during the first centuries, from dinar to dirham was on the order of 1:20. 5. In this regard, see especially R. Brunschvig, “Les conceptions monétaires chez les juristes musulmans,” Arabica, XIV (1967), pp. 113-43. 6. See Michael F. Hendy, Coinage and Money in the Byzantine Empire, 1081-1261 (Dumbarton Oaks 1969). 7. In regard to Europe, I will only mention that I have found this view­ point particularly well-stated in the recent thesis of P. Toubert on medieval Latium. I do not claim to be familiar with all the bibliography on this subject. 8. All this is particularly illustrated by the Geniza documents; see infra, p. 6 and n. 16. 9. Who could, however, just as easily decide to bring them to the mint to be reimpressed. In reference to Makhzümî, see my article “La frappe des monnaies en Égypte au Vle/XIIe siècle d’après le Minhàj d’alMakhzûmf,” Studies in Honor of George C. Miles, ed. Dickran K. Kouymjian (Beirut 1974), pp. 335-38. 10. Ibn al-Athîr, Al-KàmilfTl-ta’rikh, sub anno 427. 11. The most recent account is that of A. Watson, “Back to Gold and Silver,” Journal of Economic History, XXVI1 (1967), pp. 1 ff., with which, however, I am not always in agreement. He takes his study up to the end of the Middle Ages. 12. Maqrizî. Khitat (Bulaq a . h . 1270), II, 128 (year 628), based on Nuwayri.

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Cf. H. Sauvaire, “Matériaux pour servir à l'histoire de la numismatique et de la métrologie musulmanes,” JA, 7th Series, XIX (1882), pp. 314*15. 13. In particular by A. S. Ehrenkreutz; see the results o f an important colloquium printed in JESHO, IX (1966), pp. 212*41. 14. As is well known, we are indebted for most of our information on the monetary history of medieval Egypt to the fifteenth-century historian Maqrizf and his treatise on currencies, Shudhür al-'uqüd f i dhikr al-nuqüd, a work available in numerous editions and translations. The very remarkable merits of this author are incontestable; but it must be kept in mind that for the early periods he is, in the final analysis, in the same position as our­ selves, and that his opinion cannot, therefore, bear the validity of a formal testimony. We shall see a case of this further on in this study. The general account, based essentially on Maqrizf, by M. de Bouard, “L’évolution monétaire de l’Égypte médiévale,” in L’Égypte contemporaine for 1939, has scarcely any merit other than to make this known. 15. A. S. Ehrenkreutz, “The Standard of Fineness of Gold Coins Cir­ culating in Egypt at the Time of the Crusades,” JAOS, LXXIV (1954), pp. 162-66; idem, “The Crisis of the Dinar in the Egypt o f Saladin,” JAOS, LXXVI (1956), pp. 178-84; idem, “The Standard.of Fineness of Western and Eastern Dinars before the Crusades,” JESHO, VI (1963), pp. 243-77. Also see the discussion of these matters in Chapter 5 of Hassanein Rabie’s The Financial System of Egypt, 564-741 (London 1972). 16. See the opening sentences of Ibn Ba’ra's treatise, Kashf al-asràr al‘ilmiya bi-Dâr al-darb al-mifriya (cf. n. 33 below). 17. In particular, “The Exchange Rate of Gold and Silver Money in Fatimid and Ayyubid Times,” JESHO, VIII (1965), pp. 1-46; and A Mediterranean Society, I (Berkeley 1967), pp. 229 ff. 18. P. Balog, “History of the Dirham in Egypt,” Revue Numismatique, 6th Series, III (1961), pp. 109-46. 19. See in particular George C. Miles’ additional notes to Goitein’s “The Exchange Rate of Gold and Silver Money." 20. Even though it is necessary to exercise caution in using them, Maqrizfs notes on the evolution of the dirham in the 4th/11th century prove at least that he found in his sources testimony for its continuing existence along­ side of that of imported dirhams. These sources may be explained by the fact that these references are extant not only in his treatise on currencies, but also in vol. II of the ltti'âz, his history of the Fatimids recently pub­ lished by A. Hilmy, which is based more directly on Fatimid histories, many of which have been lost. 21. I have published the passage in question in the article referred to in n. 9 above. 22. Ibn Mammâtî, Qawànin al-dawàwîn, ed. A. S. Atiya (Cairo 1943), pp. 331 ff. 23. See below, n. 33.

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24. It o f course never conforms rigorously to the definition (it tends to be lower), but it never deviates greatly; cf. Balog, cited in n. 18 above. 25. See my article cited in n. 3 above, and my note to Goitein, “The Ex­ change Rate o f Gold and Silver Money," p. 42. 26. We have no official weight. Based on specimens from collections, Balog considers the effective weight somewhat lower than normal (about 2.60 gr); but one must keep in mind a coefficient o f wear and tear on coins with heavy circulation. 27. See n. 24 above. 28. Strictly speaking, one might suppose that the caliphate had given up coining silver even though it had the means; but then why would people use “gold parings"? The external silver even came through badly. 29. Ibn al-Athfr, Atabeks de Mossoul, in Recueil des historiens des Croisades: Historiens orientaux (Paris 1872-1906), II, 210. 30. And of sufficiently good fineness; see Ibn al-Qalanisf, Dhayl ta'rikh Dimashq, ed. H. F. Amedroz (London 1908), p. 258. Nevertheless, if it had been current, this chronicler would not have mentioned it. No specimen from this minting has come down to us. 31. Ibn al-A thir,j«akb, p. 210. 32. “Arabic Dinars Struck by the Crusaders,” JESHO, VII (1964), pp. 167-82. 33. Ibn Ba'ra has been studied by Ehrenkreutz in his “Extracts from the Technical Manual on the Ayyübid Mint in Cairo,” BSOAS, XV (1953), pp. 423-47, and has been published by Fahmy (Cairo 1966). Cf. Makhzûmf, cited in n. 21 above. 34. See the sources cited in the preceding note. 35. See the articles by Ehrenkreutz cited in n. 15 above, and Ibn Ba’ra’s Kashf al-asràr. 36. See in particular the treaty with Pisa, from 1154, published by Michele Amari in his / diplomi arabi del R. Archivio fiorentino (Florence 1863), pp. 241 if. 37. Cited in particular by Rabie, The Financial System of Egypt, pp. 162, 165. 38. For this period, nothing supports the hypothesis formulated by de Bouard, op. at. , of a certain commercial disequilibrium. 39. Ibn al-Athfr, Kâmil, sub anno 427. 40. For a total picture of Ayyubid monetary history, see Rabie, The Financial System of Egypt, chap. 5, which gives as well a good survey, with some additions, of the range of studies up to the present devoted to this question. 41. See R. Brunschvig’s “Conceptions monétaires chez les juristes musulmans." 42. See n. 10 above. 43. See Ehrenkreutz’s “Contributions to the Knowledge of the Fiscal Administration of Egypt in the Middle Ages,” BSOAS, XVI (1954), pp. 502-14.

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44. First R. P. Blake, “Circulation of Silver in the Muslim East Down to the Mongol Epoch,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, II (1937), pp. 291 328; cf. also Watson, “Back to Gold and Silver.” 45. Ibn Ba'ra, p. 50. 46. Maqrîzî, Shudhür aL'uqûd, ed. L. A. Mayer (Alexandria 1933), p. 12. The error goes back possibly to Nuwayrî, from whom Maqrfzf borrowed heavily for the administrative order in this period. The pertinent volume of the formers Nihàya has not yet been published. 47. Ibn Ba'ra speaks neither of kàmilï nor mustadtra dirhams, since there is little doubt that he is writing at the time of the reform and mentions throughout the decision made by al-Kamil for the dinar. But in speak­ ing of the dirham he explains that it is necessary to round it off (tadwh). It is thus likely, since the composition of the dirham which he gives cor­ responds to that of the wraraq, that he considers the kàmilï simply a formal variety of the latter, requiring no special terminology. 48. To which, in this connection, attention has been drawn by Ehrenkreutz in his “Contributions . . . ,” p. 504. 49. One could of course suppose that with the same proportions of al­ loy as for the waraq we are dealing with a coin twice as small as that. But no text suggests such characteristics for the kàmilï. It should be added that the passage from Ibn Saïd is known to us only through Maqrfzfs Khitat (I, 367); either he or the copyist was mistaken. I have not located the pas­ sage in the published works of Ibn Saïd. 50. Cf. n. 47 for tadwïr. 51. Goitein, A Mediterranean Society, I, 385. 52. Examples are to be found in all the major numismatic collections. Square coins are also to be found with the Almohads, whose coins reached Egypt53. Lam‘ al-qawânîn, my edition in BEO. XVI (1960), p. 52. 54. Because he does not found his general considerations and line of reasoning on firm enough bases in this regard, E. Ashtors Histoire des prix dans l'Orient médih’al (Paris 1969) is somewhat misleading. I owe a debt of thanks to Dr. M. Bates, who during discussions outlined the basic facts of numismatic collections. Without his assistance, the pre­ ceding account would. I believe, have been placed in doubt.

10 Strategie Implications of the Slave Trade between Genoa and Mamluk Egypt in the Second Half of the Thirteenth Century Andrew Ehrenkreutz “. . . . By the end of the thirteenth century, Genoa had caught up with Venice and had left behind all other maritime rivals.” R. S. Lopez*

The second half of the thirteenth century witnessed important developments in Egypt and Syria that changed the political and social character of that strategic area. During that period, the Mamluks seized and consolidated power in Cairo, and subsequently demonstrated the viability of their regime by their victories over the Mongols, as well as by their elimination of Crusader and Armenian principalities from the Syrian and Cilician littoral. The political and military story of the confrontation between the Mamluks and the Ilkhanids, and of the final defeat of the Christian contingents, is not of direct relevance to the main subject of this book. On the other hand, the role of the Genoese in those significant events—especially the peculiar nature of their economic motivation and involvement— has not as yet been properly analyzed and for this reason it is pre­ sented here.1 In studying the success story of the Genoese in the period under consideration, one has to begin by pointing out the opportune con­ vergence of economic interests of the Italian commune with the sociopolitical interests of the Mamluks. The rise and perpetuation of the militaristic slave regime would have hardly been possible with­ out a proper functioning of one basic logistic requirement: an ade•“Market Expansion, the Case of Genoa." Journal of Economic History, XXIV (1964), p. 446. Cf. G. Pistarino, “Chio dei Genovesi," Studi Medievali, Ser. 3, X (1969), pt. I, p.e.; also, E. C. Skrfinskaja, "Storia della Tana,” Studi Veneuani, X (1968), pp. 3-7.

33 5

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quate supply of manpower for the needs o f the army. In the first half of the thirteenth century, the Ayyubid sultanate, in expanding its Mamluk units, relied on the steady inflow of slaves from central Asia and from the Caucasus, arriving in Egypt by way o f the tradi­ tional routes running across Mesopotamia and Asia Minor. The Mamluk troops were also reinforced by groups o f refugees and deserters from Mongol-held territories, organized as special xvqfidtya units.2 However, shortly after their successful coup d’état in Cairo, the Mamluks were faced with changed conditions in procuring man­ power for their army. From 1243 onward, the land routes con­ necting the Caucasus with Syria came under the control of the Mon­ gols o r their satellites. Following the victories of Hulagu in the 1250s and the rise of the Ilkhanid state, which exercised supremacy over Persia, Iraq, the Caucasus, and eastern Anatolia, the Mongols were capable of interdicting major land traffic between the Mamluk ter­ ritories and the northeastern slave markets. T he strategic signif­ icance of the new situation became apparent when in 1260 Hulagu launched his offensive against the nascent Mamluk sultanate, open­ ing a period o f several decades o f hostilities during which the Ilkhanids resorted to diverse military and diplomatic measures in trying to overpower the tenacious Muslim enemy in Syria and Egypt. It is not difficult to make an assumption that the Ilkhanid leadership must have attempted to curtail or to suppress entirely any move­ ment o f logistic supplies, especially that of male slaves, which would sustain Mamluk military and political resistance. This was a potent weapon in the hands of the Ilkhanids, since a successful embargo on transit or export slave trade was as damaging to the Mamluk establishment as direct military reverses. It is in the nature of a militaristic caste that, in a bid for political domination and in order to avoid extinction, it must maintain the strength of the militaristic elements that are responsible for its in­ ception and for its success. This principle certainly applied to the Mamluks. T he people involved in the usurpation of political power in Egypt and in the creation of a dominant social caste were not only military men or warriors par excellence, but members of an ex­ clusive social class the recruiting grounds of which were located outside Egyptian, Syrian, or even Muslim territories. As their Arabic name indicates, they were slaves acquired and trained for the pur­ pose o f professional military service. T he Mamluks constituted

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an isolated element in the ethnic and cultural structure of SyroEgyptian society. T heir extraneous origin, common experiences as uprooted, displaced, enslaved youth, and the long years of rig­ orous military training3 made the Mamluks a coalescent army per­ vaded by strong feelings of common superiority and destiny. But successful as the Mamluk army proved to be in repulsing Crusader attacks against Egypt, and in founding their own sultanate in place of the decadent Ayyubid hierarchy, the continuation of their regime, even the very survival of their army, depended on the ability of the sultans to replace war casualties and to rejuvenate the ranks. As suggested above, following the rupture between the Mongols and the Mamluks, slave caravans disappeared from O ri­ ental trade routes converging on Syria and Egypt. The influx of the iväfidiyün must also have diminished or entirely ceased; besides, they were neither trusted nor totally integrated with the elite Mamluk regiments.4 Stringent adherence to the principle of total reliance on slave recruits precluded a possibility of induction of native Egyptians or Syrians. African slave markets were disregarded as far as Mamluk cadres were concerned. Under such circumstances, in the second half o f the thirteenth century, the Mamluks were com­ pelled to open new supply routes that would circumvent the llkhanid embargo and secure the continued inflow of desired slave personnel. This critical decade of the inception and expansion o f the Mamluk sultanate coincided with a difficult time in the history of Genoese trade operations, especially in the area of Genoa’s aspirations in the Levant.3 In order to understand those aspirations we must consider the ultimate objectives and policies pursued by European merchants in the eastern Mediterranean during the period extend­ ing from the late tenth to the middle of the thirteenth centuries. T he main stimulus behind European trade in the Levant con­ sisted of the hopes and prospects for profit. Various other goals or manifestations o f a political, ideological, or religious nature were usually subordinate to the overriding pursuit of economic gains. This realistic attitude dictated the main lines of strategy in relation to the Middle East, aiming at the attainment of the following objectives: domination over the sea routes connecting Europe with the Middle Eastern outlets of Asian and African export and transit trade; as­ sertion of influence over these outlets; an inland penetration of the strategic Middle Eastern regions that would permit an extension

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of influence over maritime, river, and caravan transit trade; and— ultimately—attainment of Oriental and African markets, which were the source of the lucrative Levantine trade. During the eleventh century, the first objective was pursued and was finally achieved in the course of the Crusades. On the way to that success, different tactics were employed: diplomatic negotia­ tions producing trading privileges (like those obtained from the Byzantines by the Venetians, or from the Fatimids and Ayyubids by a number of Italian mercantile republics but especially by Venice) and military means, especially in cooperation with the Crusaders, which delivered the coasts of Syria and of Greece, and even Con­ stantinople, to commercial exploitation by the Latins. The decline of Egyptian naval strength, culminating in its total disintegration during the Third Crusade, and the dramatic decline of the Byzantine state, caused by the outcome of the Fourth Crusade, brought about a monopoly of the eastern Mediterranean sea routes by European war and merchant fleets. As regards the second objective, the strategic interests of European commerce were well served by the successes of the Crusaders. The establishment of the County of Edessa and of the Principality of Antioch opened possibilities of penetration into upper Mesopotamia, permitting economic participation or interdictory intervention in the flow of traffic between the Mediterranean and Persia and the Persian Gulf. It is in this perspective that one can appreciate the full significance of Crusader pressure against Aleppo, o f the abor­ tive siege of Damascus by the Second Crusade, and, above all, of the century-long efforts to conquer Egypt. Even before the cam­ paigns against Egypt began, the Crusaders had established a chain of strategic fortresses, stretching from the Mediterranean to Aylah on the Gulf of Aqaba, which allowed them to control the movement of caravans between Syria and Sinai, as well as to derive mono­ polistic benefits from the flow of trade along the Syro-Palestinian littoral. In the course of a series of major attacks aimed at the acquisition of Egyptian territories, exploitation of Crusader enthusiasm and of Frankish military potential for the furtherance of European com­ mercial interests became especially pronounced between 1168 and 1250. Different Italian communes participated in those expedi­ tions, assisting the Crusaders with financial means or naval support, or with both. Their desire to penetrate the valley of the Nile was so compelling that on one occasion (1219) the Crusaders turned

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down a Muslim offer o f restitution of Jerusalem in exchange for Damietta. But the most daring of all the attempts challenging the Muslim monopoly of Middle Eastern transit routes took place in 1183. It consisted of a naval operation against shipping in the Red Sea, staged by Reginald o f Châtillon. Unsuccessful though it was, Reg­ inald's maneuver should be regarded as a manifestation of European colonialist designs on the sensitive commercial artery connecting the Mediterranean with the Indian Ocean.* T he diversion o f the Fourth Crusade by Venice was not inconsistent with the overall strategic aspirations of European commerce, for the ensuing cap­ ture of Constantinople opened prospects of a penetration of yet another important Middle Eastern transit route via the Black Sea and Asia Minor. One of the principal protagonists of European commercial in­ terests in the Levant was Genoa. Although as early as the middle o f the eleventh century her vessels had visited Syrian and Egyptian ports, the real involvement of the Genoese in that area began with the Crusades. During the First Crusade, they rendered vital sup­ ply services during the acute food crisis at the time o f the siege of Antioch. During the siege of Jerusalem, they decisively contributed to the capture of the Holy City by opportunely furnishing materials and specialists needed for the construction o f scaling towers and ladders. In subsequent decades, Genoese squadrons or military contingents transported on Genoese ships participated in the Frankish conquest o f nearly all coastal towns in Syria and Palestine, obtaining in each of them substantial commercial privileges for the merchants of Genoa. Nor did the Genoese restrict their commercial operations to the Crusader possessions alone. Notwithstanding their Christian identity and early pro-Crusader sympathies, the Genoese enter­ tained active trade relations with the Fatimid and Ayyubid enemies of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem. Even during Saladin’s con­ frontation with the Crusaders, Genoa and other Italian mercan­ tile communes supplied unlimited quantities o f war materiel to the Ayyubid warlord.7 While deriving advantages from business arrangements with Christian and Muslim rulers in Syria and Egypt, Genoa was not in­ different to the idea of a Crusader conquest of Egypt. From a com­ mercial vantage point, such an achievement would offer prospects of maximization of profits resulting from a European control of Egyptian transit routes. Judging by their involvement in the antiEgyptian Crusades, the Genoese must have been conscious of those

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implications. In 1218-19, they were among the troops besieging Damietta; after its surrender, they wasted no time in converging in numbers on that im portant Egyptian center.8 In 1249, Genoese transports carried the Crusaders of Louis IX to another success­ ful assault against Damietta.8 In 1250, following the disastrous out­ come o f the French push to Cairo, Genoa’s representatives, along with other Italian merchants, opposed vehemently the restitution of Damietta to the Muslims.10 In spite of over one hundred and fifty years o f repeated military and diplomatic efforts, however, Genoa remained behind Venice as far as her trade position in the Levant was concerned. To a great extent, the Venetians owed their dominant status to the accomplish­ ments o f the Fourth Crusade. By diverting it from Egypt and by supporting its ruthless campaign against the Byzantines, Venice collected trem endous dividends. From 1204 onward, the Venetians enjoyed unique diplomatic advantages in the Latin empire o f Con­ stantinople, which perm itted them to bolster their naval and com­ mercial operations through acquisition o f strategic bases in the Aegean and in the eastern M editerranean; also im portant was their infil­ tration of the Black Sea area, amounting to a significant intrusion on the sensitive north-south artery connecting both the Crimea and the Azov Sea with Asia Minor and Syria. Had the Crusade o f Louis IX against Egypt succeeded, had his troops established French control over the valley of the Nile, the Genoese might have enjoyed advantages similar to or perhaps even more substantial than those achieved by the Venetians in capturing Byzantine lands. As it hap­ pened, Genoese aspirations o f penetration of the MediterraneanRed Sea route ended with the disaster at al-Mançüra. T o add insult to injury, with the crushing defeat o f Louis IX, Genoa lost a power­ ful customer whose huge naval orders with Genoese ship builders had contributed to an earlier financial boom.11 In the early 1260s, there occurred a major change in the politi­ cal situation in Constantinople that allowed the Genoese to stage a successful challenge to Venetian hegemony in the M editerranean. On 13 March 1261, Michael Palaeologus, pursuing a determ ined policy against the Latin empire, concluded a treaty o f cooperation with Genoa.12 On 25 July of that same year, he re-entered Con­ stantinople, defeating the Latins and eliminating Venetian influence. Even though the Genoese did not participate in the actual recap­ ture of the imperial capital, the em peror honored the terms of his

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treaty with Genoa. Consequently, the collapse of the Latin regime and the end of the supremacy of the Venetians in Constantinople cleared the way for the Genoese to exploit the new situation to their own advantage. Indeed, the new treaty of 1261, confirmed by that of 1263,13 marked the opening of a new era in maritime and com­ mercial developments in the Levant. Especially significant was Genoese advance in the Black Sea area. By the virtue of the ByzantineGenoese treaties, access to that area was to be denied to all enemies of Genoa. In other words, the Genoese were granted a virtual monop­ oly of trade between the Mediterranean and the Black Sea—a mo­ mentous opportunity which they were determined not to waste. The re-establishment of Byzantine authority in Constantinople and the admission of the Genoese to the Black Sea coincided with the beginning of hostilities between the Mamluks and the Mongols, as well as with the complications affecting the inflow of slaves for the military needs of the Egyptian sultanate. The attention of the sultans was focused on the Black Sea area and its important slave markets. On the maintenance of deliveries of slaves from those markets depended the survival of the Mamluk regime. Traditionally, slave caravans from the Black Sea area had moved across Asia Minor, but after the rupture between the Mamluks and the Ilkhanids, with the spread of anarchy in eastern Anatolia and Armenia, a more secure route of slave importation had to be adopted. Predictably enough, the sea route connecting Egypt with the Crimea via the Bosphorus appeared as the most viable solution to the grave logistic difficulty of the sultanate. A switch to this route was one of the main reasons why in the second half of the thirteenth century the Mamluk sultanate sought to maintain friendly diplomatic relations with the Byzantines and the Golden Horde.14 Besides isolating the Ukhanid foe, such a policy enhanced smooth deliveries of slaves to the Crimean export markets, and, as importantly, opened the straits connect­ ing the Black Sea with the Mediterranean to cargo ships carrying those slaves to Egypt. A number of formal treaties concluded by Baybars and Qalä’ün with Michael Palaeologus (for example, the treaty of 1261-62, or that of 1281) contained specific clauses extend­ ing freedom of navigation through Byzantine waters to Egyptian merchants and ships involved in the slave trade.19 Essential as they were, these agreements with the Byzantines and the Golden Horde did not take care of all the requirements of a smooth inflow of slaves from the Crimea. Considering the rapid and sue-

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cessful expansion o f the Genoese along the shores of the Black Sea— their colony at Caffa being founded as early as 12661*—and consider­ ing their influence at Constantinople (the intrigues o f the Venetians notwithstanding), the shipments of slaves to Egypt could not pro­ ceed without the cooperation of Genoa. Such cooperation Genoa was more than willing to offer, for it constituted a decisive leverage by which her merchants could take a giant step forward in promoting European commercial hegemony in the Levant. Authorities in the field o f Genoese-Egyptian relations in the Middle Ages agree that Genoa was the most important supplier of Circassian slaves for the Mamluk army.17 On the other hand, opinions differ regarding the volume and financial implications of European in­ volvement in that branch of the Levant trade.1* However, the main significance o f Genoese slave trade lay not in its economic profitability but in its tactical function in relation to Genoa’s overall commercial interests in Egypt. Genoa’s supremacy in the Black Sea, combined with Egypt’s demand for slaves from the Crimea, put her in an ex­ tremely strong bargaining position. One may go so far as to state that in the second half of the thirteenth century the Genoese held the key to the survival o f the Mamluk sultanate, a development which Genoa welcomed; and as long as her commercial leverage remained effective, she pursued a policy of cooperation with the masters of EgyptThus, whereas in the first half of the thirteenth century the Genoese had participated in Crusader invasions of Egypt, in the subsequent period they abstained from hostile acts against the Muslim armies from Egypt. They sent embassies to Cairo and concluded formal treaties with Mamluk sultans.19 T here is no evidence that they tried to dissuade the Mamluks from attacking Crusader possessions. On at least one occasion, the Genoese appear to have promised naval assistance to Baybars during his major attack against Acre.*0 As a result of such a clever, pragmatic policy, exploiting specific con­ ditions prevailing in Constantinople and in Cairo, by the end of the thirteenth century, the Genoese caught up with Venice and out­ distanced other European rivals in the Levant. Had these condidons continued, Genoa might have succeeded in spreading her direct commercial influence over the Red Sea zone—one of the main stra­ tegic objectives of European commerce in the Middle East. However, with the coming of the fourteenth century, political developments reduced the bargaining power o f the Genoese. To

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begin with, the defeat of the Crusaders eliminated one sector of costly military commitments which absorbed a lot o f Mamluk man­ power and logistic resources. More importantly, following the con­ version of the Ukhanids to Islam and the rapid decline of the Mongol regime in Persia, the Mamluk sultanate was relieved o f the specter of extinction with which it had to live for half a century. Furthermore, the reopening of the traditional overland caravan trails between Mesopotamia and Syria resulted in the resumption of an intensive and lucrative slave trade by local Middle Eastern merchants.*1 Con­ sequently, the dramatic drop in battle casualties, a decrease in the pressure for rejuvenation of the cadres, and the availability of an overland line of supply of slaves together made the Mamluks im­ mune to any exploitative tactics on the part of the Genoese. And the Genoese themselves found the changing conditions in Mesopo­ tamia conducive to economic penetration in the direction of the Persian Gulf,** a situation which de-emphasized the importance o f the Red Sea transit route. Whatever the status o f fourteenth-century slave trade, in the second half of the thirteenth century, the slave trade between Genoa and the Mamluk sultanate performed a crucial function in the shaping of eastern Mediterranean history. Genoa exploited it to gain com­ mercial hegemony. The Mamluks depended on it to maintain and expand their hold in Egypt, Syria, and Cilicia. Crusader establish­ ments and various Armenian principalities disappeared under the deadly blows inflicted on them by the hosts o f military slaves sup­ plied by that trade. This last aspect calls for a few final remarks. Disregarding the dubious ideological and moral status of Latin establishments in the final chapter of the Crusades, one can argue that Genoa’s proMamluk policy was instrumental in bringing about the extinction of Christian domination at the hands of Muslim warriors. Had the Genoese been interested in prolonging the life of the Crusader states, they could have tried to suspend and to interdict the flow of man­ power for the needs of the Mamluk army. Nor would they have cooperated with the Mamluks in their attacks against the Crusaders. Such a policy, however, would have run counter to the economic strategy o f the Italian commune. When compared with all the ma­ terialistic benefits obtained from the businesslike relations with the Mamluks, the final humiliation of the Cross in the Levant was of small concern to the hard-headed Christians of Genoa.

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NOTES 1. For a survey of recent contributions dealing with Genoese Levantine trade, see £. Ashtor, “Recent Research on Levantine Trade,” Journal of European Economic History, II (1973), pp. 195*97. 2. D. Ayalon, “The Wâfidîya in the Mamluk Kingdom," Islamic Culture, XXV (1951), pp. 88-104. 3. D. Ayalon, L ’esclavage du mamelouke (Jerusalem 1951), pp. 9 ff. 4. D. Ayalon, “The Wâfidîya in the Mamluk Kingdom,” pp. 90 ff. 5. R. Lopez, La prima crisi della banco di Genova (Milan 1956). 6. This point has rightly been stressed by Subhi Labib, “Die Kreuzzugs­ bewegung aus arabischer-islamischer Sicht,” Medieval and Middle Eastern Studies in Honor of Aziz Suryal Atiya (Leiden 1972), pp. 251-53; Gary La Viere Leiser, “The Crusader Raid in the Red Sea in 578/1182-83,” Journal of die American Research Center in Egypt, 14 (1977), pp. 87-100. 7. A. S. Ehrenkreutz, Saladin (Albany 1972), p. 134; W. Heyd, Histoire du commerce de Levant au Moyen-Âge (Amsterdam 1967), 1,399. For an analysis of Genoese-Byzantine relations during that period, see Gerald W. Day, “Manuel and the Genoese: a reappraisal of Byzantine commercial policy in the late twelfth century,” The Journal of Economic History, 37 (1977), pp. 289-301. 8. Heyd, op. dt., I, 405. 9. Ibid., p. 409. 1 0 . Supra. 11. Lopez, La prima crisi della banco de Genova, pp. 81 ff. 12. G. I. Bratianu, Recherches sur le commerce génois dans la Mer Noire au XIIle siècle (Paris 1929), p. 58. 13. Ibid., p. 208. 14. Ibid., pp. 206-8; M. Canard, “Le traité de 1281 entre Michel Paléologue et le sultan Qalâ’ûn: QalqasandI,$ubh al-A’sâ, XIV, 72 ff.,”Byzantion, X (1935), p. 669; S. Labib, “Egyptian Commercial Policy in the Middle Ages,” in Studies in the Economie History of the Middle East, ed. M. A. Cook (London 1970), p. 67; idem, Handelsgeschichte Ägyptens im Spätmittelalter, 1171-1517 (Weisbaden 1965), p. 327; S. F. Sadeque, Baybars the First of Egypt (Dacca 1956), pp. 49-51. 15. Bratianu, op. cit., p. 207; M. Canard, op. cit., p. 669; idem, “Un traité entre Byzance et l’Égypte au V ille siècle et les relations diplomatiques de Michel VIII Paléologue avec les Sultans Mamlûks Baibars et Qalâ’ûn,” Mélanges Gaudefroy-Demombynes (Cairo 1935-45), pp. 197-224. 16. Bratianu, «p. cit., p. 219. 17. Ibid., pp. 192, 193, 208, 229; Cl. Cahen.Pre-Ottoman Turkey (New York 1968), p. 321: G. Caro, Genua und die Mächte am Mittelmeer 1257-1311 (Halle 1967), II, 381-82: S. Labib, Handelsgeschichte, pp. 327-28. For Genoese

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slave purchases (especially male slaves of minor age) in Caffa, cf. M. Balard, Gènes et rOutre-mer, I. Les Actes de Caffa du notaire Lamberto di Sambuceto, 1289-1290 (Paris 1973* ), documents no. 9, 16, 50, 93, 94, 105, 123, 126, 189, 223, 240, 244, 277, 285, 289, 334, 374, 487, 515, 536, 579, 697, 708, 714, 748, 770, 780, 782, 832, 846, 849. 18. Cf. on the one hand, A. Udovitch et al., “England to Egypt, 1350-1500: Long-term Trends and Long-distance Trade,” Studies in the Economic History of the Middle East, p. 127; and on the other, E. Ashtor, Les métaux précieux et la balance des payements du Proche-Orient à la Basse Époque (Paris 1971), p. 94. 19. G. Caro, op. cit., I, 158, n. 1; II, 133; W. Heyd, op. cit., II, 415, 418. 20. Ibn al-Furât, Selections from the Tàrîkh al-duwal wa’l-hiulùk (Cambridge 1971), II, 90. 21. Labib, “Egyptian Commercial Policy in the Middle Ages,” pp. 71-72. 22. Bradanu, op. cit., pp. 188-89; Labib, op. cit., pp. 69, 70.

Pari II: H IST O R IC A L D EM O G RAPH Y

Archival Sources for Demographic Studies of the M iddle East Daniel Crecelius The increasing availability of an ever-expanding range of archi­ val materials has been one of the most significant developments in the field of Islamic studies in the last two decades. This willingness on the part of Middle Eastern governments to open their valuable collections of historical records has in turn given impetus to several trends that have been unfolding simultaneously, though at an un­ even pace, throughout this period. Whereas the collections have often been discovered in a neglected state, their materials have had first to be collected in a central repository, assembled in some chron­ ological or topical order, then catalogued and described. This proc­ ess has gone the farthest in Turkey and Egypt, where significant collections are now open to scholars, but it is also moving forward with increasing momentum in other Middle Eastern and North African states. Materials of particular interest to the demographer in these collections are censuses (whether of individuals, families, or dwellings), tax records and land surveys, and ecclesiastical or civil registers relating to births, deaths, marriages, family lineage, or waqf (religious endowments). The majority of these records were kept by the central governments, are preserved in registers, called dafitir (sing, daftar) or sijillât (sing, sijill), and are written in a scribal hand that was not even understood by the uninitiated at the time they were prepared. Specialists have therefore begun the slow process of acquiring the various linguistic and paleographic skills necessary to decipher them, but this process is unfolding at a much slower pace than the organization and cataloguing of the vast collections now being assembled. These collections of archival materials are fundamentally dif­ ferent from the manuscript histories exploited by previous gen­ erations o f Islamicists in several important respects. First of all, they provide information on strata of society seldom described in the manuscript histories. We find in the archival records references 349

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to the “common man,” to small merchants, artisans, lesser ulema, and government functionaries, and even to peasants, or to the or­ ganization of groups such as the guilds or military units.1 Secondly, and most importantly, these documents provide an almost unlimited range of data on the social and economic history of a given society. Finally, they provide statistics and other quantifiable data that will support a wide variety of systematic enquiries.* T he availability o f new types of sources has helped to open up new frontiers in Islamic studies, now that researchers exploring topics in social and economic history are striking rich veins of information buried in the archival materials they have begun to mine. One of the developing areas on the socioeconomic frontier is demography. Like the new area itself, this attempt to survey archival materials o f potential use to the demographer is tentative and suggestive, for the exploitation o f the rich archival collections of the Middle East and North Africa is only beginning, and our present knowl­ edge of the sources is often limited merely to their existence and does not extend to their content.3 With few exceptions, the Islamic world did not preserve the type o f documentation that would permit precise statistical analyses of its population in pre-modern times. Records relating to birth and marriage or records kept by mosque or municipal organizations simply do not exist for the pre-modern Islamic period.4 Working with manuscript histories, some o f which report fragments o f cadastral surveys, demographers have been able to establish the broad out­ lines of population trends in the Islamic Middle East, but all attempts to obtain precise statistics for any period have been frustrated by the lack of documentary evidence upon which such precision could be based.3 The only exceptions are those areas where the Ottoman government made periodic censuses. The situation is not entirely hopeless, for the patient and ingenious demographer will find in the archival collections now open for research a sizable amount of material with which to work. Though it is not of the quality the demog­ rapher would prefer to have, it does provide far more information than is available in the manuscript histories. Although this study will confine itself to a discussion of archival materials located in Egypt, with few exceptions the type o f docu­ ments described below can be found in any equivalent archival col­ lection where the Ottoman Empire established its financial and ju ­ dicial administration. Materials similar to those outlined below

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can therefore be found in an area stretching from Yugoslavia to Iraq and from Algeria to the Persian Gulf. This survey will not in­ clude already well-known manuscript sources such as histories, lit­ erary works, or tabaqdt biographies, nor will it discuss the exten­ sive materials of use for economic history that are preserved in European collections.* Both types are of primary importance to the demographer, but the former have become so familiar as to fall within the “public domain” of all Middle Eastern specialists while the latter, though perhaps less known, are difficult to survey in a paper of this type.7 Survey of Archival Collections in Egypt The following major archival collections in Cairo contain materials of use to the demographer. Their collections will be surveyed be­ low. A) Dâr al-Wathä'iq and Dâr al-Kutub. These two collections, the National Archives and the National Library, are administered by a single director for the Ministry of Culture. The Dar al-Wathä’iq collection, formerly housed in ‘Âbdîn Palace, was moved to the top of the citadel a few years ago and is eventually to be given a per­ manent home in the new building along the bank of the Nile in Bulaq that is being prepared to house the bulk of Egypt’s archival and manuscript materials. Most o f the Dâr al-Kutub collection has al­ ready been moved to this building. The Där al-Wathä’iq continues to expand its well-known collection by gathering pre-modern ma­ terials from other archival collections. It has recently obtained the notable collection of waqfiydt previously preserved in the sharfa court archives and is in the process of transferrring the records of the Ottoman government in Egypt formerly held by the Där alMahfüzât. Other major collections to be described below will also eventually come into its hands. B) Dàr al-Mahfü%ât. This rich archival collection situated half­ way up the citadel is administered by the Ministry of Finance. Its invaluable records deal with land tenure and taxation and date from the classical Mamluk period to the present century. The admin­ istrative and financial records of the Ottoman period and the registers of the provincial sharp a courts are expected to be transferred to the Där al-Wathä’iq, but that will still leave the Där al-Mahfüzât with a crucial series of financial and administrative records from the Napoleonic period to the twentieth century.

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C) SharTa court archives. This well-organized and extensive col­ lection o f court records, the overwhelming majority o f which re­ late to the Ottoman period, is administered by the Ministry o f Ju s­ tice and is presently situated in the Shahr al-‘Aqäri building at the corner o f Ramses Street and 26 o f July Street. D) Ministry of Awqäf archives. This valuable collection o f original waqfîyât and financial and administrative records pertaining to waqf properties in Egypt (and a few abroad) has recently been opened to scholars by the Ministry, which is located in Bäb al-Lüq. E) Coptic Church archives. This archival collection has recently been moved from Faggäla to the new complex being built around St. Mark’s Cathedral in ‘Abbâslya. T he following m inor collections o f documents exist in Egypt. Most deal with the affairs o f the religious minorities and contain significant data of potential use to the dem ographer because of the nature of their records. 1) Archives of the Franciscan Mission. Franciscan archival mate­ rials have also experienced several recent moves. T here are no longer any materials at the Franciscan center in Giza. T he bulk of Franciscan records have been transferred to St. Servatius in Jerusalem , but the Franciscan center in the Mouski still has a few important registers pertaining to the Latin rites in Egypt. T he Jesuits and Dominicans, on the other hand, have virtually no materials o f value to the dem ographer. 2) Archives of the Armenian community. For reasons that are not entirely clear, no records of the Armenian community have been located antedating those of the Apostolic Church on Ramses Street, which go back only to the last decades of the nineteenth century. 3) Records of the Jewish community. T he Jewish community still preserves a small but valuable collection of materials going back to the Fatimid period. These are kept in an office next to the old synagogue just off Shari* Khurunfish in the old Fatimid city. 4) The Greek Orthodox rite.8 T he records o f the Greek rite in Egypt, preserved at the Greek bishopric in Alexandria, are said to contain significant and virtually uncxploited materials dealing with the Greek community in Egypt. 5) Provincial archival collections. Im portant archival materials also exist in some Egyptian provincial centers, such as the churches and monasteries of U pper Egypt. 6) Specialized collections. For the period beginning in the latter

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part o f the nineteenth century, largely from the time of the British invasion o f 1882, specialized collections of statistical and biograph­ ical information exist. For instance, the Ministry o f Health and the Ministry of Education have important statistical records while the Lawyers’ Association and other institutional and professional groups preserve records on their memberships and meetings. These gen­ erally cover the period from the inception of the organizations to the present. Description of the Archival Collections T he variety of source material, the size of the collections, and their dispersion make any single description o f Egypt’s archival materials rather difficult. Frequent transfers o f major collections and their recataloguing have also posed recent problems for scholars trying to locate familiar materials. Many of the surveys noted here list materials that have been transferred or given new classifications since the articles were published. T he earliest attempt to describe the Turkish collection of the Dar al-Wathä’iq was Jean Deny’s Sommaire des archives turques du Caire (Cairo 1930). It surveyed only a small portion of the avail­ able material and is today in need of considerable updating. The small selection of materials from the Dar al-Wathä’iq that have been published to date deal with political affairs and are of no interest to the demographer. These would include Haim Nahoum’s Receuil de firmans impériaux Ottomans adressés aux valis et aux khédives d'Égypte (Cairo 1934), Asad Rustum, Al-Mahfüzät al-màlikiya al-miyriya, 3 vols. (Beirut 1941-42), and the works of Georges Douin, Eduard Driault, and others. Professor John A. Williams has provided a general description of research facilities and collections in Egypt, without surveying their contents.9 A general bibliographical survey of articles and books describing Egyptian historical sources is H. H. Roemer’s “Über Urkunden zur Geschichte Ägyptens und Persians in islamischer Zeit,” ZDMG, CVII (1957), pp. 519-38. Some of the most useful surveys are by Stanford J. Shaw. His earliest, “Cairo’s Archives and the History of Ottoman Egypt,” Report on Current Research, Spring 1956 (Washington, D. C. 1956), pp. 59-72, remains one of the most informative descriptions of the various archival collections despite the moves that several of these have experienced in the intervening years. His “T he Ottoman Archives as a Source for Egyptian His-

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tory,” JAOS, LXXXIII (1963), pp. 447-52, is superseded and con­ siderably expanded by his contribution, “Turkish Source-Materials for Egyptian History,” in Political and Social Change in Modem Egypt, ed. P. M. Holt (London 1968), pp. 28-49. Ottoman materials re­ lating to Egypt and the Fertile Crescent were also described by Bernard Lewis in “The Ottoman Archives as a Source for the His­ tory of the Arab Lands,” JRAS, 1951, pp. 139-55. Arabic man­ uscript histories for the Ottoman period are discussed in P. M. Holt’s “Ottoman Egypt (1517-1798): An Account of Arabic Historical Sources,” in Political and Social Change m Modem Egypt, pp. 3-12. These surveys remind us that many sources for Egyptian history are to be found in libraries and archival collections outside Egypt. The extensive collections o f the now famous Geniza documents that are scattered in libraries in both Europe and the United States are surveyed by S. Shaked in A Tentative Bibliography of Geniza Doc­ uments (Paris and The Hague 1964). Muhammad Ahmad Husayn’s Al-Wathä'iq al-Tärikhtya (Cairo 1954) provides a general survey in Arabic to the Egyptian archival collections. The modern holdings of the National Archives were described by Professor Helen Rivlin, The Där al-Wathä'iq in Äbdin Palace at Cairo as a Source fo r the Study of the Modernization of Egypt in the Nineteenth Century (Leiden 1970), but the changes sweeping over the National Archives are such that the collection has expe­ rienced one move and is scheduled for one or two more since Rivlin’s book appeared, and much of the material described in her survey has been recatalogued. Her book nevertheless remains a useful starting point for the scholar about to consult the Dar al-Wathä’iq's modern collection, for it provides an idea of the organization of materials to be found there. Specialized materials have been described by Daniel Crecelius, “The Organization of Waqf Documents in Cairo,” IJMES, II (1971), pp. 266-77, and F. Robert Hunter, “The Cairo Archives for the Study of Elites in Modern Egypt,” IJMES, IV (1973), pp. 476-88. Archival Materials Capable of Yielding Demographic Information Several attem pts have been m ade to calculate the size o f Egypt’s ancient and medieval populations, but these, w ithout statistical foun­ dations, rem ain merely intelligent estimates. Virtually the only pic­ tu re that em erges from these loose estim ates is one o f a general population decline, with occasional b rie f periods o f recovery, from

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Roman times to the nineteenth century. Manuscript histories give sufficient evidence of this decline, particularly in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries when the plague struck with exceptional severity and regularity, but few insights into the actual size of the population. Whereas the fact of the decline is universally accepted by demographers, estimates of the actual size of Egypt’s medieval population range from T. H. Hollingsworth’s 25 million at the time of the Arab conquest ( a .d . 641) to J. C. Russell’s 2.6 million in a .d . 600, or from Hollingsworth’s estimate of more than 20 million for the eleventh century to Russell’s figure of 1.7 million for that same century.10 Clearly, some kind of statistical evidence is essential if we are to improve upon the present state t>f our knowledge of the size and character of the population of Egypt and the Islamic world in the pre-modern period. Attempts made so far to estimate Egypt’s pre-modern population suffer from the already mentioned lack of statistical evidence avail­ able for precise estimates. Hollingsworth’s figures are subject to massive revision, as Basim Musallam points out, because he accepted the estimates of medieval writers without reservation. Musallam, who believes historical demography to be an impossible task for the pre-modern Middle East, notes that Michael Dois, whose study of the impact of the medieval plagues in Egypt was based on a wide range of manuscript sources, found those sources to be insufficient for accurately calculating either the size of Egypt’s population or the rate of mortality during the plagues.11 Russell, however, has used the tax figures assembled by Omar Toussoun from medieval sources and the published fragment of a fourteenth-fifteenth cen­ tury Mamluk cadastral survey for his estimate of Egypt’s medieval population. Though his figures have been frequently criticized, they nevertheless were more rigorously derived than those of others, particularly Hollingsworth, and are based on evidence, however marred, generally overlooked by others.10 Russell’s attempts to find materials containing quantifiable data relating to the Egyptian population leads us logically to the materials preserved in Egypt’s archives. The following types of documents or collections of statistical data could yield significant information on such aspects of the Egyptian population as births, deaths, mar­ riages, family size, mortality rates, and the size of particular villages or selected groups within the general population. The Pre-Ottoman Period. Unless hitherto unknown materials are located, it is difficult to explain how any intensive demographic

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work can be done on Egypt in the pre-Ottoman period. T hat is not to say that important insights into the character or general size of the population cannot be gleaned from the fragments of materials that are available. A wide range of manuscripts, papyral documents, waqfîyàt, and commercial documents from the pre-Ottoman period are still extant, but these are haphazardly preserved in small frag­ ments in libraries, museums, and archival collections around the world.19 O f this variety of sources, the Geniza documents are the most extensive and represent a potential source for the patient demographer, for scattered among these tattered remnants o f com­ mercial and private records are occasional references to aspects of the family not found in other sources.14 T he bulk of these Geniza documents is from the Fatimid and Ayyubid periods. A much smaller segment is from the classical Mamluk age, and a still smaller group dates from the Ottoman period. An imaginative and persistent scholar might be able to make some important deductions from scattered references to family size in a small proportion o f these documents and thus establish a more reliable figure than we now have for the “hearth” coefficient.15 T o date, most historians using the Geniza documents, for the most part Arabic written in Hebrew characters, have limited their enquiries to economic studies of the Fatimid period or to the social history of the Jewish community of Egypt during that period.16 Among all the fragments that make up the Geniza collections, the waqfiya, because of the unique nature of the data it preserves, offers the greatest insight into family size for the period from which it may date. Ex­ amples of waqfîyàt from the Fatimid and Mamluk periods are pro­ vided by Dr. Donald Richards of Oxford University, who published extracts from waqfîyàt that he found preserved by the Jewish com­ munity of Cairo.17 Like the bulk of the Geniza collections, these are but random documents from different centuries, so systematic demo­ graphic research in them would be exceedingly difficult. Dr. Muhammad Muhammad Amin ‘Ali of Cairo University has catalogued 640 original waqfîyàt from the Mamluk period that he found in Cairo’s various archival collections, but these are gen­ erally of the khayri variety, establishing mosques, schools, hospitals, and the like.18 T he more useful waqfîyàt ahlïya, which cite the donor’s family as beneficiaries of the waqf, are not very numerous for the pre-Ottoman period.19 The ones we have are again but random documents and therefore of little practical value for anyone attempt­ ing a statistical analysis of Egypt’s pre-Ottoman population. Dr.

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Hassanein Rabie of Cairo University has also worked with these documents20 and has published a waqf ahli document that actually cites the ages of the donor's children.21 Such documents appear entirely unique, however, and do not provide potential material for a statistical analysis of Egypt’s medieval population. Russell's estimates of Egypt’s medieval population were imag­ inatively derived from figures on land under cultivation and state revenues preserved in several manuscript histories. These figures reproduced from medieval cadastral surveys were presumably copied from original government accounts to which the medieval historians had access.22 Such cadasters and tax figures offer the most promising source for the demographer interested in the pre-Ottoman period. Unfortunately, only fragments of these magnificent medieval sur­ veys survive, though figures presumably taken from them frequently appear in the histories from the period. Two decades ago, Professor Shaw discovered what he thought were remnants of cadastral surveys from the Mamluk period, but these have neither been catalogued nor utilized since Shaw first stum­ bled across them in the Dâr al-Mafifüçât.22 He reported at the time that the earliest of these series, from al-Bahnasâ, appears to date from the year 707/1307 while the second, from the province of Gharblya, dates from 833/1429.24 Both series are said to consist of numerous daftars, but each register is missing the majority of its pages. Shaw moreover concedes that these daftars may actually be remnants of the earliest Ottoman cadastral surveys made in the sixteenth century. The Ottoman Period. In stark contrast to the earlier periods—for which the scant sources are widely diffused in Middle Eastern, European, and American libraries and museums, where documents are seldom complete and where materials are often thrown together without regard to chronological, geographical, or topical conti­ nuity—the documents for the Ottoman period are abundant, gen­ erally well organized, often indexed, are preserved together in but a few Middle Eastern collections, and span several consecutive cen­ turies in chronological sequence. These wide-ranging, yet virtually unexploited, sources deal with the financial, administrative, and judicial affairs of the Ottoman Empire. Whenever the Ottoman Empire conquered a province, it quickly established an orderly bu­ reaucracy that kept careful records on such matters as landownership, the granting of iltizäms, taxation, commerce, revenues and expenditures of the government, and the like. These extensive

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collections of daftars and government documents provide unrivaled sources for the history of the Middle East throughout the Ottoman imperium. But despite the considerable quantity of archival ma­ terials emanating from Egypt throughout the Ottoman period, the impressive variety of these documents and the wide range of data they provide on economic, social, and political aspects of the life of the Egyptian population during that period, these materials have been consulted only infrequently to date. A handful of scholars have begun to investigate topics o f eighteenth-century Egyptian history in these collections, but the two earlier centuries of Ottoman rule remain virtually neglected by both Egyptian and Western schol­ ars. By far the most outstanding single source for studies on the pop­ ulation of the various Ottoman provinces is the large number of cadastral surveys the Ottoman government made of its population every 30-40 years. These magnificent medieval censuses are pre­ served in Istanbul and described in several articles by Om er Lutfi Barkan.** M. A. Cook utilized the surveys of several Anatolian districts for his Population Pressure in Rural Anatolia: 1450-1600 (London 1972). Unfortunately, as Professor Shaw has pointed out and Professor Barkan has verified, these surveys do not exist for the province o f Egypt. An Ottoman cadastral survey was be­ gun in 1523 and finally completed in 1608 but Shaw has been un­ able to locate its registers in either Cairo or Istanbul.** This sur­ vey remained the basis of the Ottoman tax structure in Egypt un­ til the French compiled a new cadaster in 1799-1800. The French survey, which Shaw found in the Dar al-Mafifü^ät, has almost cer­ tainly been transferred to the Dar al-Wathä’iq with the other papers from the Napoleonic era. A copy of this survey can be found in the Archives de la Guerre located in the Chateau de Vincennes in Paris.*7 The demographer will also find much material relating to his interests in the vast collections of documents and studies issued by the French during their occupation of Egypt (1798-1801). The most useful of these is the famous Description de l’Égypte, which the demographer can consult to his benefit, but a mass of other unpub­ lished materials describing the population at the time of the French occupation exists in both the Château de Vincennes and the Dar al-Wathä’iq.*8 No serious estimate of the Egyptian population has been made for the period between the Ottoman conquest of 1517 and the French

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invasion of 1798 despite the availability of materials upon which to base such an estimate. Although Ottoman cadastral surveys for Egypt are not available, the demographer will find substantial other financial, administrative, and judicial materials with which to work. Investigations into the general size of the population could be under­ taken in the extant Ottoman budgets and financial records of the Ottoman government in Egypt. Professor Shaw has already pub­ lished the earliest complete budget for Egypt, which he found in Istanbul.*9 Although the Cairo archives contain only one complete account of an Ottoman budget, for the year 1094/1683-84, Shaw notes that numerous other budgets for Egypt can be found in Istanbul’s archives.90 But extensive series of financial records of the Ottoman government do exist in the Cairo archives, and from these some valid estimates of the size of the population could be made. A series of approximately 1,500 registers, called dafâtir iltizämät al-vdlâyât al-qibliya wa’l-bahriya, covers the years 1658-1808. Another series on urban iltizäms also exists. Finally, a series of ap­ proximately 1,800 registers for the years 1672-1889, entitled dafâtir jarâya wa-'alïq, lists the salaries paid to each official and soldier. A similar series entitled dafâtir murattabât, running for the period 1681-1840, records the pensions paid to retired soldiers and to men of religion.31 Shaw has provided many tables of statistical in­ formation taken from these registers in The Financial and Admin­ istrative Organization and Development of Ottoman Egypt, 1517-1798. Much research into the size of various social units, such as the Jan­ issary corps and ulema, can be undertaken in these registers. Basic assumptions about the general size of the population could conceivably be made from existing records on taxation and expend­ iture. T he income of an agricultural iltizäm, for instance, ought to provide some basis for an estimate of the size or productivity of that iltizâm and some idea of change could be gathered when the income of a single iltizâm is followed over an extended period of time. It might be of some interest to study the agricultural revenues in years when the plague is known to have struck. We ought also to be able to work backward with the figures on the jizya taxes levied on the dhimmi communities to deduce the size of the taxable base. Shaw, for instance, provides some information on the jizya demanded of the dhimmi community of Egypt which he found in the Ottoman budgets.32 In each case, the size of the dhimmi community from which the tax was demanded is stated in the budget. But it seems

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a simple m atter to take a known tax rate for the various classes o f the dhimmï community and to simply divide that rate into either the total jizya dem anded or collected (where the size o f the com­ munity is not already stated) to come up with a fairly accurate figure on the size o f the dhimmï community. O f course such figures would be for the community as a whole and would give no hints as to the composition or geographical dispersion o f the community. Whereas the financial and administrative records of the Ottoman government provide materials for studies on the total size o f geo­ graphic, ethnic, o r social groups, the sharTa court records perm it the dem ographer to study selected individuals, families, or groups. Systematic work on the Ottoman period can be done in the records o f the Ministry o f Awqäf, sharTa court archives, the Franciscan archives, the Coptic, and the Greek Orthodox archives. T he col­ lection o f Cairo’s court records extends back to the Ottoman con­ quest, but the registers are far more complete for the period be­ ginning with the mid-seventeenth century. T he Ministry o f Awqäf also preserves the original documents o f numerous awqäf that go back to the early sixteenth century, but its holdings are far more important from the period o f the mid-eighteenth century. T h e records o f the provincial courts, now divided between the Där alMahfü?ät and the Där al-Wathä’iq, provide similar research op­ portunities for the Egyptian countryside.93 The Franciscan a r­ chival materials are described in detail below. It is not certain how extensive the Coptic and Greek Orthodox collections are for the Ottoman period, but Dr. Amin found among the Coptic materials on microfilm waqfiyät going back to the Mamluk period.34 These court records may be used in several ways. By consult­ ing the original waqfiyät held by the Ministry of Awqäf or recorded in the registers o f the sharTa courts, one obtains the names o f do­ nors from which the branches of genealogical trees can be traced through ancillary documents held either by the Ministry o f Awqäf or the sharTa court archives. In this way, the Ministry of Awqäf and many private families have already established genealogies o f prop­ ertied merchant, military, and religious families that go back to the eighteenth century. This method will not yield as good results for the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries because the court records for that period are not as full and because the ruling elites were not as deeply rooted in Egyptian society as they were in the late eight­

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eenth and early nineteenth centuries. This method requires much searching and many months of effort, but it is a proven technique. It involves tracing the family of a donor through waqfiyät and a variety of court documents found in both the Ministry of Awqäf and the sharTa court archives. These documents include cases in­ volving a change of nefyir, or supervisor, of the waqf.35 But family genealogies are usually not so easily traced simply through waqfiyät and the taqrir al-nazar documents. Numerous other types of un­ indexed documents changed the original waqf in some way and provide the names of children, brothers, sisters, and wives of the donor. An addition ( idkhâl), change ( taghyir), deletion (ikhräj), exchange ( istibdäl), or other transaction was officially recorded by the qadis and is therefore preserved, unindexed, in the daftars of the sharTa courts. From these genealogies, the courts today decide who has a right to any of the usufruct of awqäf often created cen­ turies ago.36 Unfortunately, the once carefully-kept registers of waqf accounts either no longer exist or have not yet been discovered. These val­ uable registers enumerate each property alienated in favor of the waqf, list the income of each property, and often cite expenditures o f the waqf. T he Ministry of Awqäf in Morocco uses this method as the basis of its system of accounting. Such accounts, called hawlïyàt in Morocco, were also kept in Ottoman provinces. These account registers were utilized by Suraiya Faroqhi for her study o f waqf in sixteenth-century Konya and by Öm er Luth Barkan for his study o f Istanbul prepared for this conference.37 T he earliest recovered reg­ isters o f this type in Egypt date from 1835-36 and contain accounts o f the awqäf khayriya administered by Muhammad ‘Alfs govern­ ment.36 Similar registers for the latter part of the nineteenth cen­ tury were seen by this author when the Dar al-Wathâ’iq collection was moved to the citadel in 1969, but they have not been utilized since the move. While birth records were not kept by Muslims until the nineteenth century, death records on properties Muslims (and dhimmis) exist in the sharTa court records for earlier centuries, for the distribution of the inheritance among heirs was prescribed in minute detail by Islamic (and dhimmi) law. When a man of property died, his assets and liabilities were certified before a qadi, his creditors laid their claims before the judge, and the surplus of assets over liabilities was

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distributed among the heirs. These cases, referred to as mukkalUfät (inheritance) are not only o f prime interest to the economic his­ torian for the wealth o f material they offer on commercial prac­ tices, commodities, and their prices, etc., but can be utilized by the dem ographer since they conveniently list all surviving heirs of the deceased. Mukhallifät cases exist in abundance in the Qism al‘Askariyah and Tarikàt series o f the sharfa court archives, but are also found, though with less frequency, in the daftars of the pro­ vincial courts and the Coptic courts. These documents establish exact family size for propertied families and provide the names of family members who in turn can be traced through subsequent court records.39 Dr. André Raymond’s recently published Artisans et Commerçants au Caire au X V llle Siècle is based largely on these mukhallifät cases. By an imaginative statistical use of the data found in these records, he was able to estimate the relative size of specific social and economic groups, such as the guild members, and to de­ termine their geographic concentration within the various quarters of Cairo.40 In searching for demographic data, one should not overlook the waqfîyât found in Cairo’s various archival collections. These doc­ uments often list the wives and surviving children as beneficiaries and therefore provide clear information on family size. By com­ paring a waqfiya that lists living beneficiaries by name with the mukhallifät document of the donor (where it can be found), it could be possible to gain an idea of the members o f the donor’s family who were born or died in the intervening period. Some idea o f mortality rates could therefore be gleaned from information pro­ vided in waqfïyàt. O f course, many waqflyät do not list the names of children, but refer only to the descendants of the donor. Several travelers of the eighteenth century noted that the Mamluks did not reproduce themselves in Egypt in sufficient numbers to become self-sustaining there, but pointed out that disease took an appall­ ing num ber of their offspring and women. Waqfîyât and shatTa court records substantiate these remarks, for they prove that Mamluk amirs of the eighteenth century, despite the multiple wives and con­ cubines they maintained, left few surviving children. In the waqfîyâ establishing his sizable endowment in favor of the mosque of Sîdï Ahmad al-Badawï in Tantä, for instance, ‘AIT Bey al-Kabïr is cited as having four wives, all of whom had, according to the document, given birth ( mustawlid), yet he left no surviving children.41 His mamluk and successor, Muhammad Bey Abü al-Dhahab, is also

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known to have had multiple wives and concubines, but as far as we know left no surviving children. Infant mortality rates must have been appallingly high during the period, as the travelers reported. Waqfïyât and court records therefore provide material from which the patient dem ographer can extract figures on both mortality rates and the “hearth” factor, two coefficients that are of great prac­ tical value to the demographer. Occasionally new materials are being discovered or hitherto for­ gotten materials recovered. Such is the case with a collection of documents dug up by an archeological team digging at Ibrïm in 1966. Under the direction of Professor J. Martin Plumley, the team uncovered a collection of approximately 250 documents, the ear­ liest dated 1029/1619-20, the latest 1172/1758-59, relating to an Ottoman Bosnian garrison stationed at the site.4* Similar caches o f documents, whether Geniza, Ottoman, or Coptic, may still be located. Several sources of the utmost significance to the demo­ grapher have recently been acquired by the Ministry o f Culture from private hands and will presumably be placed in the Dar alWathä’iq. These are the private accounts of the Bakri family of dervishes and the records of the Naqîb al-ashrâf. T he former, per­ taining to the financial and religious activities of the Bakriya were kept by the shaykh al-Bakn. These contain information on the family and its waqf holdings. The latter record the names of the descendants of the Prophet in Egypt and are to be considered a source of the first magnitude. It is not yet clear how far back the records o f these two collections extend. T he former are known to go back to the eighteenth century. Whereas the Ministry of Awqâf still maintains lists of the ashrâf, it is presumed that the latter col­ lection must go back many centuries. T here are numerous refer­ ences to these lists in historical sources, but to date none has been utilized for modern scholarship. O ther valuable sources for the Ottoman period exist but have hardly been utilized except by a small group of scholars interested in church history. The archives of the Roman Catholic missions in Egypt are well organized and offer a wealth of information on Christians of the Catholic rite. The records of the churches of the eastern rites, particularly of the Coptic and Greek Orthodox churches, are not as well organized or accessible as those of the Roman Catholic Church. O f the various Catholic missions that have operated in Egypt, only the Franciscans have important demographic materials re­

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lating to the Ottoman period. T he Jesuit materials, consisting largely of descriptions of travel by Jesuit fathers, have been gathered at the Université St. Joseph in Beirut. Perhaps the best-known pub­ lication from these documents, now preserved in the series Archives de la Province, is the travel memoir of Père Sicard from the early eighteenth century. T he Dominican fathers have no archival ma­ terials relating to the Ottoman period of use to the demographer. T he Franciscans, however, have first-rate materials dating from the seventeenth century. Much of this is of primary interest to the dem ographer and is already published. T he Franciscans preserved registers on baptisms, marriages, and deaths following their arrival in Egypt in the seventeenth cen­ tury. Since their mission was the conversion o f the Copts, not the Muslims, most of their records relate to those Coptic Christians converted to the Latin rite. T he Cairo mission had the following registers preserving the names o f Catholic Copts for the periods cited: A) Liber I A. Baptizatorum, 1611-1754 B) Liber I A. Matrimoniorum, 1618-1765 C) Capellani Gallici, Liber Baptizatorum-Matrimoniorum et Defunctorum, 1699-1777 D) Cairi Veteris: Liber I Mortuorum et Baptizatorum, 1697-1800 (records of the Old Cairo hospital founded in 1686) E) A common cemetery for the various Christian rites was in Old Cairo. One finds information on Copts, Greeks, Maronites, Armen­ ians, and Chaldeans relating to matters of marriage, death, and baptism for that period o f the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries when they shared common facilities. These registers have been edited by Father Gabriele Giamberardini, I Primi Copti Cattolici (Cairo, Edizioni del Centro Francescano di Studi Orientali Cristiani, 1958). This valuable book cites all the Coptic families of Egypt who belonged to the Catholic rite, listing them by head of household, wife, and children, and cites (where known) the dates of birth and death for each believer. It is the most important published source of its kind for the Ottoman period. O f greater potential but unknown quantity and quality are the records of the Coptic and Greek Orthodox churches in Egypt. In brief conversai ions with Coptic Church officials, some general views on the hitherto unexplained Coptic materials emerged. T he ma­ terials themselves remain scattered in churches and monasteries

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throughout Egypt. For instance, the bulk o f church records re­ lating to the Coptic communities of Upper Egypt still remain in the possession o f churches and monasteries in those provinces. Thus, Asyûf is said to contain a significant body of church records. Other collections are said to exist at Dayr al-'Azrâ, at Dayrüt, and at Dayr al-Muharraq.4S Even the collection preserved in the new St. Mark’s complex in Cairo’s ’Abbäsfya district is in need of cataloguing. It is not even clear from which centuries these records date, though we know from what was stated above that waqfîyât from the Mamluk period are preserved in this collection. T he registers of the Coptic courts are similar to those of the Muslim courts and deal with the same kind of cases. Numerous cases held on microfilm by the Majlis li-Ra‘äyat al-Funün wa’l-Ädäb deal with the exchange of property or commerce between Muslims and Copts. Unfortunately, the Coptic Museum in Old Cairo contains no manuscript or other papers of use to a demographer. Its collec­ tion of Arabic materials consists entirely of theological literature, church histories, and papyral materials. It does not preserve sta­ tistical information on the Coptic community. O ther materials re­ lating to Coptic family life remain in the hands of private families. Many Coptic families have preserved genealogical tables in their family bibles. My colleague, Dr. Butrus ‘Abd al-Malik, has stated that he has on occasion been asked to identify family papers of Coptic origin dating to the thirteenth century. But such papers remain in private hands and are not easy to consult. O f the various records pertaining to the Coptic faithful, those relating to baptism are per­ haps the least important, for the Copts practiced mass baptism once a year and did not therefore keep the usual precise records. Like the Coptic archives, the Greek Orthodox archives in Alex­ andria remain an unappreciated and unexploited source. The October 1973 war precluded this author’s visit to the Greek Orthodox archives before he had to leave Egypt, so it is impossible to give a survey o f its materials or even to relate from which centuries the records date. But it is assumed that its records are similar to those of the Coptic Church, though perhaps not as numerous, and are of significant value to the demographer. The Modern Period. One indicator of modernity is the amount and quality of statistical information a nation produces to describe its own activities and population. T he course of modernization in Egypt is in fact faithfully reflected in the increasing amount of

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consciously collected data that became available as the nineteenth century gave way to the twentieth. T he trickle o f data that began to flow in the first half o f the nineteenth century swelled to a sizable stream o f information in the latter part of the century and turned into a veritable flood o f statistics in the present century, producing for the dem ographer a rich variety o f primary sources relating to the Egyptian population. T he mass o f descriptive and statistical material, published and unpublished, resulting from the French occupation of 1798-1801, provides a sound foundadon for demographic studies o f m odern Egypt. It was the French who provided the first reliable estimate of Egypt’s population at the turn o f the century. T heir figure o f approximately 2,500,000 provides a base from which to work back­ ward into the Ottoman and possibly the Mamluk period and a sci­ entific beginning for studies o f Egypt’s populadon in the nineteenth century.44 One o f the basic phenomena of Egyptian demographic history is the reversal of the medieval population trends and the explosion o f Egypt’s populadon in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. But the general debate that sdll continues over the ac­ tual size o f the Egypdan population in the first six decades o f the nineteenth century indicates that informadon for this period is sdll imprecise.45 For the greater part o f the nineteenth century, some traditional institutions continued to produce the type o f sources described in the previous section. ShaiTa court documents and waqf records, for instance, remain primary sources for the modern period, the more so since they appear in greater abundance and contain in­ formation of an even greater range than in the Ottoman period. It is fairly easy to follow a particular property or individual family through more than a century-and-a-half in these records. This doc­ umentation assumes special significance for the first three decades of the century, because the greater portion of the government’s financial and administrative accounts from that period were con­ sumed by a fire that broke out in the citadel in 1828. Another set of traditional government records carried over into the modern period relate to the dhimmi population. In his survey o f the Dar al-Mahfû?ât’s holdings in the 1950s, Professor Shaw found seven daftars entitled dafâtir bayän hisäb amwâl al-jizya that date from 17941847.46 Professor Rivlin has also noted a subject heading for the

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jizya tax in the Där al-Watha iq and found a number of jizya registers dating from 1854-64.47 Thereafter the consuls of the European states kept statistics on residents of Egypt who claimed foreign pro­ tection. The records of the Coptic courts should also be consulted for this period. By far the two most significant statistical sources describing the Egyptian population in Muhammad ‘Alfs early reign are the cadastral surveys undertaken by his government in 1813-14 and 1820-21.48 Surprisingly, these remain virtually unexploited sources despite the impressive amount o f work that has been published on Mufiammad ‘All’s Egypt. Since the pasha did not continue periodic censuses, the demographer must turn to the land and tax registers and other financial records of the government for more information on the Egyptian population during the remainder of his reign and the next few decades. Some important materials relate to property ownership and pension paid to employees by the government. Numerous dossiers of the latter type exist on individual government officials for the greater part of the century. Among the various dossiers of this variety held by the Dar al-Wathä’iq is a carton listing the names, posts, and ranks of hundreds o f officials who served between 1805 and 1879. The information is of course much more complete for the period of the khedive Ismä'il (1863-79) than for the earlier dec­ ades of the century. Another series in the National Archives re­ cords the lands and properties owned or controlled by what Dr. H unter refers to as the Egyptian elite.48 T he Där al-Mafifugat preserves even more significant materials for the study of individuals or families in modern Egypt. Among the materials noted in Dr. H unter’s survey of the Dar al-Mahfü?ât’s holdings is a file of 60,000 dossiers dating from 1830-31 to 1948 that lists the names of those who received pensions from the government. This file often contains information on wives, children, and slaves of government officials, whether they were cabinet ministers or provincial clerks.50 Land registers held in the Dar al-Mahfü?ât are another important source providing the names and occupations of Egypt’s landed property owners.5' These preserve the names of every taxpayer in every village of Egypt and remind us that the exploitation of Egypt’s vast archival sources has hardly begun. Tax records often provide information on the population of Egypt. They are, after all, a major source for estimates of Egypt’s medieval

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population. In 1844, the British Consul-General in Egypt constructed tables on the population and agricultural production from inform a­ tion provided him by M uhammad ‘Alfs bureaucracy,92 and govern­ m ent figures from a house tax collected in 1846 provided the basis for several estimates o f the total population by J. J. Marcel and A. Boinet.93 T he publication o f Colonel Duhamel’s Tableau statistique de l’Égypte en 1837 (St. Petersburg 1847) dém ontrâtes the growing availability o f statistical information on Egypt as M uhammad ‘Alfs career came to its end. It hardly needs to be said that all statistics o f this kind must be used with extrem e caution, for the methods of data collection perm itted gross inaccuracies to slip into the tables. Non-governmental archival records also became available in greater abundance in the nineteenth century. T he Franciscan center in the Mouski retains bapdsmal records for the Latin rites from approximately the beginning o f the nineteenth century and m arriage records from about 1845. Similar records were not apparently kept in a systematic m anner by other Christian rites until the latter decades o f the century, by which time new associational groups and govern­ m ent agencies also produced statistical data on specialized segments o f the Egyptian population such as doctors, students, and peasant landholders. T he Armenian Apostolic Church on Ramses Street, for instance, has records o f baptisms only from the last decades o f the nineteenth century. Besides the extensive archival materials preserved in the various Egyptian collections, a wider range o f published European and archival sources became available as o f the first half o f the last century. Egypt was inundated in the early part o f the century by a flood o f travelers who wrote descriptions o f the land and its people for an eager international reading public. These accounts are o f course o f uneven quality, but among them are some careful descriptions, such as those by Edward Lane and John Bowring, both considered treasurehouses o f accurate descriptive and statistical information about Egypt in the first half o f the century, and a good many scattered references to various segments o f the urban and rural population.94 It is some indication o f the range and quality o f non-Egyptian sources in the first half o f the century that Professor Rivlin’s study o f M uhammad ‘Alfs agricultural policy was written almost entirely from European published and archival sources. As th e dixoâns c re a te d by M u h am m ad ‘All evolved in to m inistries u n d e r Ismâ'Tl a n d th e B ritish, th e collection o f d a ta was u n d e rta k e n

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with greater thoroughness and covered a wider range o f govern­ mental activities. It is not surprising, therefore, that the archival materials described above provide a much fuller description of Egypt in the last quarter of the century than they do for the earlier three quarters. T he profusion of statistical information compiled by both the government o f Egypt and the British Administration in Egypt will support rather sophisticated demographic studies on various aspects of the Egyptian population as o f the last decades of the nine­ teenth century, for in addition to the materials already mentioned in the Dâr al-Wathâ’iq and the Dâr al-Mahfü?ât, much information was being collected by new ministries, such as the Department o f Health and the Ministry of Education. A greater amount o f information was also available on the peasant population for the latter part of the century. One example of the archival sources relating to the agricultural sector o f the population is the series of reports, entitled Register of Incidents of Villages and Ezbehs, preserved in the Dâr alMafifü?ät. These reports list each village, the total land area o f the village, and the num ber o f its inhabitants.55 T he wide-ranging statistical sources used by Robert Tignor for his Modernization and British Colonial Rule in Egypt, 1882-1914 (Princeton 1966) give some indication o f the increased amount o f information, particularly in the British archives, suddenly available on the government and popu­ lation o f Egypt following the British occupation o f 1882. One also finds a continuation o f the land tax registers throughout this period. T he surge in printing in the latter half of the century also produced a profusion o f newspapers, journals, and reports that provide first­ hand information on family histories and descriptions of Egypt’s towns and villages. Published sources, such as memoirs, biographical and geographical dictionaries,56 government reports, and records of private institutions, such as hospitals, schools and churches, often provide information complementary to or supplementary to the data preserved in the increasingly abundant government archival mate­ rials. T he publication of regular censuses, such as those of 1883, 1897, 1907, and thereafter, undertaken by the Egyptian govern­ ment with British technical assistance, represents a benchmark in the evolution of Egyptian source material relating to its population. Despite their limitations and errors, the publication of these censuses signifies that Egypt had achieved a level o f bureaucratic modernization similar to that attained by many European states at that time. T here­ after, sources o f information relating to Egypt’s population are of

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such variety and magnitude that it is needless to proceed any further with their description.

NOTES 1. See, for instance, the unpublished contributions prepared for the Princeton conference on the economic and social history o f the Middle East, June 1974, by Halil Sahillioglu, “The Position of Slaves in the Social and Economic Life of Bursa in the Late 15th and Early 16th Centuries," and Gengiz O rhonlu, “Kayiks in Istanbul in the Ottoman Period." Both are based on Ottoman archival records. 2. All three aspects are admirably illustrated in André Raymond's recently published study Artisans et Commerçants au Caire au XVIIIe Siècle, 2 vols. (Damascus 1974). 3. T he greater portion of the research for this paper was undertaken in Cairo while the author held an award from the U. S. Office of Education, Department of Health, Education, and Welfare. T he opinions herein do not necessarily reflect the position or policy of the U. S. Office of Educa­ tion, and no official endorsement by the U. S. Office o f Education should be inferred. The research was cut short by the October 1973 war, which explains why the comments on the important Coptic and Greek Orthodox archival collections are rather sketchy. 4. For an example of European municipal records relating to one o f the last Spanish Muslim states, see Robert 1. Burns, S. J., “Socioeconomic Structure and Continuity: Medieval Spanish Islam in the Tax Records o f Crusader Valencia,” pp. 251-81 above. Such registers as those of Valencia are, unfortunately, unique. 5. In his contribution to this volume Basim Musallam noted: “If we follow Hollingsworth's definition of historical demography, in which the object is to arrive at ‘accurate estimates’ of past populations by the use of statistics, then the historical demography o f the prem odern Middle East is an impossible task—we do not have, and are not likely to find, suitable data.” See “Birth Control and Middle Eastern History: Evidence and Hypotheses," p. 431. Considering the materials utilized by several of the contributors to this volume, the situation does not seem that hopeless. 6. For recent surveys of sources for economic history, see Bernard Lewis, “Sources for the Economic History of the Middle East,” in Studies in the Economic History of the Middle East, ed. M. A. Cook (London 1970), pp. 7892, and the discussion of sources in Hassanein Rabie, The Financial System of Egypt: A. H. 564-741 IA. D. 1169-1341 (London 1972), pp. 1-15. 7. On the former, see the sources utilized by Michael Dois and Hassanein Rabie: on the latter, see the materials exploited by Father Burns and E. Ashtor in their contributions to this volume.

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8. The author is indebted to Mr. Rene Khoury of the Egyptian His­ torical Society and the late Mr. Rashâd ‘Abd al-Muftalib of the Arab League manuscript section for bringing this collection to his attention. 9. John A. Williams, “Research Facilities in the U. A. R.,” Middle East Studies Association Bulletin (15 May 1970), pp. 47-54. 10. T. H. Hollingsworth, Historical Demography (Ithaca 1909). and Josiah C. Russell, “The Population of Medieval Egypt,” Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt, V (1966), pp. 69-82. See also Basim Musallam's critique of these estimates in his contribution to this volume. 11. Musallam, op. cit.%p. 436. 12. Russell’s figures on population are based on tax figures and estimates of land under cultivation assembled by Omar Toussoun, Mémoire sur les finances de l'Égypte depuis les Pharaohs jusqu'à nos jours (Cairo 1924). His major source, however, was the translation by de Sacy of a cadaster of Egypt made in 1375 and revised in 1424. See A. 1. Silvestre de Sacy, Relation de l'Égypte, par Abd-Allatif, médecin Arab de Bagdad (Paris 1820). 13. Adolf Grohmann’s Einf ührung und Chrestomathie zur arabischen Papyrus­ kunde (Prague 1954) remains the best introduction to the Arabic papyri. See also (»rohmann, Arabic Papyri in the Egyptian Library, 6 vols. (Cairo 193462), and the discussion of the sources in the articles cited in n. 6 above. 14. Geniza, as Professor S. D. Goitein has observed, denotes the store­ rooms of a synagogue or any other place in which papiers covered with Hebrew characters were discarded. To date, only such documents from Cairo have been found. These, now scattered in libraries and museums throughout the world, are surveyed by S. Shaked, A Tentative Bibliography of Geniza Documents. Goitein, “The Documents of the Cairo Geniza as a Source for Islamic Social History,” in S. D. Goitein, Studies in Islamic His­ tory and Institutions (Leiden 1966), pp. 279-95, and Rabie, The Financial System of Egypt, pp. 1-3, describe how these might be used and relate the difficulties involved in working with them. 15. On the “hearth” figure see Josiah Russell, “Recent Advances in Me­ diaeval Demography,” Speculum, XL (1965), pp. 88-90, and Hollingsworth, Historical Demography, pp. 117-21. 16. See, for instance, S. D. Goitein, A Mediterranean Society: 1, Economic Foundations (Berkeley 1967), and II, The Community (Berkeley 1971); Letters of Mediei>al Jewish Traders (Princeton 1973). 17. D. S. Richards, “Arabic Documents from the Karaite Community in Cairo,*'JESHO, III (1972), pp. 105-62. 18. Muhammad Muhammad Amîn 4Alï, Târîkh al-awqâf ft Misr ß 'asr salâfîn al-mamàlîk, 1250-1517, unpublished Ph.I), dissertation. Cairo Uni­ versity, 1972. 19. Numerous awqdf listed as khayrf are actually mushtaraka, or mixed, and establish disbursements for both public institutions and the family of the donor. 20. Hassanein Rabie, “Some Financial Aspects of the Waqf System in

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Medieval Egypt,” Al-Majalla al-târîkhiya al-mi$riya, XVIII (1972), pp. 324. 21. Rabie, “Hujja Tamlik wa-waqf,” MajaUat al-Jam'îyat al-Mifriya li'ldiräsät al-tàrikhiya, XII (1964-65), pp. 191-202. 22. Russell, “T he Population of Medieval Egypt,” pp. 75-76, describes these cadasters. See also Russell's “Late Ancient and Medieval Population,” (Philadelphia, Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, 1958), for an earlier discussion of populadon estimates. 23. Shaw, “Cairo’s Archives and the History o f Ottoman Egypt,” pp. 61-62. See also Shaw, The Financial and Administrative Organization and Development of Ottoman Egypt, 1517-1798 (Princeton 1962), pp. 16-19. 24. Shaw, “Cairo’s Archives and the History o f Ottoman Egypt,” pp. 61-62. 25. Barkan, “Research on the Ottoman Fiscal Surveys,” Studies in the Economic History of the Middle East, pp. 163-71; “Les grands recensements de la population et du territoire d ’empire Ottoman et les registres im­ périaux de statistiques,” Reime de la Faculté des Sciences Économiques de l'Uni­ versité d’Istanbul (1940); and “Essai sur les données statistiques des registres de recensement dans l’Empire Ottoman aux XVe et XVIe siècles,” JESHO, I (1957), pp. 9-36. 26. Shaw, “Turkish Source-Materials for Egyptian History,” in Political and Social Change in Modem Egypt, ed. P. M. Holt (London 1968), pp. 3637. 27. Ibid., p. 37. 28. Rivlin, The Där al-Wathä’iq in ‘Âbdin Palace at Cairo, pp. 129-34, de­ scribes materials held by the National Archives relating to the French oc­ cupation of 1798-1801. 29. Shaw, The Budget of Ottoman Egypt, 1005-1006/1596-1597 (The Hague 1968). The Ottoman budgets for Egypt are preserved in the Ba$vekälet Ar§ivi and the Topkapi Sarayi Ar$ivi in Istanbul. 30. Shaw, “Turkish Source-materials for Egyptian History,” p. 38. 31. Ibid., pp. 38-40. 32. Shaw, The Financial and Administrative Organization and Development of Ottoman Egypt, pp. 151-67. 33. See Crecelius. “The Organization of Waqf Documents in Egvpt,” pp. 269-75. 34. Over the last few years the Majlis li-Ra’âyat al-Funün wa’l-Âdâb in Zamalek has microfilmed selected documents from the various archival collections of Cairo. It has been willing to permit copies of these films to be made when the applicant has assumed the costs of duplication. It was in this collection of microfilms that Dr. Amfn found waqfîyât from the Mamluk period relating to the Coptic community. 35. This series of documents, called taqrir al-nazar, is rather extensive. The Ministry of Awqäf’s original taqrir al-nazar documents date only from

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the nineteenth century, but the shatTa court archives has a series of 117 daftars dating from 1138/1725-26. Both collections are well indexed. See Crecelius, op. cit., pp. 271-73. 36. A wider range of demographic research in these waqfîyât is entirely feasible. By utilizing only the records of the Ministry of Awqâf, Wilfred Rollman of Michigan University has completed a study of Maghrib! families that established themselves in Egypt in the late eighteenth and early nine­ teenth centuries. 37. Suraiya Faroqhi, “Vakif Administration in Sixteenth Century Konya,” JESHO, XVII (1974), pp. 145-72, and Barkan, “The Problem of the Con­ struction and Settlement of Istanbul after the Conquest," unpublished paper prepared for this conference. 38. See Crecelius, op. cit., p. 272. 39. An excellent example of the economic information which these documents can yield and how a selected group, in this case slave merchants, may be followed through the mukhallifât and other court records is Terrance Walz's “Notes on the Organization of the African Trade in Cairo, 18001850,” Annales Islamologiques, XI (1972), pp. 263-86. I wish to thank Dr. Walz for introducing me to the mukhallifât documents. 40. Raymond, Artisans et Commerçants au Caire, I, 203-6, 307-72. 41. Ministry of Awqâf, Daftarkhänah, Waqfîyah No. 743. 42. For a brief notice on these documents see J. Martin Plumley, “Qasr Ibrim 1966,” Journal of Egyptian Archeology, LII (1966), pp. 9-12. I would like to thank Dr. Martin Hinds, who is working on these documents, for bringing them to my attention. 43. Small monasteries can often maintain valuable records which the historian should not overlook. Descriptions of the holdings of two Lebanese monasteries are examples of the types of materials one might find in these neglected repositories. See Robert Haddad, Archives du Couvent Saint Sauveur (Beirut 1971), and R. Haddad and F. Freijate, Fihris makhtüßt Dayr al-Balamand (Beirut 1970). 44. A good deal of debate still exists on the size of the Egyptian pop­ ulation at the end of the eighteenth century and during the reign of Muhammad ‘Ali. See The Economic History of the Middle East, 1800-1914, ed. Charles Issawi (Chicago 1966), p. 362, n. 2 for a collection of estimates of Egypt's population between the 1780s and the 1840s. 45. In arriving at his own total of approximately 3,000,000 for the open­ ing of the nineteenth century, Professor Baer worked backward with the figures taken from the censuses of the 1830s and 1890s. See “The Begin­ nings of Urbanization” in his collection of essays, Studies in the Social His­ tory of Modem Egypt (Chicago 1969), pp. 133-38. 46. Shaw, “Cairo’s Archives and the History of Ottoman Egypt,” pp. 61-62. 47. Rivlin, The Dàr al-Wathâ’iq in ‘Âbdîn Palace at Cairo, pp. 21, 65.

374

Historical Demography

48. Rivlin, The Agricultural Policy of Muhammad ‘Ali in Egypt, p. 331, n. 27. According to Omar Toussoun, La Géographie de l’Égypte à l’Époque Arabe (Cairo 1926), I, 339, the cadastre of 1813 was in the citadel (Dàr alMahfüçât). The third part of vol. I reproduces figures from that cadastre. Figures from the cadastre of 1820-21 are included in Felix Mengin, His­ toire de l'Égypte sous le gouvernement du Mohammed-Aly (Paris 1823). 49. Hunter, “The Cairo Archives for the Study o f Elites in Modern Egypt,” pp. 478-82. 50. Ibid., p . 482. H unter also notes that there were in most cases two dossiers for each pensioner. The first was compiled on the day of the em­ ployee’s death and dealt with the deceased’s record. The second dossier provides a wide range o f information on the widow o f the deceased, her date and place o f birth, date and place o f her marriage, dates and places o f birth of her children, etc. 51. Ibid., pp. 484-86. 52. Rivlin, The Agricultural Policy of Muhammad ’Alt in Egypt, has extracts taken from this report. See also her notes on population estimates during Mubammad ‘Alfs reign on pp. 278-80. 53. Marcel. Égypte depuis la conquête des Arabes jusqu’à la domination fran­ çaise (Paris 1848), pt. 2, 103; Boinet, “L’Acroissement de la population en Égypte,” Bulletin de l’Institut Égyptien, VII (1886). 54. Edward W. Lane, The Manners and Customs of the Modem Egyptians (numerous editions); and John Bowring, “Report on Egypt and Candia,” House of Commons Sessional Papers, vol. XXI: Reports from Commissioners, VI (London 1840). See also the figures on Egypt’s population in the nine­ teenth century culled from consular reports and published travelers’ ac­ counts in the chapter, “The Beginnings of Urbanization” in Gabriel Baer, Studies in the Social History of Modem Egypt, pp. 133-48. 55. Hunter, “The Cairo Archives for the Study o f Elites in Modern Egypt,” p. 484, n. 2. 56. See, for example. ‘Ali Mubarak Päshä, Al-Khitaf al-tawßqiya al-jadida, 20 vols. (Bulaq 1886-89); Amin Säm! Päshä, Taqunm al-Nil, 6 vols. (Cairo 1916-36): and Jurjï Zaydän, Mashàhïr al-Sharq, 2 vols. (Cairo 1919-21).

12 The Area and Population of the Arab Empire: An Essay in Speculation Charles Issawi As a distinguished classicist pointed out: “T here is no subject of the first importance in ancient scholarship in which our thoughts are vaguer, in which we almost refuse to think (because the evidence is unsatisfactory) than that o f population.”1 T he reasons for this are not far to seek: demographic studies depend on statistics and, as an eminent social historian has reminded us, “T here can be no statistics unless someone has first done the counting. In history often nobody has until relatively recently.”* This is particularly true of the Islamic Middle East where, until the Ottoman period, there was very little counting of things and even less of persons. In such circumstances, to resume the quotation from Hobsbawm, “We have no statistics but only informed estimates, or more or less wild guesses. T he best we can expect is orders of magnitude.” Given this, almost the only tools available to the demographically-minded historian are extrapolation, collection of scattered data on cognate subjects, and comparison, and all have been used in this study. Backward extrapolation has been made from the figures available for the be­ ginning o f the nineteenth century and forward extrapolation from the various estimates for the Roman Empire, both being adjusted in the light of what we know of the course o f the political, economic, and medical history o f the countries concerned. Data on taxation, cultivated area, size o f cities and size o f armies have served as a check on some o f the magnitudes thus obtained. Lastly, a further check has been provided by comparing the figures on total population and population density so derived with the corresponding ones for the Roman, Byzantine, and Ottoman empires, which, with the Arab, dominated the Mediterranean region for nearly 2,000 years. *1 am indebted to my colleagues Nina Garsoian, D. M. Dunlop, and Hassanein Rabie for valuable criticism of an earlier draft and to Professors E. Ashtor, Andrew M. Watson, and Mohamed Talbi tor comments and suggestions made at the conference.

376

Historical Demography

Needless to say this paper is very derivative: it contains no first-hand research and depends heavily on the work of other scholars, no­ tably on that of Josiah C. Russell. It is also highly conjectural, and the results it presents are very tentative. Demographic estimates are not only conjectural but are liable to be revised sharply upward or downward, according to both newarcheological and historical evidence and, also, to prevailing moods. T he tone was set by David Hume when, in an essay that is a model of reasoning on historical and social questions, he demolished Montes­ quieu’s assertion that the world's population in his time was not one-fiftieth of what it had been in that of Julius Caesar and showed convincingly that, on the contrary, it had appreciably risen.3 The estimate-cycles have continued since. Beloch’s figures for the Roman Empire, referred to below, represent a sharp reduction from pre­ vious estimates; they were revised upward during the next fifty years, but in the last two or three decades these revisions have, in turn, been scaled down, especially the ones concerning the size of cities. Similar cycles are observable in estimates for other parts of the world; for example, the very large figures given for the population of Mexico by the early Spanish writers were utterly discredited but recently have been rehabilitated.4 Estimates for the Middle East and North Africa also fluctuate up and down. Roman Empire, Second Century A.D. Estimates of the area and population of the Roman Empire be­ gin with Beloch’s excellent study3 which, for nearly a century, has been the starting point for almost all subsequent work. His totals of 3,340,000 square kilometers and 54,000,000 inhabitants at the death o f Augustus, in a .d . 14, however, understate both the extent and population at its zenith. For one thing, Beloch’s table does not cover the areas conquered in the first and second centuries: Britain, Mauretania Tingitana, Arabia Petraea, and Dacia, for which esti­ mates have been included in Table I.* More important, nearly all scholars agree that population grew for almost two centuries after Augustus. Table I summarizes the available information. T he first column gives Beloch’s figures for area, with rough estimates added (in brackets) by the present writer. The second column re­ produces Beloch’s figures on population. The third gives various estimates of population in the first or second centuries, which are discussed in detail below. Divisions of the Empire. The constituent parts of the empire • e been divided into three groups, according to their subsequent

377

Area and Population of the Arab Empire

T able I: A rea and Population of R oman E mpire

Group A Spain Sicily Africa Cyrenaica Egypt Syria Add Mauretania Tingitana Arabia Petraea

Group B Danubian provinces Greek peninsula Province of Asia O ther Asia Minor Cyprus Add Dacia

Group C Italy Sardinia, Corsica Narbonensis Three Gauls Add Britain

Grand Total

(1) Area (000 sq. kms.)

(2) Population A.D. 14 (millions)

(3) Population 2nd century (millions)

590 26 400 15 28 109

6.0 0.6 6.0 0.5 5.0 6.0

6.0-7.0 0.7-0.9 4.0-5.0 0.5 6.0-7.0 5.0-6.0

(100) (100)

-

0.5

-

-

1,368

24.1

22.7-26.9

430 267 135 412 10

2.0 3.0 6.01 7.0» 0.5

(100)

2.0 3.0 10.0-13.0 0.5 0.5

1,354

18.5

16.0-19.0

250 33 100 535

6.0 0.5 1.5» 3.4 »

8.0-15.0 0.5 8.0-12.0

(150)

-

0.5-1.5

1,068

11.4

17.0-29.0

3,790

54.0

55.7-74.9

378

Historical Demography

history. Group A covers those countries that were conquered by the Arabs. Group B includes those that remained under Byzantine rule after the initial Arab invasions. Group C consists of all the rest. Spa in . For some time, the prevalent view was that Beloch’s figure o f 6 million understated the population of the Iberian peninsula, and that the total grew appreciably until the end o f the second cen­ tury, but more recent estimates have again reduced the totals. Bouchier suggested that the population doubled between the death o f Caesar and the principate o f Hadrian, an estimate that was ac­ cepted by van Nostrand.7 Menendez Pidal put the total at 9 o r even 12 million, a figure regarded as much too high by contemporary scholars, including Russell, who reduced it back to 6 million.8 In the table, a range o f 6 to 7 million has been indicated. Sicily . Beloch’s figure o f 600,000 is regarded as “far too conserv­ ative” by V. M. Scramuzza, who goes on to say: “O ur estimate of 750.000 is probably nearer the actual figure, though still quite con­ servative. Beloch himself does not exclude 800,000 o r even 900,000.’’* A range o f 700,000 to 900,000 has been given in the table. north Africa . Evidence on this subject is contradictory. For Libya, Richard Goodchild, curator of the Department o f Antiquities of Cyrenaica, suggested a total population o f 1,000,000 to 1,500,000, about equally divided between Cyrenaica and Tripolitania.10 This implies a somewhat larger figure for Cyrenaica than Beloch’s of 500,000. On the other hand, Russell estimated the population of rural Tripolitania at only 100,000 and put the total for Roman Africa (which excluded Cyrenaica) at 4,300,000.u In the table, a range o f 4 to 5 million has been given for Africa, and Beloch’s figure of 500.000 has been kept for Cyrenaica. An arbitrary figure of 500,000 has been assigned to Mauretania Tingitana, which was not included by Beloch. Laroui, summing up the recent research of such French scholars as C. Courtois, C. Saumagne, and G. Picard, put the area, excluding deserts, at 350,000 square kilometers and the population at 3.5 million.12 Eg y pt . Estimates for Egypt also vary, but somewhat less. Some writers are prepared to accept Josephus’ figure of a population of 7.500.000 excluding Alexandria, which may have had a quarter of a million inhabitants, though the figure of 500,000 for Alexandria suggested by Beloch is now regarded as being too high.13 Josephus was quoting a figure given by Herod Agrippa, who may have been trying to dissuade the Jews from revolting against Rome.14 Diodorus,

Area and Population of the Arab Empire

379

writing in 60-30 B.c., stated that Ptolemaic Egypt “as can be seen from the holy records” had a population of about 7 million, and in his day had at least 3 million. Walek-Czernicki put the population of Egypt at the end of the Ptolemaic era at 8 to 8.5 million, and in the first century a .d . at 8.5 to 9 milion, but subsequently reduced the latter figure to 7.5 million.13 Based on certain assumptions regard­ ing tax returns and the cultivated area, Russell estimated the pop­ ulation at 4,500,000, but his methods and results are questionable. In the table, a range of 6 to 7 million has been used. Syria . Beloch’s figures of 5 to 6 million for geographical Syria, in­ cluding 2 million in Palestine, were regarded as somewhat conserv­ ative by Heichelheim, who stated that an estimate of 10 million for Syria, Lebanon, Palestine, and Transjordan is “by no means im­ probable,*’16 and Lammens suggested a figure of 7 million.17 Russell, on the other hand, does not believe that the population exceeded 4 to 4.5 million.18 A range of 5 to 6 million has been used in the table: this covers both Roman Syria and “Arabia.” The subtotal for Group A ranges between 22.7 and 26.9 million. Asia minor . Very little work has been done on Group B, except for its largest single constituent, Asia Minor. Broughton’s calculations confirmed those of Beloch, and showed a total of about 13,000,000.19 Russell, however, believes that this figure is exaggerated and re­ duces it to 8.8 million.20 But this in turn may be too low since his own estimate for the fifth century is 11.6 million. Russell does ac­ cept Beloch’s figures for Greece and the Danubian lands. In the table, a range of 10 to 13 million has been shown for Asia Minor, all Beloch’s other figures have been kept unchanged, and an arbitrary addition of 500,000 has been made to cover Dacia. The subtotal for Group B is, therefore, 16 to 19 million. Italy . For Group C, on the other hand, several estimates are avail­ able, with widely varying figures. Tenney Frank put the popula­ tion of Italy under Augustus at 14,000,000 and under Claudius, in a .d . 48, “doubtless over 15,000,000”; these figures seem to ex­ clude the islands.21 Russell, however, cuts the figure down to around 8 million, including the islands. T he difference arises from con­ flicting interpretations as to whether the word citizen {rivLs), as used in the Roman censuses, covered only free males above the age of seventeen or both free males and females above that age.22 A range of 8 to 15 million has therefore been given in the table. ca u l . Beloch’s figures are rejected as far too low by several French

380

Historical Demography

historians, whose own estimates are in turn suspiciously high. Grenier, discussing Camille Jullian’s suggestion of 20 to 30 million, said: “Disons plutôt, pour le moment de la conquête, de 15 à 20 millions,”13 and in a subsequent work raised his figure to 24 million,14 while Lot quoted a total of 20 million.19 Russell's figures are much lower, 6 to 8 million. In the table, a range of 8 to 12 million has been shown. Brita in . For Roman Britain, which covered the “southern twothirds of Great Britain, as far north as the Tyne-Solway isthmus," Collingwood discussed estimates ranging between half a million and a million and a half and opined that: “The truth is most likely somewhere between the two figures.”16 This range has been shown in the table. T he subtotal for Group C shows a very wide range, from 17 to 29 million. Adding up the three subtotals gives a grand total ranging from 55.7 million to 74.9 million, or say 60 to 70 million. These figures are in line with various other estimates. Thus Cavaignac, adjusting Beloch’s figures for some underestimates and for the omission of children, put the population under Augustus at 80 million, a figure that seems acceptable to many other students.17 However, his esti­ mate of a total population of 150 million by a. d . 180 is generally regarded as far too high, even granted that much evidence points to an increase betweeen the time of Augustus and that of Marcus Aurelius. Conversely, M. I. Finley gives the same total for the reigns of both Augustus and Hadrian, about 60 million, which seems to imply no growth.18 Arab Empire, Eighth Century A.D. Estimates of Roman population are tentative, but at least they are based on some statistical information. As Finley points out: “Whether anyone, in or out of government, actually knew the lat­ ter figure [i.e., of total population] is much to be doubted. Although censuses were taken, they were irregular, and they came at different times in different provinces. Their sole purpose was to bring the tax rolls up to date.”1* But for pre-Ottoman Islam, although we have some figures on tax receipts—which presumably must have been partly based on some head counts—estimates of town popula­ tions by Muslim, Jewish, and European travelers, army lists and, for Egypt, cadastral surveys, we do not have a single official popula­ tion figure. Nor do we have such records as the parish registers of Europe, from which so much can be learned regarding age distri­

Area and Population o f the Arab Empire

381

bution, family structure, and demographic trends. Any statement on the subject must, therefore, be inferential and extremely ten­ tative. Indeed a leading authority, discussing the Muslim country about which most information is available, Egypt, says, “Poliak. . . suggested the figure of 3 million for the beginning of the fourteenth century. I would not, myself, feel able to speculate.”90 Area and Population o f the Arab Empire. Before discussing population, however, it is necessary to determine the approximate area o f the Arab Empire at its widest extent, just before the fall of the Umayyads in 750. Table II is divided into two groups of coun­ tries: Group A, which had formed part o f the Roman Empire and for which the figures on area given in Table I have been used to facilitate comparison;31 and Group B, which includes the lands

T

a ble

I I: A rea

and

P o p u l a t io n

rouf) A Spain North Africa Egypt Syria

(3) Population (millions)

590 515 28 109

5.0-6.0 3.0-4.0 4.0-5.0 3.0-4.0

1,242

15.0-19.0

3,173* 435 1,648 647 (200) (300)

159 131 412 129 20 75

1.5-2.0 5.0-6.0 3.0-4.0 1.0-1.5 0.5-1.0 2.0-3.0

6,403

926

13.0-17.5

9,800

2,168

28.0-36.5

590 1,584' 1,001 222* 3,397

iron/) B Arabia Iraq Iran Afghanistan Central Asia India

*rand Total

A rab E m p ir e

(2) Inhabited Area (000 sq. km.)

u) Gross Area (000 su. km.) 9

ok

1. One third of the total area of Algeria (2,382,000 square kilometers), Libya ( 1,760,000), Morocco (445,000), and Tunisia (164,000). 2. Two thirds of the combined areas of Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria. 3. Total of Saudi Arabia (2,150,000 square kilometers), Yemen (483,000), Oman (212,000), and Kuwait, Bahrain, Qatar, and United Arab Emirates (328,000). Source: Gross Area, United Nations Statistical Yearbook; other figures, see text.

382

Historical Demography

further east. But here a major difficulty arises. It will be noticed that in his estimates o f the area o f Egypt, Syria, and North Africa Beloch used figures o f inhabited o r cultivated land, not o f total area— thus Egypt is assigned 28,000 square kilometers, not the 1,000,000 lying within its geographical limits. Some such adjustment is required for Group B, and hence Table II includes two columns, showing gross and inhabited area respectively. It has been assumed that the inhabited area constituted the following percentages o f the coun­ tries in question: Iraq 30, Iran 25, northwest India 25, Afghanistan 20, central Asia 10, Yemen 10, and the rest o f Arabia 5 percent. If these assumptions are at all correct, four broad conclusions fol­ low: First, the total gross area o f the Arab Empire was some 9 to 10 million square kilometers, or almost twice as large as that o f the Roman Empire, even if the latter be “grossed” by adding the desert area o f Egypt and that part of the North African deserts under its control. Secondly, the inhabited area o f the Arab Empire was less than two-thirds that of the Roman. If, however, the latter is adjusted to take into account the vast tracts of forests, mountains, and wastes, the difference between the two is considerably reduced, though perhaps not eliminated. Thirdly, the gross area o f the part not previously included in the Roman Empire (Group B) was nearly twice as large as that which had been (Group A). Lastly, the inhabited area o f Group B was somewhat smaller than that o f Group A. Since absolutely no figures are available for the Islamic period— except for the unsatisfactory Ottoman ones for Syria discussed later (in “Ottoman Empire, Sixteenth Century”)—estimates, or rather more or less informed guesses, regarding population must be based on such data as the figures available for the beginning of the nineteenth century, the conjectural Roman figures, and information on cul­ tivated area, taxation, urban population, size of armies, and probable demographic trends. Before doing so, however, one further remark is in order: the population o f the Arab Empire was almost certainly not below 20 million and not above 60 million. T he first statement rests on the fact that, around 1800, the population of the countries in question— excluding Spain and Sicily—may, with a high degree of confidence,

Area and Population o f the Arab Empire

383

be estimated at well over 20 million, and the assumption is that in the High Middle Ages it was not lower. The second statement rests on the fact that in 1930—after several decades of unprecedentedly rapid growth, including substantial European and Jewish immi­ gration—the population stood at about 70 million, and the assump­ tion is that it must have been much smaller at every single previous point in its long history. croup a . T hree general observations may be made. First, it is agreed by all historians that the countries in this group, like other parts of the Roman Empire, suffered a sharp drop in population after the second century owing to the combined effects of insecurity, economic decline and, above all, successive plagues, especially the great plague of the early sixth century. Secondly, the end of the eighteenth century also represents a period of deep economic de­ cline. Thirdly, one gets the strong impression that even at their most prosperous, the countries in this group, with the exception of Spain, were not as thickly populated as they had been under the Romans.32 This gives us plausible upper and lower limits for a range of guesses. Spain. Russell judges that, by the time of the Arab conquest, the population of Iberia had declined to some 3 to 4 million. Some im­ provement probably took place under Arab rule and, for the end of the eighth century, he puts the total at 4 million, a figure based on estimates of urban population. Growth seems to have continued till the end of the eleventh century. By the end of the thirteenth century, the population is more reliably (because of the availability of Christian records) put at 8.3 million,33 and there is good reason to believe that, at its height, the population of Muslim Spain was somewhat larger than that of Roman Spain: a guess of 5 to 6 mil­ lion for the eighth century may therefore not be too far out, with perhaps an additional one or two million at the height of Muslim rule. North Africa. T here seems little doubt regarding the drop in pop­ ulation following the revolts of the third and fourth centuries,3,4 the Vandal invasion and the Byzantine reconquest, as well as the plagues. T he cultivated area seems to have shrunk very considerably. Russell estimates that the population fell by more than half between the second century and the year a .d . 422, from 4.3 to 2.0 million, and even that does not take into account the Vandals and Byzantines! He puts the population under the caliphate at 1.9 million.35 But

384

Historical Demography

this figure seems too low when compared to available estimates for the nineteenth century: Algeria 2.5 to 3 million in 1800-30, Tunisia one million in 1881 and apparently not much less at the beginning of the century, Libya 600,000 in 1911, and Morocco 3 to 3.5 million in 1914.36 On the other hand, there is the fact that in 1800 North Africa had much larger cities than in the early Islamic period. Per­ haps a range of 3 to 4 million seems appropriate, with the prob­ ability of appreciable growth, possibly to 5 to 6 million, until the middle of the eleventh century, when the Banü Hilâl and Banü Sulaym invasions, and other disturbances, caused a sharp setback.37 Egypt. Much more research has been done on Egypt than on any other Arab country, and there is wide agreement regarding trends if not magnitudes. Pestilence and other misfortunes drastically reduced both the cultivated area and the population in the third century. This was followed by a slow revival succeeded, in turn, by a sharp decline in the sixth century.3* Russell puts the total pop­ ulation at the end of the seventh century at 2.5 to 2.6 million, and notes that this agrees with the estimate made by Napoleon’s savants and the “census” of 1821. But, as Gabriel Baer39 has demonstrated, extrapolating backward from the much more reliable censuses taken at the end of the nineteenth century shows that 2.5 million is too low for 1800, and at least 3 million seems more reasonable. Now it is unlikely that the population o f Egypt after a century of Arab rule, when the initial disruption had subsided, should have been smaller than at the end o f the very anarchic and depressed eight­ eenth century. Gibb, who also regarded the French estimate of 2.5 million as too low, thought that “in the fourteenth century it is not likely to have exceeded four millions,”40 and Dois gives higher figures. It may be added that, basing himself mainly on tax and ca­ dastral figures, Russell states that the population o f Egypt fell to a low of 1.5 million in the tenth to eleventh centuries, rose to a peak of just over 4 million by the middle of the fourteenth, and was then reduced by the plague to some 3.15 to 3.36 million. In a communication to the present writer, Professor E. Ashtor stated that the evidence on grain prices and wages leaves no doubt that the population of Egypt grew considerably in the eighth to tenth centuries. Equally surely, there was a sharp fall at the beginning of the thirteenth century. He believes that an estimate o f 3 to 4 mil­ lion for the eighth century is too low, and thinks that the eleventhcentury peak was distinctly over 5 million. A range of 4 to 5 million

Area and Population o f the Arab Empire

385

has therefore been given in Table II, and the eleventh-century peak may well have been higher. As regards the Ottoman period, Russell’s figures of 3.15 to 3.36 million for the period after the Black Death, taken in conjunction with the revised estimate o f 3 million or over for 1800, suggest that, overall, there was no substantial change, though there were of course sharp fluctuations caused by plagues and famines, with subsequent recoveries, as well as by changed eco­ nomic conditions. Thus André Raymond, in his monumental study of Cairo, estimates the city’s population in both 1798 and the early sixteenth century at about 250,000, but believes that around 166070 it may have reached a peak of 350,000.41 Syria. Here, by contrast, information is extremely scanty. Even for the nineteenth century no reliable figures are available; various estimates by British consular agents in the 1830s, based on tax re­ turns, range from 1,000,000 to 1,864,000, but most of them fall between 1,250,000 and 1,450,000. By the First World War, the figure had risen to around 3.5 million.4* Russell’s conclusion is that uan estimate o f 3 million would be reasonable for Syrian population o f about A .D . 720; about two-thirds of the estimated population for Roman Syria. By the end of the century Syria probably numbered 4 million.”49 Ashtor is inclined to believe that these estimates are somewhat too low. First, he believes that Syria’s population under the Romans was higher than is suggested by Beloch. Secondly, he points out that, in the first century of Muslim rule, there was a large immigration of bedouins and Persians, which more than offset the emigration of Greek town dwellers. Under the Umayyads, a series of plagues and earthquakes kept population down, at about 3.5 million, but there was an upsurge under the Abbasids. For the thir­ teenth to fourteenth centuries, Ziadeh puts the population of the 29 towns at 304,000 and, assuming that this represents one-seventh to one-eighth of the total, estimates the latter at 2 to 2.5 million.44 A range of 3 to 4 million has been given in Table II, with the proviso that in the ninth to tenth centuries the total may have been nearer 5 million.45 The total for Group A around a . d . 750 is therefore between 15 and 19 million, compared to 25 million during the Roman period. But, as noted above, it is not unreasonable to assume that in the next two or three centuries population rose, along with economic devel­ opment, and at its peak the area covered in Table II may well have had close to 20 million inhabitants.

386 cr o u p

Historical Demography B. Stepping out o f the borders o f the Roman Empire means

entering an almost entirely uncharted—and perhaps unchartable— demographic terrain. Arabia. Even today the population o f the peninsula is not clearly determined, though a total o f 10 to 12 million seems reasonable. Writ­ ing some ten years ago, the leading authority on Arabia, George Rentz, stated: “One may doubt whether the total approaches 10,000,000, and it may fall several millions short o f this figure.”46 During the First World War an official British publication stated: “It is usually guessed to be from five to eight millions. T he lower of these figures is probably nearest to the truth.”47 For the caliphate. Russell gives a figure of one million,48 but 1 see no reason to believe that in 750 the population o f Arabia was less than one-fifth of what it might have been in 1900, and a guess o f 1.5 to 2.0 million has been put in Table II. Iraq. For Iraq, the evidence is not much better. Beloch thought that in Parthian and Sasanian times the population o f Babylonia was “scarcely less than 6 to 8 million.” Russell puts the population o f the Valley at 9.1 million. Robert Adams49 indicates that the pop­ ulation o f Lower Diyala reached a peak o f 800,000 around a .d . 800, or slightly more than the figure for 1957; at the latter date, accord­ ing to the census, the whole o f Iraq had 6,538,000 inhabitants. These high figures receive some confirmation from two sources. On the one hand, the descriptions o f the Arab geographers leave the im­ pression o f an intensively cultivated and thickly-settled country.80 And on the other, figures on tax returns—which however are sub­ ject to widely varying interpretations—are generally higher than those for Egypt.51 T he range of 5 to 6 million shown in the table prob­ ably represents the peak o f Iraq's population. Already by a .d . 1100, according to Adams, the population o f Lower Diyala had halved and the Mongol invasion reduced it to less than a tenth, a figure which persisted until the nineteenth century, when the total for Iraq may have been around 1 to 1.5 million.52 Not until the 1950s did Iraq's population pass the 6 million mark. Iran, Afghanistan, Central Asia, and India. Russell puts the pop­ ulation of the “Plateau”—a term he uses to cover the area stretch­ ing from Mesopotamia to Marw—at 4.6 million, a figure that seems too low. At the beginning of the nineteenth century the population of present-day Iran was probably not below 5 million. This in turn almost certainly represents a reduction from the Safavid level.53 Perhaps a range of 3 to 4 million for eighth-century Iran may be

Area and Population of the Arab Empire

387

given, with the proviso that the population probably grew appre­ ciably until the eleventh or twelfth century, was sharply reduced during the Mongol invasions, and. then slowly grew again until the seventeenth century. Adding purely arbitrary guesses of 1 to 1.5 mil­ lion for Afghanistan, 500,000 to 1,000,000 for central Asia, and 2 to 3 million for the Indian provinces gives a range of 13.0 to 17.5 million for Group B. Needless to say, these figures are based mainly on guesswork. If they are at all acceptable, they would suggest that, in the eighth century, the Arab Empire may have had a population of about 30 to 35 million, as against Russell’s estimate of 23.3 mil­ lion. In the course of the two following centuries, the total almost certainly grew,54 perhaps to 35 to 40 million, including 1,000,000 for Sicily, Cyprus, and the other islands conquered during that period. Of course, these figures rest heavily on the assumption that the population of the southern Mediterranean decreased during and after the decline of Rome. If a different, and rather improbable, assumption be made (viz., that it remained at its Roman peak), the population of Group A in Table II would rise to about 25 million and, retaining the figure of 15 million for Group B, the total to some 40 million. On a third, and also improbable, assumption (viz., that the population in the eighth century was no larger than at the be­ ginning of the nineteenth, and assigning a figure of 5 million to Spain), the total for Group A would fall to some 13 million and the grand total to 28 million.

Byzantine Empire, Eleventh Century This section will be very brief, since it is based entirely on three studies: by Russell, Vryonis, and especially Charanis, who exhaus­ tively and critically reviewed the literature on Byzantine demog­ raphy.55 First as regards area, Andreades put it at 1,010,000 square kilo­ meters under Justinian and, following the great losses to the Arabs and a recovery under the Macedonian dynasty, at 545,000 in 1024.58 But this figure seems much too small. Basil’s rule extended over the whole of Anatolia and the southern Balkans, as well as parts of Syria, Transcaucasia, and Italy.57 Ignoring the latter group, the total area may be put at about 1.2 million square kilometers; this represents the combined areas of present day Turkey (781,000),

Historical Demography

388

Greece (132,000), Bulgaria (111,000), Albania (29,000), and onehalf to two-thirds of Yugoslavia’s area of 256,000 square kilometers. As for population, perhaps the safest statement is that of Beck regarding the time of Justinian: “weit über 10 millionen und weit unter 40. Mehr zu sagen, ist illusorisch, aber schon eine solche Spanne ist m ehr als nichts.”** Stein ventured the following figures: 30 mil­ lion under J ustinian, 20 million during the first half of the eleventh cen­ tury, 10 to 12 million under the Comneni and 5 million during the reign of Michael V lll Palaeologus.50 Russell gives the following table, in millions (figures in brackets added):60 A.l>. 1

350 600 800 1000 1200 1310

Greece

Balkans

Asia Minor

Total

3.0 2.0

2.0 3.0 1.8 3.0 2.5 2.0 2.0

8.8

13.8 16.6 10.0 13.0 ( 15.0-16.0) (13.0) (12.0)

1.2

2.0 5.0 4.0 2.0

11.6

7.0 8.0 8.0 7.0 8.0

More recently, Russell has suggested that the population of Anatolia remained around 8 million till the eleventh century, declining to 6 million by the thirteenth century.*1 Perhaps a guess of 15 to 20 million indicates the order of magnitude around the year 1000; this range derives some support from the figures for the Ottoman Empire given in the next section and also from the totals for Group B in Table I. Almost the only points on which there seems to be some agreement are summarized as follows by Charanis, a state­ ment which Vryonis seems to accept:6* At the beginning o f the sixth century the combined population of the re­ gions which constituted the eastern empire was more than the combined population of the same regions at the beginning o f the fourth century. A decline set in in 541 and this decline continued, or at the most there was no appreciable increase, down to about the middle of the ninth century. Meanwhile the empire suffered huge losses in population by the conquests of the Arabs and the occupation of virtually all the Balkan peninsula by the Slavs. A new era began towards the end of the ninth century and lasted till 1071. The huge territorial expansion of the empire during this period added, of course, greatly to its population, but there was also an increase in the old provinces. The loss of the eastern provinces following Manzikert decreased the population of the empire, but there was also a decline in the course of the twelfth century in that part of Asia Minor which had

Area atui Population of the Arab Empire

389

been recovered by Alexius Comnenus and his immediate successor. In the Balkan peninsula, beginning with the end of the ninth century, but especially after the Bulgarian wars, a definite increase set in and this in­ crease continued almost down to the end of the twelfth century. No figures can be given for any one of these periods.

Ottoman Empire, Sixteenth Century This section, too, is brief since the spade work has already been done by Ömer Barkan, whose population figures, based on the Ot­ toman defter, are more accurate than any pre-nineteenth-century ones used in this article.63 For the purposes of this study, the Ottoman Empire under Sulaymän may be divided into three parts. First, European Turkey has been taken to include the territories of present-day European Turkey (24,000 square kilometers), Greece, Bulgaria, Albania, and Yugoslavia (see previous section), Hungary (93,000), and Romania (238,000), a total o f 883,000 square kilometers. The inclusion of Ottoman territories beyond the Dniester brings the total up to one million square kilometers or so. Secondly, there is Anatolia, with its present area of 757,000 square kilometers. Thirdly, there are the Arab lands: Syria, Iraq, Egypt, and North Africa;64 for these Beloch’s figures have been used, with a total of 683,000. Allowing for the Arabian coastlands held along the Red Sea and Persian Gulf, the figure is brought up to some 750,000. The grand total was there­ fore around 2.5 million square kilometers, or about twice as large as the Byzantine Empire. Barkan’s figures of population, based on the number of “hearths” in 1520-1535 multiplied by 5 is as follows:65 European Turkey (in­ cluding Istanbul) 5,959,000; Anatolia 5,162,000, Syria 571,000— a total of 11,692,000. This figure needs, however, considerable upward adjustment. First Barkan himself proposes an addition of 10 to 15 percent to take into account “les lacunes laissées par cer­ taines classes militaires et les esclaves,” raising the total to 12 to 12.5 million. Secondly, as he also points out, the figures for eastern Anatolia and Syria are certainly underestimates, due to instability caused by wars and invasions.66 Thirdly, the population figures for Europe do not cover the TransDanubian provinces, the inclusion of which would, presumably, raise the total by another 1 to 2 million. However, it should be noted that Barkan’s figures are comparable with the ones given above for

390

Historical Demography

the Byzantine Empire. Fourthly, they also omit Iraq, which was not conquered until 1555, and which demands the addition o f an­ other 500,000 to 1,000,000, and a small num ber must also be added for the Arabian coastlands. Fifthly, an adjustment must be made for Egypt and North Africa, and here the figures offered by Braudel and adopted by Barkan (viz., 2 to 3 million for each area) may be ac­ cepted.67 Lastly, Barkan draws attention to the fact that population grew appreciably until the end o f the sixteenth century, a fact con­ firmed by Cook’s very careful study. Cook gives good reason to be­ lieve that in the later sixteenth century the population o f “a large part o f Anatolia” was about half its 1940 level,68 which would indi­ cate some 8 million for the whole peninsula. Braudel suggested for the end o f the sixteenth century the fol­ lowing figures, in millions: European Turkey 8, Asiatic T urkey 8, Egypt 2 to 3, North Africa 2 to 3, giving a total o f 20 to 22 million. O n the basis o f as yet unpublished research, Barkan is inclined to raise the total to 30 o r even 35 million. It may be added that there seems to have been a sharp population decline in the next two centuries so that, according to the census o f 1831, the population o f Anatolia was only about 5.2 million and that o f Rumelia and Istanbul 4.4 mil­ lion.6* Conclusions T he findings may now be summarized. Once more it is necessary to point out that many o f the figures are no better than guesses, but I believe some magnitudes may be established and some conclusions drawn. First, as regards area, the Arab Empire, with some 9 to 10 mil­ lion square kilometers, was by far the largest. However, if the empty desert regions are excluded, its inhabited area, a little over 2 mil­ lion square kilometers, is well below that o f the Roman Empire (perhaps 3 million inhabited square kilometers out o f a gross area o f some 3.5 to 4 million), and about equal to that of the Ottoman Empire (probably some 2 million out of a gross area o f 2.5 million). The Byzantine Empire is far smaller, with a total area o f about 1.2 million square kilometers, o f which perhaps 1 million were inhabited. These figures deserve attention since they cast some light on the political as well as the demographic history of these empires. O f the four, the Arab was easily the largest, followed by the Roman and Ottoman, with the Byzantine by far the smallest. T heir geograph­ ical structure and texture was also very different. T he Arab Empire

Area and Population o f the Arab Empire

391

was the most sprawling (its maximum length from Morocco to central Asia being over 4,000 miles) and the Byzantine the most compact; a vegetation or population map shows that the Arab Empire consisted o f little islands of cultivated and settled areas surrounded by vast seas of desert, whereas in the others, especially the Roman, cultivation and settlement were more continuous. Lastly, they differed in respect to accessibility by sea, at a time when water transport was both vastly cheaper and (except for couriers) somewhat swifter than land trans­ port. T he Roman Empire was fortunate in that the bulk o f its populadon lived within an ellipse centered on Rome and enveloping the shores o f the Mediterranean; no point in this ellipse was more than a few days’ journey by sea from Rome. T he bulk of the Byzantine population was also concentrated in the areas along or near the shores o f the Mediterranean and Black Sea to which Constantinople had easy access by sea; however, both the northern Balkan and eastern Anatolian provinces were remote from the sea, and correspondingly difficult to control. T he same is even truer o f the Ottoman Empire, which spread further inland in both directions than did the Byzantine. However, the worst placed was undoubtedly the Arab, whose provinces stretched far into the heart of Asia and whose coastal areas bordered on two completely unconnected seas (after the silting of the Nile-Red Sea canal), the Mediterranean and the Arabian, with its Red Sea and Persian Gulf arms. These factors help to explain the varying length o f the period during which the empires retained their unity. T he Arab split far more quickly than the others: by a . d . 800, or within 150 years of its foundation, it was already broken up into several independent states. Both Roman and Ottoman unity lasted longer: around 600 years. But, even if one were to put the break up o f the Byzantine Empire as early as 1204 (the Fourth Crusade), it lasted about 800 years, and, by 1453, it had lasted a thousand years. The question of the survival of the empires against external attack (as distinct from the preservation of internal unity) is another matter, since it has to take account of numerous additional factors, such as the state of technology, organization, and solidarity within each empire, compared to both its civilized and barbarian neighbors, and clearly lies outside the scope of this paper. In population, the Roman Empire, with its 60 to 70 million inhab­ itants in the second century, towers above the rest. It has been sug­ gested that at its highest point, in the ninth or tenth centuries, the

392

Historical Demography

population o f the Arab Empire (by then no longer one political unit) may have been some 35 to 40 million. For Byzantium, a total o f 15 to 20 million has been suggested for the post-Justinian peak, early in the eleventh century. For the Ottoman Empire, the highest point reached may have been 30 to 35 million, at the end o f the sixteenth century. These results are summarized in Table III. T he table brings out an additional interesting fact: the density of population in the inhabited areas. T he closeness of the figures for the Arab, Byzantine, and Ottoman empires is striking, the more so since the figures for the area were arrived at completely independently of those for population. O f course the closeness o f the density figures may be fortuitous, but it is not unexpected given the essential similarity o f the climatic, technological, and social conditions in the three empires, and it gives some additonal confirmation of the population estimates. T he some­ what higher density o f the Roman Empire may perhaps be explained by the more favorable climate—particularly the more abundant rainfall o f the northern Mediterranean region, compared to the southern—and greater internal security. T able 111: A rea and P opulation ok th e Four Umpires Ottoman Byzantine Arab Roman (2nd century) (10th century) (11th century) (16th century) Gross area (million s. V

C

"w 8 u

C

S Sc

-C

g O e sy

C ac

I !• •v ^ -c 9J

3

. £o

2 2 I I*g:S - 2 * § -" * uir ja:Nl* *

3

S cft C ft -O •ä t 3 C a n? u? S .g o » » L« U w V V 3ft W E E

a i sC

. -t 1 r e -e 3 à S c -g I 3- S

3

t» E Ê 9J O * §C 3 u- c O £ f £w

* U

U

£ .f t ft ^ P X .3 ft

.ft '*• X ft

h r

h

5ftC

; e a2 Ic ß^

0C

1 u 3 c H

T o litl B u d g e t S tll p llis

CM

Amortization* to rural tax farmer*

“C c «

5^ + C+ cm

«2+

TABLE AI: C omprehensive B udget, G eneral Government of O ttoman Egypt Late E ighteenth C entury (million paras)

x •ft

£| fV

Surplus on current budget H ulw an revenue

508

♦Not all through treasury. A detailed breakdown is given by Estève, op. cit., pp. 104-5. Flows to and from the Imperial Treasury are in roman type; flows not reaching the treasury are italicized. All current budget cash figures, with the exception of the breakdown of the rural tax farmers* revenues on expenditure categories and the village authority revenue, are based directly on Shaw, and refer to the year immediately before the French occupation. Figures for vali and urban governors. Umars, and urban tax farmers are to some measure con-

Note:

An Economic Model for Ottoman Egypt

p. 'O ° £ * 3 . £ £ O£ F

S= , t;

5-g.«

v j§ ? Ü }. e ! ^ ä ü S s r e 1“ ï l - 2 2 g 2 b C W^ JS oo _23 3 ? a "7, Ï* f £» S ÿ . .2 « 2, - ‘2 «

c

w

™

y

w

*

e

f ' t t“ s S * ■“ S 3 C

2 C 3 3 ^*0

2e sSls t-IJa-s «sis i 3 i.rt°°2 § | c S ^ Eï Ï C * 2 S S..2 £ “ u .yg «H

S o " S £ « a-8 1 s i - s „x S » g o L c sP >»C Efc-c. »

a.I §3-3:1 2^ jz la c o v C«w 2*o

“ Ô3.SPS £ E -© S-S = 1 * 3 S S S ü g ï ? v e 3 | | 8 S : s g ± - « - S a.

Ji^swsiiSfeiiii

509

510

I m fid Tenure in the Pre-M odern M iddle East

A. K. S. Lambton, and Bernard Lewis, Cambridge 1970, I, 254, 286-87, 337); but to some extent they were clearly tailored to the concrete situation in Egypt (Shaw, pp. 29-30). 4. Cambridge History of Islam, II, 514. Initially the Arab conquerors ap­ plied this principle to all taxation of non-believers, whether land tax ( kharàj) or poll tax (jizya) on non-believers. Rather early, however, the principle was abolished for the poll tax but was, on the other hand, extended to all land whether cultivated by Muslims or non-believers. Collective tax re­ sponsibility was the rule already in Byzantine Egypt (Reuben Levy, The Social Structure of Islam, Cambridge 1957, p. 315), as, indeed, it was in the Byzantine Empire of the Middle Ages; see Georg Ostragorsky, “Agrarian Conditions in the Byzantine Empire in the Middle Ages,” in The Cambridge Economic History of Europe, 2nd ed. (Cambridge 1971), I, 213-14. Collec­ tive tax responsibility for villages is known from Persia, Russia, and Spain as well; it also applied to a small unit, the manse, in early medieval France, see Marc Bloch, French Rural History, an Essay on its Basic Characteristics (Berkeley and Los Angeles 1973), pp. 150-67. 5. The principle of collective tax responsibility was formally abolished in 1858 when Sard’s Land Law put an end to it; it seems to have been eroded already from the 1840s. See Gabriel Baer, Studies in the Socicd History of Modem Egypt (Chicago 1969); also his “The Dissolution of the Village Com­ munity“ (reprint of an article from 1959), p. 26, with documentation of its existence until then, pp. 20 and 21. Collective responsibility for corvée labor continued, however, until 1881 (ibid., p. 28). If we consider the corvée as just another tax (in kind), collective tax responsibility lingered until 1881. 6. H. A. R. Gibb and Harold Bowen, Islamic Society and the West, Vol. I, Islamic Society in the Eighteenth Century (London 1950-57); Shaw, op. cit.\ Raymond, op. cit. 7. I he principle of ultimate state ownership of all agricultural land was a tribal Seljuk tradition but fully in accord with the Islamic law of con­ quest ( Cambridge History of Islam, I, 254, 286-87; II, 459-60); neither Arab traditions nor Islam generally required state ownership. See also Reuben Levy, op. cit., pp. 308-11; Gibb and Bowen, pt. I, 238-39, however, assume that state ownership of land with private cultivation rights was a form o f ownership chosen deliberately by the Ottoman rulers to sidestep Islamic inheritance rules and avoid the land fragmentation inherent in these rules; see also ibid., p. 246. 8. Evsey I). Domar, “The Causes of Slavery or Serfdom: A Hypothesis,“ The Journal of Economic History, XXX (1970), pp. 18-32, has hypothesized that the state of peasants historically has been related to the land/labor ratio, so that increased scarcity of labor in relation to land would imply decreased freedom of labor. Domar discusses this hypothesis in terms of the extreme cases of free labor and serfdom, but it may, of course, be extended to cover all degrees of freedom of labor between these extremes.

An Economic Model fo r Ottoman Egypt

511

Without going into detail, we shall just mention that, thus extended, Domar’s hypothesis seems to be supported by the ups and downs of the status of peasants in Egypt. 9. Gibh and Bowen, pt. I, 242; M. de Chabrol, “Essai sur les moeurs des habitants modernes de l’Égypte,” in Description de l’Êgspte, 2nd ed. (Paris 1826), XVIII, 245-46. 10. T he sultan could sell or donate land (to become private property) if he so wished. In Egypt, some lands were sold immediately after the conquest to raise money quickly, but that was an emergency measure (Shaw, p. 29). Some privately-owned agricultural land seems to have existed, both during the Mamluk and the Ottoman periods, and such land could be sold, leased, and pledged. Moreover, the personal holding of the tax farmer (part of the tax farm) could be leased to peasants in the village, t oward the end of the Ottoman rule, lease of peasant land by villagers with relatively large farms began to take place, and a kind of mortgage loan was known at that time. See Michel-Ange Lancret, “Mémoire sur le système d ’imposition territoriale et sur l'administration des provinces de l’Égypte dans le dernières années du gouvernement des Mamlouks," in Description de l’Egypte, XI. 467. 11. Quantitatively, land and labor were the two important “private” factors of production in agriculture, the irrigation system being public. However, even the most primitive agriculture has to be “financed." From sowing to harvest some capital is invested. Organized credit did not exist and moneylenders do not appear to have played an important role in the villages. Tax farmers (and before them, the agents of the central gov­ ernm ent) seem to have served as the main suppliers o f credit, advancing seeds and other costs of production (Shaw, pp. 56-57). Interests could not be charged overtly, being condemned as usury by Islam. De facto, how­ ever. the peasants seem to have paid substantial interests to the tax farmer who had a monopoly position vis-à-vis “his" farmers. 12. Shaw, pp. 19 ff. 13. W. Cleland, The Population Problem in Egypt (l^tncaster. Pa. 1936), pp. 3-7; Gibb and Bowen, pt. I, 209; Fernand Braudel, Capitalism and Ma­ terial Life, 1400-1800 (New York 1973), p. 13; Baer, Studies, pp. 133-36. 14. Gibb and Bowen, pi. I, 242, 260, 270 n. 15. Ibid., pp. 258, 261, n. 2; Shaw, pp. 20-23; and for an earlier period, Eliyahu Ashtor, Histoire des prix et des salaires dans l’orient médiéval (Paris 1969), p. 74. 16. Gabriel Baer, “Fellah and Townsman in Ottoman Egypt," Asian and African Studies, VIII (1972), p. 236. 17. Gibb and Bowen, pt. I, 271; Shaw, p. 20. 18. Baer, “Fellah and Townsman," p. 245. 19. Shaw, p. 23. 20. John R. Hicks, A Theory of Economic History (Oxford 1969).

512

Land Tenure in the Pre-Modem Middle East

21. Shaw, pp. 22-25. 22. M. le Comte Estève, "Mémoire sur les finances de l’Égypte,” Description de VÉgypte, XII, 41-248. 23. M. P. S. Girard, “Mémoire sur l’agriculture, l’industrie et le commerce de l’Égypte,” Description de rÉgypte, XVII, 1-436. 24. "Augmentations" related to "nouvelles terres” were 200 paras (Estève, op. cit., p. 74), which means that the taxable acreage can have increased by only a few feddans. We have assumed that the acreage was unchanged. 25. Estève, op. cit., p. 103. Girard, op. cti., reports that the price of wheat from Upper Egypt was 264 livres (paras), while wheat from Lower Egypt (of better quality, according to Girard) was priced at 292 livres. 26. Girard, op. cit., pp. 52-53. Recall that the feddan at that time was about 25 percent larger than a modern feddan. Per modern feddan the yield would be some 3 to 4 ardebs. On state domains the yield of wheat was 3 to 4 ardebs during the decade 1880-90. Annuaire statistique de l’Égypte, VI (Cairo 1914), p. 448. The state domains had a reputation for low ef­ ficiency. Hence, Girard’s information about yields makes sense. 27. The average consumption (not income) of cereals per capita in Europe in the sixteenth century is believed to have been about 0.6 kg per day; see Fernand Braudel, The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Philip II (London 1972), I, 420. 28. This price was obtained from Raymond, op. cit., I, as an average for 1621-34 (Graphique 5), corrected for change in value of para (p. liv). 29. Estève, op. cit., p. 102, n. 1. 30. Estève was fully aware of this difference in the level of taxation and remarked ( op. cit., p. 103) that "cette proportion est généralement admise.” 31. Ibid., pp. 149-52. Per modem feddan this would amount to about 6 ardebs. In 1960, wheat yield in Assiout was 8.2 ardebs. 32. At the lesser wheat price of 210 paras/ardeb the rate of total taxation is 61.5 percent. 33. Shaw, p. 183. 34. Shaw, p. 66. 35. Shaw, p. 183. 36. Helen Anne B. Rivlin, The Agricultural Policy of Muhammad ‘Ali in Egypt (Cambridge, Mass. 1961), Appendix II, Table 19, p. 265. 37. The following table shows legal silver content of para and exchange rates against gold coins of constant legal gold content with implicit bi­ metallic rate for Egypt from 1415 when the para was first struck to 1798. It should be noticed that the exchange rates in Col. 2, apart from the years 1525 and 1584, are market rates and, hence, influenced by actual deviation from legal silver and gold content of para and dinar, altun, and ducat, respectively. For 1415 and 1498, the exchange rate is against dinar ashrafi which usually carried a slight discount (about 10 percent) vis-à-vis

An Economic Model for Ottoman Egypt

P aras p e r d in a r, a ltu n Im p licit p rice o f gold L egal silver con* o r d u c a t w ith 3.448 in g ra m s o f silver, bi- B im etallic ra E u ro p e , m etallic ra te , E gypt g ra m legal gold ten t o f p a ra , g ra m averag e c o n te n t (3) eq u als ( l)x(2)/3.448 (4) (2) (1)

Y ear 1415 1498 1520, 1525. 1584, 1584, 1663 1683 1686 1730 1760 1798

513

a p p r. a p p r. b e fo re dev. a fte r dev.

1.218 1.218 1.218 1.218 n.a. n.a. (0.579) 0.579 0.479 0.342 0.177 0 .079

24-25 30 n.a. 25 43 85 80 105 105 145 167 313

8.48-8.83 10.59

11 11

8.83

10V4

13.43 17.63 14.59 14.38 8.57 7.17

14«/* 15 15 15 Vi 15

So u r c e s : Col. 1— R aym ond, op. t i t . , I, C h a p . 1. W e have assu m ed th a t th e orig in al silver c o n te n t o f

th e p a ra was p re se rv e d u n til a b o u t 1525, d is re g a rd in g H a y r Bey's te m p o ra ry d e b a se m e n t. In 1535, a lread y th e silver c o n te n t w as d o w n to 0.973. W e assum e also th a t th e re was n o d e b a se m e n t fro m 1663 to 1683. Col. 2— 1415 a n d 1498, A sh to r, op. e it. , p . 279; 1525, th e fig u re is th e official ra te ap p lie d in lan d tax atio n , Shaw , p. 66; 1584, official rates, B ra u d e l, op. e it., 1 ,540; th e re m a in in g years based o n R aym ond, op. c it.. C h a p . I, a n d p. liv. Col. 4— T he C a m b rid g e Econom ic H isto ry o f E u r o p e , V ol. IV , T h e E conom y o f E x p a n d in g E u ro p e in the Sixteen th a n d S even teen th C entu ries (C am b rid g e 1967), p . 459, Fig. 5. T h e figures a re re a d o f f fro m a d ia g ra m a n d th u s n o t e n tirely a c c u ra te .

the ducat. Hence, the rates for these years may be biased slightly down­ wards. The relatively high rate for 1683 was caused by illegal debasement. From 1415 to 1730, the implicit bimetallic rate for Egypt follows that of Europe closely at a slightly lower level, in accord with the well-known tendency for silver to have an increasingly higher value in relation to gold the more we move eastward from Europe. From 1760, however, the im­ plicit bimetallic rate in Egypt drops to almost one-half that of Europe; the exchange rate no longer fully reflected the fall in the silver content of the para. The reason must be, without going deeper into this interesting matter, that the silver para remained legal tender at tax payments while its quantity increased less than in proportion to the fall in silver content. The para became then a token coin with its value determined by its quantity rather than by its metallic content. 38. Raymond, op. cit., I, Graphique 5. 39. New barrant seem partly to have originated in this way; Shaw, p. 94. New barrani amounted to 16 percent of total taxation in El Anboutin but was not at all collected in Tahtah. 40. Girard, op. cit., p. 33. With a competitive labor market in the village, a larger number of landless laborers per feddan should tend to produce higher yield per feddan and lower real wage (marginal product), and the real wage should be independent of the level of land taxation. There is, of course, the possibility that the village labor market was not competitive and that land taxes may have partially been shifted backward to wages.

514

Land Tenure in the Pre-Modem Middle East

About this problem there is no evidence, except that peasants were not allowed to hire labor until the tax farmer had satisfied his demand for labor (Estève, op. at., p. 67). The tax farmer may thus have been able to dictate the price of labor during the period it was employed by him. And since this clearly must have been the busiest season, he might in fact have dic­ tated the general wage level. 41. Estève, op. cit., p. 93. Speaking about Upper Egyptian peasants, Estève says that “ils fournissent beaucoup d’ouvriers et de domestiques au Kaire; et notamment des portiers à tous les okel de cette capitale. Ils se rendent ordinairement dans leurs villages pendant la saison des récoltes, et reviennent au Kaire après avoir pris part aux travaux qu’elles occasionent.” 42. Girard, op. cit., pp. 216 ff. 43. Estève, op. cit., p. 71, n. 1, reports that tax assessments varied between 90 and 300 paras per feddan for land of the first class; between 60 and 150 paras for land of the second class; and between 30 and 120 paras for land of the third class and for “poor land.” 44. Bent Hansen, “The Distributive Shares in Egyptian Agriculture, 1897-1961," International Economic Review, IX (1968), pp. 175-94. 45. Shaw, op. cit., p. 66. 46. This, at least, is the impression which Estève’s accounts convey ( op. cit., pp. 94-102). 47. In assuming that taxes are assessed and paid in terms of agricultural produce, we disregard the important problem of agricultural prices in terms of money. When taxes are fixed in terms of money (paras), a change in prices implies a corresponding change in taxes in terms of output. And when taxes in terms of money are increased, the fall in money prices fol­ lowing from the increased sales of produce to cover higher tax payments in terms of money implies a corresponding increase in real taxes. The increase in real taxes would thus exceed the increase in money taxes. Note that if the only supply of food to the cities is from farmers forced to sell to obtain cash for tax payments we will have T = paqa. or qa = T/pa where qa is the supply of food, pa the price of food, and T the given amount of taxes in money terms. But then the supply curve is a rectangular hyperbola, and this circumstance opens up interesting possibilities of multiple equi­ libria and instability in the market for agricultural produce. Extending the analysis in this direction, we would, however, also have to consider sales of agricultural produce beyond the need for tax payments. Such sales would clearly tend to stabilize the market. Wë do not know how ex­ tensive such sales may have been, but there must have been some indis­ pensable products that could only be obtained from the towns. 48. Our theory so far assumes that land goes out of cultivation when peasants flee from the village. We might assume that such land is redis­ tributed among the remaining peasants, or, more in accord with actual practices, is given to a landless peasant. With a traditional production function, the product per farm would then increase with decreasing n, and this might not only mitigate the fall in qd but might even make qd in­

A n Economic Model fo r Ottoman Egypt

515

crease at falling n. 1'he average product cannot increase unlimited, how­ ever, and sooner or later the tax term will take the upper hand and make qd negative. But then there must also, at a larger n < n, exist a lower un­ stable equilibrium point. The same argument applies if we assume that labor input per family is variable. 49. Shaw, pp. 18-21, 66-67. 50. Ibid., pp. 22-23. 51 .Ibid., p. 23. 52. Bent Hansen, “Public Construction Works and the Seasonal Un­ employment Problem in Agriculture" (Bangkok: ECAFE, unpublished paper), 11 September 1972. 53. Descriptions of the officialdom in the villages are given by Gibb and Bowen, I, 262-63, and Shaw, pp. 52-62. 54. Shaw, p. 22. by implication. 55. Lancret, op. cit., pp. 483-84. 56. Chabrol, op. cit., pp. 245-46. 57. Gibb and Bowen, I, 263. 58. Lancret, op. cit., does, however, mention both landless laborers (p. 483) and other economic activities (p. 484). 59. Girard, op. cit., p. 33. 60. Lancret, op. cit., pp. 466, 488, 489. 61. In Anatolia, a special tax was levied on landless rural laborers (Gibb and Bowen, I, 241), which, incidentally, indicates that there may have been many of them; but there is no indication that such a tax should have existed in Egypt (the poll tax on non-believers would have to be paid by Coptic landless laborers, but this tax would hit Coptic cultivators as well). 62. According to Girard, op. cit., p. 33, daily wages of rural laborers were 8 to 19 paras in Lower Egypt (including Fayoum) and 5 to 8 paras in Up­ per Egypt. 63. Ibid., p. 150. 64. Shaw, pp. 56, 94; sec n. 39. 65. Gibb and Bowen. 1, 242. Legally, peasants could leave their lands permanently only with the permission of the landlord. 66. Such cases are reported from the Tokugawa period in Japan; see G. B. Sansom, Japan: A Short Cultural History (New York 1943), pp. 51318. 67. Ira M. Lapidus, “Muslim Cities and Islamic Societies,” Middle Eastern Cities, ed. I. M. Lapidus (Berkeley and Los Angeles 1969), pp. 47-79. 68. Baer, “Fellah and Townsman.” 69. E. Jomard, “Mémoire sur la population comparée de l’Égypte,” Description de l'Égypte, IX, 124, estimated the population of Cairo and other towns to be 16.5 percent of the total population. Jomard’s population estimates have been severely criticized. Baer, op. cit., p. 134, estimates

516

Land Tenure in the Pre-Modern Middle East

the population of towns with more than 20,000 inhabitants to have been 8.6 percent of the total population in 1821-26. But this figure also is little more than a conjecture. 70. Gabriel Baer, Egyptian Guilds in Modem Times (Jerusalem 1964), argues that the organization of urban labor was much the same in Ottoman Egypt as in the nineteenth century, when members of some of the larger guilds (donkey drivers, builders, dock workers) clearly were of peasant origin (see also J. Bowring, Report on Egypt and Candia, by Command of Her Majesty, London 1840, p. 117). There seems also to have been a normal seasonal flux of labor between villages and towns (see Estève, op. at., p. 93). Thus the flight to towns might simply mean that seasonal workers did not return to the village. 71. We do not consider the transit trade of spices between Southeast Asia and Europe via Egypt. This trade seems to have disappeared definitely at the end of the sixteenth century (see Braudel, op. àt., I, 543 ff, “The Pepper Trade”). It was, however, partly replaced by trade in coffee. 72. Recall that our model assumes that there is no rural consumption of urban products (see n. 47). 73. Baer, Egyptian Guilds, p. 103, has shown that maximum wages existed in the third quarter of the nineteenth century in the Cairo guilds. Baer conjectures that urban maximum wages existed already in Ottoman Egypt, but no evidence exists; indeed, one source claims explicitly that the guilds exerted no control over wages at the end of the 1830s (J. Bowring, op. at., p. 117). It seems clear, on the other hand, that there were no minimum wage arrangements in the guilds or elsewhere. If we accept Baer's con­ jecture, relation (3) would have to be constrained by an upper bound. 74. We tabulate a breakdown of expenditure by category for the years 1595/96, 1648/49, and 1786/87. Expenditure of Imperial Treasury in Egypt Million paras Wages, salaries, and pensions Expenditure for Egy pt Expenditure for Pilgrimage and Holy Cities Expenditure for the Porte Total expenditure Surplus due to the Porte of which: spent in Egypt sent to Istanbul

1595/96 (1004) 31.6 5.0

1648/49 (1058) 48.9

1786/87 (1200) 58.1 6.4

4.4 7.3 48.3 20.7 n.a.* n.a.s

15.8

31.2 2.5 98.3 35.3 35.3

64.6 19.0 9.9 7.8s

‘Probably on ihc order of 5 million. *Probablv on the order of 15 million. 31649/50 ( 1059).

Source: Shaw, Table LX, p. 282. and Appendix; Tables IV and V. pp. 400-401.

Expenditures for Egypt consisted of construction works, various materials, and some wages, salaries, and pensions (Shaw. Table LI. pp. 33237).

An Economic Model fo r Ottoman Egypt

517

Expenditures for pilgrimage and the Holy Cities were partly spent in Egypt, partly remitted as cash subsidies to Mecca and Medina. The latter amounted in 1786/87 to about half the total. The part spent in Egypt was for food, materials, freight, and wages, salaries, and pensions (Shaw, p. 268). Over the period, an increasing part of these expenditures seem to have been paid in Egypt. Expenditures for the Porte were for commodities to the imperial kitchen in Istanbul, for the dockyard in Alexandria, for the army, etc. (Shaw, pp. 274-84). Surplus due to the Porte but spent in Egypt was partly for military pur­ poses, partly for construction work and ordinary administration purposes (see Shaw, pp. 805-12). 75. We assume here that urban labor is fully employed. Since at increased taxation, the increase in food supply to the towns is equal to the increase of government expenditure, urban wages (in terms of food) and, hence, prices (in terms o f food) of non-food products have to increase so much that demand shifts sufficiently toward food to absorb the increased supply. Urban real wages increase in proportion to the share of food in total con­ sumer expenditure. If there were urban unemployment or underemployment, we might conceive o f W as total wages (income), indicating urban employment. T here would then be a multiplier-mechanism such that urban income (em­ ployment) is always just sufficient for purchasing the agricultural (food) products that the peasants have to sell to be able to pay their taxes. Let the urban marginal propensity to spend on food be Cp. The urban income increase, AW, induced by an increase of tax revenue, AR, would then be AW - AR/cp. We would then have to assume that urban employment possibilities rather than (or in addition to) urban real wages are decisive for farmers' supply of labor to the villages. 76. But see n. 4 about early practices. 77. Baer, Egyptian Guilds, pp. 84 ff. 78. Shaw, pp. 118-20. 79. This is not to deny that the characteristic behavior o f this society (great stability up to a point, and then sudden breakdown) could be ex­ plained by other models than the present one. Thus, if the “supply” curve was L-shaped, and there was no collective tax responsibility, tax increases would up to a point have no effect on cultivation, but then cultivation would suddenly completely disappear. An L-shaped supply curve would, however, presume that all peasants were equal, which they were not. The sloping curve in Fig. 1 is partly an expression for inequality in the village. Note that in early Islamic society, collective tax responsibility even caused instability in the conversion of souls to Islam; see Cambridge History of Islam, II, 514. The change in collective responsibility, mentioned in n. 4, was closely related to this circumstance. Sociological models of group behavior could also be brought to bear upon the phenomenon of sudden breakdown: when one sheep runs, the whole flock will follow.

518

Land Tenure in the Pre-Modem Middle East

80. It is not possible, of course, to know what the government’s share of the agricultural product would have been had the peasants rented their lands on a competitive basis from the government. Following Domar, op. at., we should suspect that the system with cultivation right/duty and taxation was preferred, because it would yield a larger revenue than marketdetermined rentals. The existence of uncultivated land together with the homogeneity of the lands in the Nile Valley and the Delta indicates that the marginal product of labor would have been close to the average product and that, hence, the share of rentals would have been way below the needs of the Porte. See also our quotations in Section 5 about land having “peu de valeur." 81. We might consider even more stages of government: provincial governors, tax farmers, and village authorities. 82. See, for instance, M. C. Kemp and G. Hadley, Variational Methods in Economics (Amsterdam 1972), pp. 50-71. 83. Shaw, pp. 32-33. 84. Braudel, op. dt., I, 562-70; Raymond, op. àt., I, chap. 4. 85. Cambridge History of Islam, I, 345. 86. Braudel, op. cit., II, 701, maintains that “public credit did not exist in Turkey.” 87. Cambridge History of Islam, I, ii, chap. 2. 88. Ibid., p. 349. 89. Ibid., p. 344. 90. Braudel, op. dt., I, 539-40. 91. Cambridge History of Islam, I, 342 ff. 92. Shaw, p. 29. 93. Cambridge History of Islam, I, 345. 94. Shaw, p. 33. 95. Ibid., p. 32. The information in the text applies to rural tax farms. For urban tax farms, a fixed price of4,000 times the daily profit of the previous tax farmer applied (ibid., pp. 99-100). This amounts to about 11 times the annual profit, but special taxes were levied on these tax farmers. 96. Gibb and Bowen, II, 23 ff., describes the role played by “bankers” as “underwriters” and financiers of the tax farmers’ obligations. This description seems to relate to Anatolia and Rumelia before 1692 when tax farming there was still on a one-year basis. But even then there was a loan involved because the tax farmer had to pay in advance to the treasury the tax revenues eventually collected. 97. Shaw, p. 35. 98. Ibid., p. 36. 99. The revenue from sales of tax farms went directly to the Porte—that is. abroad. Thus, the change from centralized tax-collection to the tax farm system actually meant that “factor payments abroad,” instead of being

An Economic Model fo r Ottoman Egypt

519

financed by tax-collections and thus by deductions from peasants* income and consumption, were partly financed by transfer of capital from tax farmers to the Porte. Ultimately the transfer must have continued to be effectuated in commodities; otherwise, Egypt would rapidly have been drained of gold and silver coins in which the Porte actually received part of its income from Egypt. 100. If a tax farmer’s expected tenure was 10 years, the rate of interest 10 percent, and the “inheritance tax" three times the annual surplus, then for an infinite horizon the present value of a tax farm would be about eight times the annual surplus. At a tenure of 5 years and a rate of interest of 20 percent, the present value would be about three times the annual surplus. Thus the possibility of inheritance with a fee or “inheritance tax” equal to three times the annual surplus, should not in “normal” times (10-year lifetime, 10 percent interest) lower the purchasing price of a tax farm below the treasury’s reservation price of eight times the annual surplus. But in troubled times (5-year tenure, 20 percent interest), the competitive price of an inheritable tax farm should fall drastically. Thus, it is not nec­ essary to assume collusion to understand the fall in the purchasing price of tax farms during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

16 The Developm ent of Agricultural Production in NineteenthCentury Egypt: Capitalism of What Type? Roger Owen “La règne de Cromer avait transformé toute la vallée du NU en une gigantesque 'ezbé' à coton” —Salama Musa (quoted by Jacques Berque)1

T here has been considerable debate, particularly on the Egyptian left about how to characterize the developments in Egyptian agri­ culture in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. T he problem seems to stem largely from the fact that these developments do not fit neatly into any of the pre-existing categories, such as “capitalism" pure and simple, for in Egypt, unlike England or Germany, pro­ duction remained almost exclusively in the hands of peasants. Great estates were created, it is true, but, in most cases, the owners preferred to lease their land or work it in cooperation with peasant share­ croppers rather than to farm it directly using wage-labor. Thus, whereas the great increase in the cultivation o f long-staple cotton and other cash crops led to a considerable growth in the exchange and commodity market, there was little change in the actual organ­ ization o f agricultural production. Peasants continued to use their own tools and equipment; there was* no obvious trend toward a more intensive use of capital or toward an increase in productivity-raising investment, at least among the estate-holders themselves. In these circumstances, most writers have agreed that this was capitalism of a sort, but the question remains—o f what sort? Some, like Hasan Riad (Samir Amin), adopt a kind o f either/or approach. Was it capitalism? Yes, in terms of the intensive use of salaried labor; no, in terms of the way in which an abundant source of cheap labor allowed the maintenance of traditional modes of cultivation.* Others, like Ibrahim ‘Amir, prefer to characterize it as a transitional stage 521

522

Land Tenure in the Pre-M odem Middle East

standing somewhere along the line between what he calls “O riental feudalism” and capitalism.3 O thers, again, are prepared to call it capitalism, but o f a certain type, like M ahmoud Hussein, for whom it is “capitalisme bloqué,"4 o r A nouar Abdel-Malek, who places it in its wider international context as “capitalisme retardataire du type coloniale.”5 But such discussions, though useful, are generally based on very little detailed research into the developments o f the nineteenth century and, in particular, on the way in which land was actually exploited by landowners with holdings o f different size. T hose who have undertaken some such research (myself included) have done so in term s o f an inadequate theoretical structure that leans heavily on concepts taken from development economics and m odern­ ization theory (the emergence o f a m arket economy, the growth o f social differentials, the establishment o f private property in land), without suggesting how they are fundam entally related, except in a most vague and general way. It would be useful, then, to return again to the detailed question o f how Egypt’s agricultural land was exploited, but in the light o f the theoretical considerations raised by the Egyptian writers ju st mentioned. For reasons o f space, I will confine myself largely to the situation that obtained in Lower Egypt (the Delta), where the bulk o f Egypt’s cotton was grown, to the large estates, and to the nineteenth century. I will begin with an analysis o f the situation as it existed in the period 1880-1914. I will then make a few com­ ments on the forty years, 1840-80, for which very much less infor­ mation exists, before attem pting to draw some general conclusions about the process as a whole. Lower Egyptian Land Exploitation by Large Landowners (18 8 0 -1 9 1 4 ) In the years between 1878 and 1897-98, the am ount o f cultivated land in Lower Egypt increased from some 2.5 million feddans (a rough estimate)6 to nearly 2.9 million feddans. T here was then another smaller increase to 3.05 million feddans in 1912-13.7 O f this, approxi­ mately half (in 1901) was held in estates o f 50 feddans o r over, estates that, according to the usual convention, are classified as “large.”8 As for the num bers of such estate-owners who actually lived on their land, no accurate figure can be given. However, Lord Lloyd, the British High Commissioner, put the proportion for absentee­

Agricultural Production in Nineteenth-Century Egypt

523

ism among the large landowners at 70 percent in 1926.* Finally, to give just one more set of figures, the area of land planted with cotton in Lower Egypt increased from 856,000 feddans in 1884-85 to just over a million feddans in 1897-98 and 1.4 million feddans in 1912-13—or roughly 45 percent o f the cultivated area.10 By com­ parison, Middle and U pper Egypt, with a cultivated area that had grown marginally from 2.15 million feddans in 1894-95 to 2.23 million feddans in 1912-13,11 contained a smaller proportion of large estates (just over 30 percent in 1901)12 and a very much smaller area devoted to cotton (only 93,000 feddans in 1897-98 and 383,000 feddans in 1912-13),13 the reason for this being that only a fraction of the land was subject to year-round irrigation. (There may also be a connection between the area under summer cultivation and the proportion of cultivated land in large estates; at least there is a fairly close correlation between the two sets of figures.) How was the land in large estates in Lower Egypt explained? Here the key is provided by an examination of the role of the ezba, an agricultural settlement on a large estate in which the peasant pop­ ulation was given a small piece of land in exchange for labor service. According to Lozarch and Hug, the word first had the meaning of an encampment of temporary straw huts housing laborers working at some distance from their village.14 But by the time of the 1882 census, it had already been given its modern meaning o f “hameau, bourgade—groupe d’habitations construites pour des ouvriers agricoles sur des terres de culture”—a small community that gen­ erally took the name of its proprietor.15 And by 1885, the prac­ tice o f creating such ezbas was so widespread that the government introduced a regulation setting out the conditions under which they had to be established, among them the significant proviso that they could only be set up on estates of fifty feddans o r m ore.16 Ac­ cording to the 1882 census, there were more than 5,000 ezbas in the six Lower Egyptian provinces, containing around 12 percent o f the total population.17 Forty years later, a Ministry of Interior report gives the total num ber of ezbas as 17,302 for the whole of Egypt, while the 1927 census puts the figure at 16,805 (the difference being accounted for by a problem of nomenclature).18 Initially, in the period before 1880, a significant proportion o f these agricul­ tural communities must have been founded on newly reclaimed land in the north of the Delta, particularly in Bufrayra, where it was necessary to bring in labor from outside to work the fields.1* It soon

524

Land Tenure in the Pre-Modem Middle East

became the practice to found them on almost any large estate in the Delta, so that by the end o f the century, it was possible for one observer to state, categorically, that anyone owning a property o f more than a hundred feddans necessarily had an ezba.20 Mean­ while, the link between the ezba system and cotton can be shown by the fact that fewer such communities were founded in U pper Egypt, where perennial irrigation was slow to penetrate. Villiers Stuart, a British MP who visited the Delta in 1882, gives a description of one o f the early ezbas near Dam anhur. It consisted, he wrote, o f a house with a courtyard and then a laborers’ quarter containing a short street o f hovels o f Nile mud.*1 At first the pro­ prietors allowed the workers to build their houses where and how they liked, but, by the end o f the century, they were generally planned in a more regular way, the usual model being a central area o f stores, stables, offices, and a garden linked closely to straight lines o f laborers’ houses.** Within this small world, the proprietor—or his deputy, often a Greek n â;ir—was all powerful, able to interfere at will in the lives o f his tenants,*3 and it is this characteristic that has un­ doubtedly led a num ber o f writers to characterize relations within the ezba as “feudal o r semi-feudal.’’ T hat this is incorrect I hope to dem onstrate after I have given a brief account o f the various types o f arrangem ents between the owners and their workers. T h e basis o f the ezba system lay in the fact that its peasant inhab­ itants were given a dwelling place (or at least the materials to build one) and the lease o f one or two feddans o f land—at an equivalent o f perhaps half the normal rent*4—in exchange for labor services.*5 J. F. Nahas describes a system by which each peasant family was required to supply an agreed num ber o f workers at a daily wage to be determ ined in advance.26 Saleh N our El-Din, on the other hand, gives details o f an alternative system by which the labor-service was discharged on the proprietor’s own land on a crop-sharing basis, with the workers taking one-fifth o f the produce if the proprietor provided the animals, tools, and seed, and two-fifths if they did so them ­ selves.27 Some wages might be paid, however, for extra work o r for labor perform ed by wives.28 Arrangem ents for working the small plots assigned to the service tenants also varied considerably but, at root, consisted of a crop-sharing agreem ent between proprietor and cultivator in which the relative shares were determ ined in pro­ portion to input and according to who paid the land tax.** In the case of Nübär Pasha's 200-feddan estate near Kafr al-Zayyat (in

Agricultural Production in Nineteenth-Century Egypt

525

1882), for example, the two hundred workers leased their plots for a half share in the produce.30 Enough has been said to underline the importance o f the economic factor in the relationship between peasant and proprietor. Although methods of extra-economic coercion undoubtedly existed, the basis of the estate-owner’s power to exploit his workers as well as to tie them firmly to his domain lay mainly in his control over the scarce factors o f land and credit, reinforced by the fact that he was able to stand between the ezba inhabitants and access to the market for labor, working capital, or the sale o f their products.31 He could withhold day wages on the grounds of negligence. He could lend money and food to peasants in need, at rates favorable to himself.33 He could make it a condition o f tenancy that he sold the peasants’ cotton and other cash crops for them.33 Most importantly, he could use the practice of settling accounts with his workers at the end of the season (when the latter were given the balance o f what they were owed in wages, for the sale of their cotton and for their share of the produce of their rented land, less what they had borrowed or for­ feited) to bind them further to the domain by keeping them per­ manently in debt.34 Finally, far from having an obligation to provide the inhabitants of the ezba with land, as he would have had to do under a classic type o f feudal arrangem ent, he could always threaten them with the prospect of taking their small plot away from them, thereby reducing them to the state that all peasants were desperate to avoid—that of landless laborers dependent for their living on all the vagaries of seasonal employment.33 T he many advantages of this system to the estate-owners should now be apparent. Not only did they secure a permanent, readilyavailable labor force for themselves, but also one that contained men with a long experience o f local conditions—unlike contract workers who generally came in from outside and who required a great deal of extra supervision.36 Again, whereas it was necessary to pay ordinary day laborers a living wage, it was possible to pay service tenants at a lower rate, relying on the fact that they had food from their own plots to keep them going. T he estate-owners could also use the labor o f the tenants’ wives and children—something that was particularly useful during the cotton-picking season (or for removing leaves infected with the cotton worm)—again at low rates. T he peasants, too, could be used to look after the oxen and cattle required for work on the estate, an activity that was much

526

Land Tenure in the Pre-Modem Middle East

more costly if the proprietor had to do this at his own expense.37 In exchange for all these advantages, all the owner had to forego was a proportion o f the rent he could otherwise have got if he had leased the service tenants’ plots at ordinary commercial rates. But whether or not service tenancy was actually the most profitable method o f exploiting agricultural land from the owner’s point o f view is another matter. This can only be examined in terms o f the various alternate methods available. One, which has already been briefly considered, was to farm the land using outside workers. These could either have been drawn from the increasing num bers o f land­ less peasants,38 o r from settled bedouins, or from local peasant pro­ prietors who were anxious to supplem ent their own agricultural income. A last alternative was to use the service o f labor contractors. Such men were active as early as the 1870s, and, a decade later, the system o f bringing down gangs o f workers from U pper Egypt during the sum m er season when there was no water for them to cultivate their own land was so well developed that, according to Artin, some 500,000 to 800,000 were employed in this way during the years 1888-91.39 Landlords generally preferred the easy option o f paying their workers in kind—with a share of the harvest. However, in most cases it is probable that they had no alternative but to pay in cash. Some rough estimates o f the general level o f money wages are given in the Appendix. Unfortunately the evidence is much too weak to show how this level was determ ined, but it is at least a possibility that it usually represented no more than was necessary to keep the worker and his family alive. Otherwise, if the proprietor did not wish to exploit all o r part of his estate himself, he could always let it out to tenants. Once again, practices varied considerably. Until the last decade o f the nine­ teenth century, far and away the most common method seems to have been some variant o f the crop-sharing system (metayage),40 the only practice possible at a time when the provision o f rural credit was so little developed that most tenants could not hope to obtain the animals, seeds, and implements they required without the co­ operation of a wealthy owner. In some cases, such agreem ents were reached with the peasant inhabitants of the ezba, in which case they might receive a fifth or a sixth of the crops, while the landlord re­ tained the right to sell their cotton for them .41 In other cases, the tenants came from outside the estate, and the produce was shared

Agricultural Production in Nineteenth-Century Egypt

527

according to a whole host o f arrangements, some o f them very com­ plex, according to the size o f the input which each party provided.42 However, as time went on and as cotton came more and more to dominate the economy o f the Delta, there was a tendency to switch over to a system o f cash rents (fermage) or, at least, to a form o f ar­ rangem ent in which some payment of money was combined with some agreement to share the crops.43 T he advantages, from the landlord’s point o f view, were numerous. For one thing, much less supervision was required than under the fermage system, in which the landlord and his agents had always to be on the alert to insure that they obtained their proper share. Again, at a time of rising agricultural prices, as was the case after 1894, and also o f a growing demand for land, it was a relatively easy m atter to increase the landlord’s profit simply by putting up the rent, or, in some cases, by putting the right to lease land up for auction.44 U nder a crop-sharing system on the other hand, a proportion o f the profits from any rise in prices went to the tenant. Finally, under a cash rent system, the burden of all the uncertainties naturally in­ herent in agricultural life, due to the weather, to the flooding o f the Nile, or to sudden changes in yields or prices, was no longer shared between landlord and tenant but thrust entirely onto the shoulders of the peasant. T he only uncertainty, from the landlord’s point of view, was whether the rent would be paid, and this they attem pted to insure by the practice of letting large blocks of land to intermedi­ aries, on the security of a mortgage. It was the intermediaries who then sublet the land into smaller blocks.49 T he State Domains ad­ ministration seems to have been the first to introduce this system, as early as 1883,46 but by the years just before World War I, it had clearly become common in many parts o f the Delta, acting further to force up rents.47 Unfortunately, there are no figures that would show how much of the agricultural land on the large estates was exploited in these various ways at different points in time. T he enquiry form for the 1917 census did contain a question designed to elicit how much land was being rented, but no such statistics appear in the census itself. All that exists is the assertion made by a num ber o f experts that the system o f cash rents was rapidly gaining ground over that of sharecropping from the late 1890s onward.48 T here seems no reason to doubt this, particularly in view o f the very pronounced upward trend in rents shown by the few scattered estimates 1 have been able

528

Land Tenure in the Pre-M odem Middle East

to collect in Table I. But whether this obvious increase in the profit­ ability of leasing land made any inroads into the practice o f using service tenants to farm the landlord’s own land it is impossible to say. It is true that by the last decade o f the nineteenth century, it was usually asserted as a m atter o f dogma that it was m ore profitable to lease the land o f a large estate than to farm it oneself.49 It was also asserted, equally categorically, that the practice o f renting out estate land was on the increase.30 On the other hand, there is plenty o f evi­ dence that a num ber o f proprietors continued to cultivate their properties on their own accounts,31 so that the overall picture remains obscure. Those who argue that it was more profitable to lease large estates than to farm them directly generally support this argum ent with an appeal to two sorts o f “facts.” First, there is the assertion o f one expert that even the best-managed estate could only manage a re­ turn o f 7 to 9 percent on capital when exploited directly.3* Second, there is the argum ent that when it came to landed property, prof­ its were in inverse proportion to size. By this they seem to have m eant that, assuming the prevailing technique and the prevailing method o f organizing agricultural labor on the ezbas, peasants could always cultivate their own small plots at less cost per feddan—largely because they could use all their family’s labor and did not have to pay for the expense o f a large army o f supervisors. It is also ar­ gued that peasants could work their fields more intensively, for ex­ ample, by sowing an extra crop of birsim before planting their cotton, something that was impossible on the large estates because it would have left too little time to prepare the land for spring sowing.33 In either case, the peasants’ willingness to exploit both their land and themselves so intensively is probably to be explained in term s o f Chayanov’s observations concerning the anxiety o f peasant family units to maximize returns from their tiny plots, and his related point that, to do this, they were willing to add more and more labor even though its marginal rate o f return sank very low.34 But such argum ents presuppose that the majority o f estate holders were unable or unwilling to reorganize their own system o f pro­ duction in such a way as to take account o f certain economies o f scale, and this too requires an explanation. Some may have been content to maintain their ezbas, complete with service tenants, sim­ ply because this allowed them to maintain a certain aristocratic style of life.33 But at a more im portant level, the answer must surely

Agricultural Production in Nineteenth-Century Egyfft

529

depend on a combination o f two factors: the existence o f cheap labor and the fact that it was very difficult to mechanize the produc­ tion o f cotton beyond a certain point.56 In addition, for those who bought land during the period o f sharply rising prices after 1900, the rate o f return would have been so low that they would have been likely to put it straight out for rent. These are not argum ents that should be pushed too hard, how­ ever. T here is plenty of evidence that some proprietors at least were willing to invest in new machinery—like the European plow, which allowed significant economies in time and labor costs57—or who sought to maximize profits by a mixed system whereby, for example, they used their best land to grow cotton on their own account and leased the rest.58 Given the present lack of information it is impossible to go further. However, it may be o f interest to use the estate books of just one large property to show how its fields were exploited, for this is the only kind o f evidence that might provide answers to the questions already posed. They refer to the land belonging to Mustafa Manzaloui (Manzalawi) near the Nile at Abu $Ir in Gharbiya and to the years 1880-81 and 1907-11, although only the second book provides suf­ ficient detail to show how the estate was actually managed.56 It in­ dicates that in 1907, Manzalawi possessed 600 feddans o f his own, in addition to which he rented another 456 feddans from a neighbor­ ing estate at an average o f nearly £E6.5/feddan—undoubtedly some­ what below the usual rate for the district, as a result o f the fact that it was part of a waqf (known as the Kazandar waqf).60 O f this total, he leased 430 feddans to tenants, at an average o f at least £E7.0/ feddan, and farm ed the rem ainder himself, 200 feddans of which he placed under cotton. Labor came from two sources. In the first place, there were the inhabitants of his own ezba. For example, they provided something between 100 and 180 workers a day during October 1907, the height of the cotton-picking season, at a rate of two or three piasters. Second, there were laborers brought in by outside contractors, perhaps two or three hundred o f them in Oc­ tober. T he latter were paid the same daily wages as the service ten­ ants (and, incidentally, the same daily wages as contract workers had received in 1880). [See the note on agricultural wages, below.] Gross profits for the year 1907 included just over £E3,000 in rents from the period Ju n e to October, and over £E6,000 from the sale o f Manzalawi’s cotton. Against this must be set the money he paid

530

Land Tenure in the Pre-Modem Middle East

to rent the land from the Kazandar waqf and a wages bill o f some ££900, also for the five m onths from Ju n e to October. It would seem likely that the same pattern o f farm ing some land directly with labor provided by service tenants and contract workers, and then leasing the rem ainder, was followed by a significant num ­ ber o f large proprietors, but there is no way o f proving this. If true, however, a certain num ber o f im portant consequences would fol­ low. First, as far as the land exploited directly by the large landowners themselves was concerned, the fields generally continued to be cul­ tivated by peasants using largely traditional implements u n d er the supervision o f men like the Greek nâ?irs who were probably picked more for their connections with local moneylenders and cotton m erchants and for their ability to maintain discipline than for any agricultural expertise. This was certainly a powerful factor act­ ing to inhibit any tendency toward an increase in the level o f produc­ tivity-raising investment, particularly in more capital-intensive m eth­ ods o f culdvation using machines. T he proprietors o f the large estates were willing to purchase items like steam pum ps (of which there were over 2,500 in the Delta in 1882) and chemical fertilizer, where they could be fitted into the existing pattern o f agricultural production.*1 But that was all (see Table 2). Meanwhile, where land was leased for cash, there were similar barriers in the way of improvement. Indeed, things may even have worked the other way, with many landlords failing to take even the most elementary precautions to insure that their tenants preserved the fertility of the soil (for example, by insisting on a three-year cotton rotation62 o r by helping them to purchase fertilizer).63 Second, this tendency was reinforced by the way in which the large, mostly absentee, landlords were able to use the ezba system o r the rise in cash rents to secure a major part o f the rural surplus, a process aided by the fact that from the 1890s onward, the pro­ portion o f land tax to agricultural income declined rapidly. T he result was that Egypt’s most im portant source o f capital accumulation was in the hands o f a class that habitually spent its profits outside the rural sector. T hird, it follows that in Egypt, as elsewhere, it would be wrong to identify the scale o f production with the size of the estate.64 Were it possible to compare the large estates with medium properties o f 5 to 50 feddans o r small ones o f up to 5 feddans, it seems likely that there would be little distinction between them in terms of such significant indicators as the percentage o f output sold, the value o f inputs per feddan, yields, or the productivity o f labor.65

Agricultural Production in Nineteenth-Century Egypt

531

Finally, it also follows that such investment as was carried out in major works of agricultural improvement was largely the work of the government or o f foreign land companies using money from Europe (see Table 2). Agricultural Land Exploitation in Lower Egypt by Large Landed Proprietors (1840-1880) Muhammad ‘Alfs policy of returning the control of Egyptian agricultural land into the hands of private individuals, begun in the late 1830s, had a number of aims. It can be seen as an attempt in part to introduce a new method of rural admit.- ,ration at a time when it was clear that the state apparatus could no longer discharge the many duties that had been given it.60 But it is clear that it was also thought of as a means of forcing wealthy individuals to pro­ vide the agricultural sector with much-needed working capital, as well as with the funds required for investment, in the develop­ ment o f existing lands and the reclamation of new.07 T he new estates thus formed can be divided into three: jifliks, ‘uhdas, and ab'âdiyas, the essential difference between them being, for the purposes of the present analysis, the status of their peasant population. Where­ as on the jifliks (most of which were administered by members of the royal family) the peasants lost all their usufructuary rights and were reduced to something like day laborers, on the ‘uhdas the muta‘ahhid was given only a small portion of the land for his own use, the rem ainder being left in peasant hands.08 Lastly, on the ab‘ädiyas, which generally consisted o f cultivable but uncultivated land, the holder could only have managed to work them by persuad­ ing peasants, or perhaps even bedouins, to come and settle there from outside. These distinctions obviously had an important ef­ fect on the way the various estates were farmed. T he so-called royal jifliks, estates of many hundreds of thousands of feddans controlled by Muhammad ‘Alî and his family, were all exploited as one large unit with its central directorate in Cairo, ac­ cording to the Frenchman P. N. Hamont.09 As a result, orders were given about what crops should be planted and how and when, which took no account of regional differences, while officials were ap­ pointed with little or no agricultural experience. T he resulting inefficiency and bad management more than offset the many ad­ vantages that the jifliks enjoyed in terms of being able to use the power o f the state to have canals dug to obtain first access to water, and to borrow money. It also had much to do with the fact that

532

Land Tenure in the Pre-Modem Middle East

working conditions were often so bad that many of the peasantlaborers fled and had to be forcibly brought back. It was this that no doubt forced the authorities to introduce a num ber of conces­ sions. Initially, the peasants were supposed to have been paid a sixth of the cereal harvest; now they were to be allowed to farm a few feddans on their own, using the animals belonging to the state,70 although whether these reforms were ever actually put into prac­ tice it is impossible to say. T he jifliks administered by other members of the royal family like Ibrahim and Sa‘Id were also very large but seem to have been better managed, with some care being taken to retain the peasants on the land by paying regular wages and allowing them to farm part of the land and to own a few of their own animals.71 T here was also a considerable emphasis on the use of machines, which members of the royal family clearly saw as an answer to some of the problems posed by a serious shortage of agricultural labor and animals. As ‘Abbas, the future Viceroy, explained to Hekekyan during the cattle murrain of 1842, the introduction of steam power would be “the only and most effectual remedy for the evils which the agriculture of the country would suffer from similar epidemics (in the future).”7* With a few exceptions, the proprietors of ‘uhdas experienced much more difficulty. Not only were they responsible for seeing that taxes were collected regularly, but they also had to provide the working capital required both by their own part o f the estate and by the peasants who cultivated the remainder. Furthermore, they were badly placed when it came to competition with the royal jifliks for scarce agricultural labor, and it seems likely that their protests at the way in which their workers were simply commandeered by the managers of neighboring jifliks was one reason for their heated confrontation with Muhammad ‘AIT in 1844.73 As a result, it is un­ likely that many of the muta‘ahhids were much dismayed when the bulk of their estates were taken over by ‘Abbâs I in the early part of his reign.74 The situation on the estates in the 1850s is more difficult to under­ stand, due to lack of information and to the fact that each new ruler tried to use his power to build up large holdings for himself and his sons, often at the expense of other members of the royal family.73 But one thing is clear: this was a period in which land was begin­ ning to be regarded as a profitable investment. The price of cereals rose dramatically as a result of a brief boom induced by the Crimean War. More importantly, there was a rapid development in the ex­

Agricultural Production in Nineteenth-Century Egypt

533

port sector, with the area under cotton doubling in size as railways were built, ginning factories established, and facilities for the pro­ vision of agricultural credit very much extended.74 Members of the royal family, high officials, and some foreigners took advantage of the situation to obtain land or to put their existing estates on a more profitable basis. Some o f the land they farmed themselves, often with the help of European agricultural experts,77 while the rem ainder was subject to some kind o f crop-sharing arrangem ent, the proprietors providing seed and equipment in exchange for a share of the final harvest or even, in a very few cases, for cash.78 It is against this background that we should view one other im­ portant development of the decade: Sa'id’s attempts to reassert state control over the agricultural sector, first by levying the tithe ( ‘ushr) on a great deal o f land that, like the ab'ädiyas, had previously gone untaxed; then, in 1858, introducing a land law designed to regularize the position regarding the various categories o f land. This was not a situation that all the large proprietors found to their liking, and there is some evidence of protest, particularly at the provisions of the 1858 law giving peasant-held kharâjîya land some­ thing close to the status of private property, a measure that some must have thought would make it more difficult simply to annex such holdings to the neighboring estates.79 But they need not have worried. Although Sa'id’s law did something to put an end to the more or less anarchic situation in the land that had prevailed since the end o f Muhammad ‘All's reign, it was still easy for anyone with access power to build up sizable properties for himself, as well as to insure that these were well supplied with water and corvée labor and that they paid little or no tax. This was the situation that continued to obtain during the reign o f Ismâ'îl, when the further intensification o f cotton cultivation during and after the American Civil War as well as the introduction o f a European type of mortgage law in 1876 made it even more profitable to own large estates. T he khedive himself led the way by building up possessions that by 1878 amounted to nearly a million feddans grouped in 51 estates, about half in Lower Egypt.80 These he tried to farm much as his grandfather M u h a m m a d ‘Ali had done, by uni­ fying them into two vast administrative systems and placing all the resources of the state at their disposal. Canals were dug, animals collected, and the dispossessed peasants pressed into service. He also imported agricultural machinery on a vast scale and, as early as 1864, was said to have owned some 200 steam plows. But once

534

Land Tenure in the Pre-Modem Middle East

again, as was the case with Muhammad ‘Alfsjifliks, the estates were far too large for efficient management, and it seems likely that they rarely, if ever, showed a profit.81 A few other members o f the royal family (notably Halim, Sa'id’s younger brother)83 and one or two high officials followed suit. But it would seem probable that the vast majority o f those who built up estates for themselves at this time were less ambidous. It is true that they, too, enjoyed many advantages through their connections with the state administrative apparatus.83 On the other hand, there were certain fundamental problems that made it difficult to follow the same path. One of these was the continued shortage o f agricultural labor. Once a large estate was created, there was no point in simply expelling the existing peasant population. Some means had to be found of insuring an adequate supply of workers. In some cases, outside peasants could be attracted to live on the estate by the promise that the proprietor would make sure they were exempt from both corvée and conscription.84 But as a rule, the ezba system may well have been looked upon as a more secure means of providing the labor that was needed. A second problem concerned the use of machines, which were difficult to operate and expensive to run.85 After a brief period during and after the Cotton Boom when they seemed to offer the answer to the labor shortage, most of the ma­ chinery was abandoned—travelers report seeing steam engines and steam plows rusting by the roads86—and their owners returned to more traditional methods. Apart from steam pumps (of which there were nearly 500 in Egypt in 1873),87 it is likely that by the end of Ismael’s reign, the use of European machinery was confined almost exclusively to the royal estates. Finally, the method of exploiting large estates adopted by the khedive required a great deal of personal attention and the maximum of supervision. However, the majority of the new estate owners were either officials resident in Cairo or men who were anxious to live there.88 They were thus unwilling to adopt a system that would involve a great deal o f trouble for them­ selves. For all these reasons, it seems likely that the characteristic meth­ od of exploiting large estates, which began to emerge in the 1870s, was one in which the owner farmed only part of his estate himself, using service tenants from his ezba, such day laborers as he could find, and peasants supplied by local contractors who were able to use their links with provincial administrators to coerce men into working for them,88 paying them either in cash or with a share of the produce.80 Meanwhile, the remainder of the estate would have

Agricultural Production in Nineteenth-Century Egypt

535

been leased under a crop-sharing arrangem ent, perhaps like the one described in a British commercial report for 1872/73 in which the land was worked under the supervision o f the proprietor in ex­ change for half the produce.91 Historical Processes In o rd er to answer the question raised at the beginning, we will start with a brief definition o f what is m eant by a capitalist organ­ ization o f agricultural production. This is taken to be a system in which: 1. T he means of production are privately owned and can be bought and sold. 2. Production is on the basis of free wage-labor, and there is a m ar­ ket for such labor. 3. Production is for sale on the market. 4. T h e aim of producers is to maximize profits in money terms. 5. T h ere is a tendency toward accumulation or, in other words, toward a reinvestment o f profits in expanding the scale of the en­ terprise and raising productivity. It should be stressed, however, that this is not a kind o f checklist to be applied mechanically in any situation but rather a guide to the analysis of particular historical processes. What were these processes in Egypt? T he first development to note is the growing commercialization o f Egyptian agriculture from the 1840s onward, a process marked by an increase in the proportion o f agricultural output produced according to a profit calculus and destined for the market, as well as an increasing differentiation among the peasantry according to the amount o f land they controlled and a growing army o f wagelaborers. These trends, and the fact that they took place within the context o f Egypt’s incorporation into the European economic system, have obviously been enough for some writers to characterize the system of production that emerged as “capitalist.” But it is not that simple. T o begin with the period 1840-80, enough has been said to in­ dicate that as far as the establishment o f large estates—and, by the same token, the creation of a class of landless peasants—was con­ cerned, this process had its origin not in the development o f local m arket forces but in an exercise of state power. It was Egypt’s rulers who handed over a large part of the Delta to government officials and Egypt’s administrative system that allowed others to seize land for themselves. Meanwhile, the fact that this is to be seen very much

536

Land Tenure in the Pre-Modem Middle East

as an exercise o f power is underlined by the absence o f any observable pressure from the beneficiaries of this process for the creation of greater legal security. As has also been observed, the estate-holders were probably well aware that any move in this direction would make it more difficult for them to add to their lands by dispossessing their peasant neighbors. T he first tentative move toward the establish­ m ent o f private property in land was entirely the work o f the coun­ try’s rulers, for reasons o f their own, and they were always pre­ pared to disregard what some have taken as the spirit o f their pol­ icy in the interests o f building up their own holdings o r confiscat­ ing the assets of an official like Ismâ’Il $àdiq (or, latterly, a soldier like ‘UrâbT), who had fallen from grace. T he method by which the large estates were exploited also had its roots deep in this period. For those largely Cairo-based officials who obtained possession o f great tracts o f land, it seemed natural that they should attem pt to deal with the problem o f cultivating a labor-intensive crop like cotton in their domain using institu­ tional arrangem ents for maintaining a body o f service tenants, which had already been tried out on the royal estates. Only in the 1880s would it be correct to describe these arrangem ents as resting largely on methods o f economic rather than straightforwardly political coercion. Apart from the service tenants, extra labor was obtained where necessary from a variety o f sources outside the estate. W hether it would be correct to call this a labor m arket in the classical sense is another matter. For the most part, workers were either pro­ vided by labor contractors or came from the increasing num ber o f landless families that remained trapped in the agricultural sec­ tor due to lack o f employment possibilities outside. T here is thus a very real possibility that wages were dem and-determ ined and that they consisted o f little more than was necessary to provide the worker and his family with food. In these circumstances, it would be incorrect to talk o f the landholders appropriating surplus value from free labor. At present, however, there is insufficient evidence to be categorical (see Appendix). As for that part o f the estate that was let to tenants, this situa­ tion too presents certain unusual features. Here, two points have been made. First, the land was let not in large blocks to capitalist farmers but in small plots to peasants. Second, with the switch to cash rents, the landlords were able to raise the level o f these rents at regular intervals. Following Chayanov, it is suggested that the reason for this phenom enon is to be seen in the way in which peas-

Agricultural Production in Nineteenth-Century Egypt

537

ants were prepared to depress income and consumption per fam­ ily labor unit for the sake o f the security o f income ensured by the right to work even very small plots of land. Thus, not only were costs lower but, to the extent to which they were also prepared to employ a higher labor input than on the large estates, the land may even have been made to yield more. This was not, however, a sign of greater peasant efficiency, as is sometimes stated, but a sign of weakness reflecting the pressure for land.92 It could not have led to peasant accumulation o f capital. T he consequences o f these developments have already been suggested and do not need to be described again in detail. In brief, while the organization of production was little changed, control o f the agricultural surplus remained in the hands o f a class of large proprietors who spent a major portion o f their profits outside the rural sector. Egyptian agriculture was thus destined to remain strictly within the limits set by its dependence on peasant cultiva­ tion. On the basis of this admittedly very partial analysis, it would seem correct to return to Abdel-Malek’s characterization—“cap­ italisme retardataire du type coloniale”—and to view Egyptian agricultural development as a distinct form o f capitalism result­ ing from the integration of a precapitalist economy into the world capitalist system. During this process, the engine of which was the dynamics o f the world system itself, there developed a capital­ ist ownership o f the land, an increasing use of wage-labor and in­ creasing commodity production. On the other hand, this was a capitalism without local capitalists. And although its development was accompanied by the destruction o f certain precapitalist methods of exploiting the rural population, these were immediately replaced by others. It is a pattern that was repeated in many parts of the non-European world. A P P E N D IX A Note on Egyptian Agricultural W ages T he problem of the way in which wages are determined in peas­ ant agriculture remains controversial. Briefly, there are those who argue that such wages are determined institutionally—usually with reference to minimum food requirements93—and those who assert that they are subject to the ordinary laws of supply and demand, with the rate governed by the value of the marginal product.94 It would be o f interest to test these hypotheses in the case of Egyptian agricultural wages during the period, but the evidence does not al­

538

Land Tenure in the Pre-Modem Middle East

low this. All that can be said is that the figures provided below do give some support to the belief that in Egypt wages rem ained more or less constant in real terms (i.e., in terms o f the price o f maize) over the period between the 1870s and the First World War. However, even if this could be proved for certain, the reason for it would still remain unclear. On the one hand, it might be argued that it was, at least in part, a consequence o f the power o f the large landowners to fix rural wages; on the other, it might equally well be ar­ gued that the phenom enon was the result o f the fact that the supply o f labor managed to keep in step with increasing dem and as a re­ sult o f such factors as the growth in populadon and the use o f the reserve army o f seasonal workers brought into the Delta from those areas o f U pper and Middle Egypt still without perennial irrigation. It may also be that the dem and for labor did not increase quite as fast as the expansion in the cropped area might seem to suggest, on account o f the fact that continuous improvements in the system o f irrigation (as well as the purchase o f steam pumps) m eant that fewer m an-hours were required to lift water up on to the fields. Isolated Estimates of Agricultural Day-xvages in Egypt, 1870-1914 Pt. 2 (Daqahliya, Qalyübîya, Gharbiya, Minufiya)' Pt. 114 (Sharqlya)1 1880 Pt. 2 and 3 (Contract labor o f Manzalawi estate) 1883 Pt. 214 (+food) (Estate in Lower Egypt)* Pt. 2 (+14 Nili crop) (Estate o f 100 feddans in Lower Egypt)3 1886 Pt. 2 (Estate o f 300 feddans in Lower Egypt)4 1888-89 Pt. 214 (Estate of 300 feddans)3 1899 Pt. 2-3 (National average)* 1890s Pt. 3 (National maximum)7 1901 75 centimes (Pt. 2.9) (Contract labor in Lower Egypt)* 1907 Pt. 2 and 3 (Contract and service tenant labor on Manzalawi estate) 1909 Pt. 3 (National average)7 1914 Pt. 214-3 (Lower Egypt)* 1873

Sources: 1. Egypt, Statistique de l’Égypte, 1873 (Cairo 1873), p. 269. 2. “Reports by Mr. Villiers Stuart MP respecting the reorganisation of Egypt,” Pari. Papers LXXXII1 (1883), pp. 176-77. 3. Enclosure in Dufferin to Granville, 28 April 1883, Pari. Papers. 4. Enclosure in Drummond Wolf to Salisbury, 19 January 1886, Pari. Papers, LXXIV (1886), p. 305. 5. A. Chélu, Le Nil, Le Soudan, L’Égypte (Paris 1891), pp. 250-54.

Agricultural Production in Nineteenth-Century Egypt

539

6. J. B. Piol Bey. “Causerie ethnographique sur le fellah,” Bull. Soc. Khed. de Geog. (Cairo), 5th Series, IV (1899), p. 218. 7. R. de Chamberet, Enquête sur la condition du fellah égyptien (Dijon 1909), p. 17. 8. Nahas, p. 170. 9. M. A. Lambert, “Les salaires dans l’entreprise agricole égyptienne,” L'Égypte Contemporaine, CCXI (1948), p. 229. Price of Egyptian Maize Year Pt^ardeb (An 1873 77.6 1874 100-115 1875-79 77-103 1880-84 64-93 59-80 1885-89 49-69 1890-94 49 1895-99 64 1900-1904 88 1905-9 1910-13 85

erage)

Sou rces:

1873 1874-94

1895-1913

E. Rossi, Im Population et les finances: Question Égyptienne (Paris 1878), p. 39. Official customs tariff, quoted in J. G. Chakour Bey. "les rapports de M. Villiers-Stuart sur L’Ég\pte,” L'Égypte (Cairo), XVIU-XIX, 1 July 1895. p. 608. (Export prices) Annuaire statistique 1914, p. 387.

T A B L E I: V arious E stimates of t h e A verage L evel of E gyptian R ents , 1890-1914 (£E/feddan) Early 1890s 1902 1907 1910 1912

1.40-1.50 (Lower Egypt)' 4.00 (Lower Egypt)2 8.00- 11.00 (Middle/Upper Egypt, perennially irrigated land)3 7.00- 9.00 (First-class land)4 10.00- 12.00 (Perennially irrigated land)3 8.00- 10.00 (I.ower Egypt)"

540

Land Tenure in the Pre-Modem Middle East

So u rces:

1. M. Schanz, Cotton in Egypt and the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan (Manchester 1912), p. 45. 2. Belgium, Recueil consulaire, CX1X (1902), p. 297, 3. Egypt, Ministry of Public Works, Reports upon the Administration of the Irrigation Service in Egypt for the Year 1907 (Cairo 1908), pp. 23-24. 4. Anglo-Egyptian Mail, II, 28 (August 1910), p. 166. 5. Le Comte Cressaty, L'Égypte d'aujourd'hui (Paris 1912), p. 162. 6. Schanz, p. 45.123

TABLE II: I ndices

P ublic and P rivate I nvestment in E gyptian A griculture (annual averages at current prices [£Em.]) of

Government in­ Paid up capital Imports of vestment in irriga­ in rural land agricultural tion drainage companies machinery (2) (1) (3) .117 (1883) .046 1882-83 .229 1884-89 .221 (1892) .185 1890-94 1.002 (1897) .209 1895-99 1900-1904 2.238 (1902) .859 204** 8.537 (1907) 1.419 1905-9 174 1910-13 .659 7.887 (1911) * 1902-4 only •* 1906-9 only

Imports o f chemical fertilizer (4)

.017* .140 .530

So u r c e s:

(1) S. M. Radwan, “Capital Formation in Egyptian Industry and Agriculture, 1882-1967," London Ph.D. dissertation (1973), Table 2-1. (2) M. M. Hamdi, “A Statistical Survey of the Development o f Capital Invesment in Egypt since 1800,“ London Ph.D. dissertation (1943), p. 70. (3) and (4) Egypt, Ministère des Finances, Annuaire statistique, 1914 (Cairo 1914), pp. 302-3.

Agricultural Production in Nineteenth-Century Egypt

541

TA B L E III: A C omparison of th e C otto n Y ields on C ertain L arge E states and t h e A verage for L ow er E g y pt , 1896-1913

(qi ntär/feddan)* Däira o f Prince Muhammad Däira of Ibrahim TüsCin Pasha (Sharqiva) (Buhavra) State Domains Lower Egypt (4) (2)' (3) (1) ' 1890-94 3.66 4.5 4.51 1895-99 4.64 5.14 3.16 5.56c 1900-1904 4.36a 3.19 4.58 4.69 1905-9 2.86 3.40 4.45 4.52b 1910-13 3.97 4.50d * Figures for Däiras in columns 1 and 2 refer specifically to the production of mit afifi, the most common variety oi cotton planted in Lower Egypt. a. excludes 1901 b. excludes 1908 c. excludes 1894-95 d. excludes 1910 Sources: (1), (2) Egypt, Ministère de I'lnterieur, Rapport général de la Commission du Coton, 1910 (Cairo 1910), Plate A. (3), (4) See E. R. J. Owen, Cotton and the Egyptian Economy, 1820-1914 (Oxford 1969), p. 191.

542

Land Tenure in the Pre-Modern Middle East

N O TE S 1. Histoire sonate d'un village égyptien au XXème siècle (Paris and The Hague 1937), p. 23. 2. H. Riad, L'Égypte Stisserienne (Paris 1964), pp. 29, 31. 3. Al-Ard wa'l-fallâh (Cairo 1958), pp. 81-82. 4. Ixi lutte des classes en Égypte (Paris 1969), pp. 24-27. 5. Idéologie et renaissance nationale (Paris 1969), p. 112. 6. Egypt, Ministère de l’Interieur, Essai de statistique générale de l'Égypte, I (Cairo 1879), pp. 123-29. 7. Egypt, Ministère des Finances, Département de la Statistique Générale, Annuaire statistique de l'Égypte, 1914 (Cairo 1914), pp. 322-23. 8. The actual figures are that in 1901,of 3.125 million feddans of privatelyowned land (an area slightly larger than the cultivated area), 1.601 million feddans were held in estates of 50 feddans and over—51 Vc. G. Baer,,4 Histoiy of hind ownership in Modem Egypt, 1800-1950 (London 1962), Appendix II. 9. Lloyd to Chamberlain, 3 December 1926, FO 371/3304/410/16. 10. T. Ellison, The Cotton Trade of Great Britain (London 1886), p. 337. 11. Egypt, Ministère des Finances, Département de la Statistique Générale, Annuaire statistique de l'Égypte, 1910 (Cairo 1910), pp. 238-39: Annuaire statistique, 1914, pp. 322-23. 12. Baer, pp. 226-27. 13. Annuaire statistique, 1914, pp. 322-23. 14. J. l^o/.ach and G. Hug, L'habitat rural en Égypte (Cairo 1930), p. 156. 15. Egypt, Recensement général de l'Égypte 1882 (Cairo 1884), Intro., xxxi. 16. Egypt, La législation en matière immobilière en Égypte (Cairo 1893), pp. 88-89. 17. Recensement général de l'Égypte 1882, p. 203. T here are two major problems concerning the use of the 1882 census. First, most authorities U'lievc that it underestimated the total population, perhaps by as much as a million. Second, the figures for e/.bas contain those for nazlehs and nags as well. 'Fhe latter term was applied exclusively to communities in U pper Egypt, but the former was used of bedouin or former bedouin villages o f which there must certainly have been a number in the Delta. 18. E. Minost, “Essai sur le revenu agricole de l’Égypte." L'Égypte con­ temporaine, CXX1II (November 1930), p. 709. 19. V. M. Mosséri and C. Audebeau, “Quelques mots sur l’histoire de l’e/lH'h égyptienne," Bulletin de l'Institut Égyptien, 111 (1920-21), p. 33. 20. S. Nour El-l)in, “Conditions des fellahs en Égypte," Reime d'Islam, III ( 1898), p. 5. 21. Yillers Stuart. Egypt after the War (London 1883), pp. 27-29. 22. Lo/acli and Hug. p. 158.

Agricultural Production in Nineteenth-Century Egypt

543

23. I.ozach and Hug. p. 159: J. F. Nahas, Situation économique et sociale du fellah égyptien (Paris 1901), p. 137. 24. Nour F.l-Din, p. 6: A. Rayer, V o y a g e a g r i c o le d a n s la v a l l é d u S ' i l (np. nd.—prêt. 1901), pp. 307-8. 25. A similar system of service tenancy existed in many other parts o f the world. Cf. M. Mörner, “A Comparative Study of Tenant Labour in Parts of Europe, Africa and Latin America 1700-1900: A preliminary report on a research project in social history," Latin American Research Rexnew, II (1970), pp. 3-15. 26. Nahas, pp. 141, 143. 27. Nour El-Din, pp. 5-6. 28. R. de Chamberet, Enquête sur la condition du fellah égyptien (Dijon 1909), p. 19. 29. Nour El-Din, p. 6; Nahas, pp. 134-35. 30. V. Stuart, pp. 144-45. 31. For an example of these monopoly powers in an Indian context, see A. B haduri, “A Study of Agricultural Backwardness under Semi­ feudalism,” Economic Journal, LXXXVIII, 329 (March 1973), pp. 120-37. 32. Nahas, p. 135. 33. Ibid., pp. 134-35. 34. Ibid., p. 135. 35. This point is made forcefully by Amir, p. 124. 36. Nour El-Din, p. 5. 37. J. B. Piot Bey, “Coup d'oeil sur l’économie actuelle du bétail en Égypte,” L'Égypte contemporaine, VI (March 1911), pp. 201-2: Société Sultanienne d’Agriculture, Almanach 1918 (Cairo 1918), p. 254. 38. T here are no figures for the number of landless families until 1919 when they are estimated at 355,438 or just over one-third of all agricultural families in the Delta (Sir O. Thomas, “Agricultural and Economic Position o f Egypt," 26 April 1920, p. 21, a copy of which can be found in the Milner Papers, Oxford, Box 164). 39. Y. Artin, “Essai sur les causes du renchérissement de la vie ma­ térielle au Caire dans le courant du XIXe siècle (1800 à 1907),” Mémoires présentés à l’Institut Égyptien, V (Cairo 1907), p. 87. 40. Cf. H. Pensa, L’Égypte et le Soudan Égyptien (Paris 1895), p. 113. 4L Nahas, pp. 134-35. 42. W. Cartwright, “Notes on Rent, Labour and Joint-O w nership in Egyptian Agriculture,” Cairo Scientific Journal, IV. 41 (February 1910), p. 30. 43. Ibid. ; P. G. Elgood, “Egyptian Agriculture,” Cairo Scientific Journal, IV, 41 (February 1910), p. 100. 44. Cf. my Cotton and the Egyptian Economy 1820-1914 (Oxford 1969), pp. 243-44: A. Lambert, "Divers modes de faire valoir des terres en Égypte,"

544

Land Tenure in the Pre-M odem Middle East

L’Êgtpte contemporaine, CLXXVI-CLXXVII (March/April 1938). pp. 181200. 45. H. S. Boustani. Pour l’agriculture égyptienne (Cairo 1920), p. 21. 46. D. M. Wallace. Egypt and the Egyptian Question (London 1883). pp. 360-64. 47. Cf. “Letter from Native Notable o f Gharbia," T anta 26 January 1910, Anglo-Egyptian Mail, 4 October 1910. 48. J. A. Todd. Political Economy (Glasgow and Edinburgh 1910), p. 53; Elgood, p. 100; Rayer, pp. 315-16. 49. C. Pensa, Les Cultures de l’Égypte (Paris 1897), p. 77; Rayer, pp. 3067; M. Schanz, Cotton in Egypt and the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan (Manchester 1913), pp. 44-45; A. Chélu, Le Nil, Le Soudan, L ’Égypte (Paris 1891), p. 256. 50. Cf. G. P. Foaden and F. Fletcher, Textbook of Egyptian Agriculture, II (Cairo 1910), p. 360. T here was a similar trend on the land belonging to the State Domains, Annuaire statistique 1914, p. 446. 51. Cf. Rayer, p. 306; or the list o f large landowners using Egyptian fertilizer in H. D. Parodi, “La fabrication des engrais au Caire,“ L'Égypte contemporaine, III (May 1910), p. 430. 52. Schanz, pp. 80-81. 53. Foaden and Fletcher, II, 360-61. 54. A. V. Chayanov, Theory of the Peasant Economy. This argum ent assumes that each peasant proprietor possessed a large family whose labor he could call upon, but o f course this was not always true, particularly in the case o f the young (perhaps newly married) or the old (where the sons may have set up on their own). In such circumstances, they would have to rely on wage-labor. Cf. A. Barnett, “A Sociological Study o f the Gezira Scheme in the Sudan,“ Manchester Ph.D. dissertation (1973), pp. 49-50, 121. 55. This is a point made by Hussein, p. 27. 56. These points were made during the period under discussion by W. L. Balls, Egypt of the Egyptians (London 1915), p. 193. 57. C. Audebeau and V. Mosseri, “Le labourage en Égypte,” Bulletin de l'Institut Égyptien, 5th series, IX (1915), pp. 83-127. 58. Cf. IRimbert, pp. 188-89. 59. T hese copybooks are in the possession o f Professor M ahm oud Man/aloui o f the University of British Columbia, to whom I am grateful for allowing me to use them. 60. In the two previous years he had rented 200 feddans from the same waan relations in northern Syria, and thus drawn our attention to the existence o f one specific pattern o f these relations. Unfortunately, he deems that he has done more than that, namely, found an absolute rule valid for all o f Syria or even the Middle East in general. “En Syrie,” he says, uil y a scission brutale; dès qu’on franchit la porte des villes on tombe dans un monde social différent et inférieur, celui des fellahs. Point de commune mesure: jamais un fellah ne deviendra un citadin; il restera derrière sa charrue et ses fils de même. Et cela presque avec la rigueur d’une loi de caste.”140 None o f the great metropolises of Syria is truly characteristic of urban-rural relations, whereas the three smaller towns that he has chosen as an example are typical.170 Furtherm ore, after having chosen a typical example, he continues to discuss the subject in terms of the Middle East.171 In addition, Weulersse does not limit any of his statements in time, and he implies that they are valid without such limitation. In fact, they apply to the area in which ’Alawi peasants live, and particularly to the periods of the nine­ teenth and early twentieth centuries. But, as has happened to some scholars after having studied intensively one area or one period, Weulersse attributes to his findings much wider and more general significance than they have.17* Palestine-1 Lebanon. A third area with a different pattern o f ruralurban relations was the hill country of Lebanon and Palestine. Until approximately the middle of the nineteenth century, this area dif­ fered from all the other areas with which we have dealt so far in a principal feature o f its social structure: with few exceptions, the countryside was economically and politically dominated by families o f notables who lived in the countryside itself, not in towns, and whose position was hereditary. Lebanon was divided into twentyfour muqäta'ät, and each of these had a ruling family, muqäfa'afi, except for three families each of whom ruled more than one muqäfa’a: the Junbaläts; the Abu al-Lam’s; and the Nakads. All these families

Village and City in Egypt and Syria

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o f muqâta'ajïs resided in villages: the Junbaläfs in Mukhtära or Ba‘dharän; the Arsläns in Shuwayfät; the Abû al-Lam*s in Bikfayyâ; the ‘Imäds in al-Bärük; the Hubayshs in Ghaztr; the Khäzins in ‘Ajaltün, Ghüs(â, Rayfün, Mazra‘at Kafr Dabyän, and other villages in Kisrawän. Only the Nakads resided in Dayr al-Qamar, which was a small town. T he rule of the muqâta'ajï was hereditary, and the region over which his governmental rights extended was called 'uhda. He was responsible for order, security, and agricultural production. A major function o f the m uqa|a‘ajT was the financial administration of his ‘uhda; he collected taxes from his subjects and turned them over to the amir or frakim, the central and superior ruler o f the Lebanon. T he muqâta'ajï was exempted from the land tax on his own private holdings, which often amounted to a high proportion of. the land of the muqâta'a. The fellah’s relationship to the muqâta'ajï and his faction was a bond of allegiance and loyalty called Lsmiya (or sumiya). In Palestine, no central and superior ruler intervened between the Ottoman vali and the multazims, but, otherwise, conditions were very similar. Both Jabal Nablus and the Judean Hills were divided into nàkiyas, which were administered by local shaykhs. These were appointed by the Ottomans, who were, however, restricted in their choice to the family or families that held an almost hereditary right to the post. T he shaykhs o f most of the important families built castles or fortresses for themselves in the villages in which they resided: the Jarrärs in Çânür, the ‘Abd al-Hâdîs in ‘Aràba, the Banü Ghäzls (Rayyäns) in Jam m â‘In, the Jayûsïs in §üfîn and Kür, the Barqàwïs in Shïfa, the Sam hä ns in Ràs Karkar, the Sahwils in ‘Ibwayn, the Abu Ghoshs in Qaryat al‘Inab, etc. Taxes were paid to the central government through these shaykhs, and the fellaheen showed their loyalty by supporting them in the quarrels with their rivals. T he reason for the different pattern of this third area is obvious. T he mountainous countryside o f Lebanon and Palestine was much less accessible to the urban-based government or the urban elite than the plains in the neighborhood of Damascus or Aleppo or of the flat Nile Valley. Therefore, local rural notables were able to assert themselves as tax farmers and rulers of their village or area of vil­ lages, and even maintain this privilege in their families as a hereditary right. In this area, indeed, the economic domination o f the village by the city began only in the nineteenth century. One important consequence of the lack of economic domination

634

Society in the Pre-Modem Middle East

o f the town and the residence o f the “upper class,” the tax farm ers in the village, was the higher standard o f material well-being in this rural area than in the villages o f the Syrian plains o r the Nile Valley, or, in other words, the smaller difference in material well­ being between rural and urban population when compared with that of Egypt o r Syria. This is true at least for rural Lebanon, which has been prosperous from the earliest times,179 but apparently also for Palestine. We have seen that in Egypt, at the time o f a famine, fellaheen flocked into towns, in the hope o f finding food. In Palestine, the situation seems to have been different. This is what Mrs. Finn writes: A remarkable instance occurred during the scarcity and famine in 1854. when the war had raised the prices of provisions, and when the effendis o f the city, by buying up the wheat stores, had caused extreme distress, especially to the poor Jews. A fellah then resolved to do what in him lay to mitigate the sufferings of the poor, and, though he himself was not rich o r powerful, to reduce the price o f com. He brought his little store o f wheat, a single camel load, into the market of Jerusalem, and, spread­ ing his own aba (cloak) on the ground, emptied the grain out of the sacks, crying aloud to the poor to come and buy. . . ,174

However, the greater administrative isolation o f rural areas in Lebanon and Palestine resulted in the greater conservation o f local customs in the countryside, especially in the field o f law. In Lebanon, the muqâta’ajî and the bâkim perform ed judicial functions. T he muqâta’ajï heard cases and imposed punishment of various kinds, and in the bâkim’s court criminal cases and cases concerning property were tried. T he muqâta’ajî also carried out judgm ents given by the clergy (mainly in matters o f personal status, such as marriages o r inheritance).175 Moreover, the law o f personal status o f the pre­ dominantly rural Maronites and the totally rural Druzes differed significantly from the Sharf a that was applied in the towns. T he most im portant difference was the law of inheritance. M aron­ ite law permits a testator to dispose freely of a large part o f his estate (one-half to two-thirds, as against one-third according to Muslim law), and sometimes even o f the whole estate. Even after Muslim law was introduced by Bashîr II, Maronite fathers often trans­ mitted their estates to one or more o f their children only during their lifetime. “C'est ainsi que les familles de la Montagne ont pu conserver les anciennes propriétés de leur aïeux, jusqu’à nos jours.’’176

Village and City in Egypt and Syria

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Similarly, according to Druze customary law, a testamentary dis­ position was valid whether it concerned part of the whole o f an estate or whether it was made in favor of an heir or non-heir. Such a testamentary disposition, for instance, was one o f the reasons for the enormous wealth o f Shaykh Bashir Junbalaf.177 Both the Maronite and the Druze laws of inheritance tended to conserve the power o f the notable families o f the mountains. Al­ though Palestinian fellaheen were predominantly Muslim, here, too, rural law differed considerably from urban judicial systems. In Jerusalem, for instance, there was a dual court system: the sharfa courts and a mixed court consisting o f the pasha, the notables, and a few Christians. But in the villages, the customary law ( 'urf) was preferred, administered by the village shaykhs and ikhtiyâriya (elders). In southern Palestine, it was called sharfat al-Khalil (Abra­ ham’s law), in contrast to sharfat Muhammad. For instance, blood money ( diya) according to sharfat al-Khalfl was 4,000 piasters for a man and 2,000 for a woman, whereas the town qadi imposed much higher amounts, sometimes reaching 30,000 piasters. Fellaheen claimed that a city verdict was not binding since it did not follow ‘u rf procedure: “Seraglio (palace) law is no law." T he qadi o f the sharTa court and the secular courts recognized the jurisdiction of sharfat alKhalll in the villages and even pressed the pasha to impose its judg­ ments on villagers who tried to elude them; but this legal system was ex­ clusive to the rural areas, and town residents did not refer to it. It would seem that this customary law was common to Muslim and Christian villages; in the latter, it was called fruhm ‘ashä’irt.,78 r u r a l -u r b a n c o n f l ic t . Political and economic domination by village-based families o f notables had a marked influence on the formation of rural-urban conflicts in Palestine and Lebanon. First, in contrast to Egypt, there were practically no fellah revolts against their multazims or muqäta‘ajls until the middle o f the nineteenth century. Wherever fellaheen were involved in conflicts (mainly as the result of the aggravation of the tax burden), they followed their shaykhs in their struggle against the central government or, in Lebanon, against the superior am ir.179 Most probably this was the result of the close allegiance and loyalty o f the fellaheen to their rulers, who resided among them and were their leaders in the factional strife, the most prominent political feature of this area at that time. However, at the end o f the 1850s a great revolt o f peasants against

636

Sodety in the Pre-Modem Middle East

their muqâta'ajîs broke out in Kisrawän in the north-central part of Lebanon.180 It is interesting to note that in Lebanon a peasant revolt occurred in the period of transition in which the rule o f the muq§ta‘ajl families deteriorated and new economic and political conditions emerged. As we have seen, in Egypt, too, the period o f transition between the iltizäm system and Muhammad 'AG’s new order brought about a sharp intensification o f peasant revolts. How­ ever, while in Egypt these revolts definitely had the flavor o f a ruralurban conflict (at least from the point o f view of the urban-based government), this was not at all the case in Kisrawän. T he revolt o f the peasants was directed exclusively against the muqäta’aji family o f the Khäzins, who lived in the villages o f Kisrawän. T he only in­ volvement on the part o f the town in this revolt was a certain am ount of support given to the peasants by the town-based clergy and by the inhabitants o f some small towns in Kisrawän. T here can be no doubt that this difference had a decisive influence in the outcome o f the revolt. In contrast to the Egyptian revolts, the revolt o f Kisrawän’s peasants was successful: the Khäzins were driven out of Kisrawän, their estates were expropriated and, most important, the achievements o f the rebellious peasants in the course o f the re­ volt were in fact maintained after its end. T he rural character o f the dominant social class in Lebanon had yet another meaning for the formation of rural-urban conflicts. As we have seen, no division occurred in Egypt between a countrybased gentry and an urban bourgeoisie, neither in the Ottoman period nor in the nineteenth century. This was primarily because both the multazims and the capitalist landowners of modern times lived in the towns. Since the Lebanese muqäta'ajis did not, a con­ flict between them and an emerging urban bourgeoisie was much more plausible than in Egypt. In fact, signs of such a conflict appeared at the period of transition from the traditional system to a new order (i.e., the first half of the nineteenth century), both in southern and in northern Lebanon. In the south, the amir Bashir II, who at­ tempted to limit the power o f the muqäta'ajis, stimulated the growth and development of the towns o f Dayr al-Qamar and Zafileh as a counterpoise to the hitherto exclusive predominance o f the Druze lords. Dayr al-Qamar rose from a population o f about 1,300 in 1812 (when Burckhardt visited it) to about 8,000 inhabitants, mostly Christians, and became famous for its silk manufactures. Its mer­

Village and City in Egypt and Syria

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chants became rich, built luxurious houses, and Druze landed prop­ erty in the neighborhood passed into their hands. They assumed an air of independence and superiority as a sign of their emancipa­ tion from Druze control. This eventually led to clashes with their former feudal superiors, the Druze shaykhs of the Abü Nakad family and other muqäta‘ajis. Zafrleh’s inhabitants, whose number increased to 12,000, traded in wool and farmed in the Biqä‘, formerly the domain of the Druze lords. In the late 1850s, they had risen in a rebellion against the Druze amirs, had appointed a municipality of their own, and had formed an alliance against their rivals, the Druze muqâta'ajls, with Dayr al-Qamar. However, in the course of the violent disturbances in Lebanon in 1860, these two suffered severely, and much of their former prosperity was liquidated.181 In the north, a similar conflict developed between the Khäzins, the muqâfa‘ajîs of Kisrawàn, and the inhabitants o f the town of Züq Mikhäyil, north of Beirut, most of whom were Greek Catholics. Their relative prosperity, derived largely from the silk trade and silk processing, had made them independent of the shaykhs. As a result of the antagonism between them and the Khäzins, they de­ clared their support for the rebellious peasants.188 Thus, for a short time, the Lebanese rural lords clashed with an emerging urban bourgeoisie; things changed as a result of the liquidation of the power and privileges of these lords in 1861 and subsequent economic and political changes in Lebanon. These changes resembled to a large extent those of Egypt and Syria already discussed. Jerusalem and the Nablus Area. We noted before that Syria and Palestine consisted of a great variety of social patterns; how great this variety was can be seen from a comparison between two towns in the hill country of nineteenth-century Palestine—which, accord­ ing to our scheme, was only a subregion of the area representing the third pattern. The following comparison between rural-urban relations in Jerusalem and the Nablus area is based on a detailed and thorough study of Palestine in the first half of the nineteenth century, whose main theme is the feud between the Qays and Yaman factions.183 The principal difference between the two towns was that while the importance of Nablus was limited to its immediate vicinity, Jerusalem’s sanctity to the three monotheistic faiths gave it an im­ portance transcending the area of the Judean hills. Jerusalem’s

63H

Society in the Pre-Modern Middle East

population of about 15,000 to 16,000 comprised about 5,000 Muslims, 7,000 Christians, and 3,500 Jews, whereas almost all o f the 8,000 to 9,000 inhabitants o f Nablus were Muslims. T he notable families of Jerusalem—the Khâlidïs, Nusaybas, Nashâshlbïs, ‘Alamïs, Husaynis, Dajanls, Järallähs, and Ansâris—had lived for hundreds o f years in the city, and many o f them held religious offices. In con­ trast, the leading families o f Nablus—al-Nimr, Tüqân, and ‘Abd al-Hàdï—were partly o f rural origin and had arrived there as late as the middle o f the seventeenth and the beginning o f the eighteenth century. As a result of Jerusalem’s religious importance and its prom inent place in the Ottoman administrative hierarchy, the city had several institutions which did not exist in Nablus. After the Ottoman res­ toration, it was raised to the rank of mutasarriflik, and in 1854 to a velayet. From 1841, the region was governed by an Ottoman pasha and a majlis al-idâra (advisory council) was established. In Jerusalem resided a Greek Orthodox patriarchate, a Latin patriarchate (re­ established in 1847), and, in 1841, an Anglican bishopric. In 1838, a British consulate was opened, followed by the French and Prussian in 1843, the Austrian in 1849, and the Spanish in 1854. Nablus was important solely because o f its function as an administrative center for the surrounding mountain area. A family of village notables aspiring to control Jabal Nablus firmly had to move into the town. Thus, the fact that the *Abd al-Hâdls moved to Nablus perhaps played a decisive part in their being appointed governors by Ibrâhîm Pasha. Jerusalem’s strictly urban character and its foreign administration tended to widen the gap between the city and the surrounding rural area, whereas the more independent and local nature o f government in Nablus necessitated close relations between the town governors and the rural population. In contrast to the governor o f Jerusalem, the ruler of Nablus was dependent on the acquiescence o f the nähiya shaykhs: thus, when they opposed the rule o f the Tüqäns, the latter were prevented from collecting taxes from the rural areas. O n the other hand, in Nablus, nähiya shaykhs were able to gain control o f the town’s government, which did not happen in Jerusalem. The different town-village relations in the two areas found various expressions. In the Jerusalem area, there was a sharp contrast be­ tween rural and urban law, shaiTat al-Khalîl and sharfat Muhammad.

Village and City in Egypt and Syria

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In the Nablus area, on the other hand, unwritten customary law (al-qajä’ al-'urß) was valid both in the city and the countryside, and one o f the urban notables, Shaykh ‘Abd al-Hâdi, was known as an ‘urfï judge as far away as the Judean hills. T he most remarkable difference, however, was the different part each o f the two towns played in the Qays and Yaman feuds and other factional strife o f the countryside. Nablus’ notables led the factional wars and took an active part in them, and fighting sometimes occurred even in the city. T he town quarters were split along factional lines: city dwellers joined in the village skirmishes, and in the city itself, they tried to sabotage the efforts o f their rivals. Not so in Jerusalem, which was never the scene of fighting in the factional wars. T he city’s quarters were not divided between opposing groups, and the city’s notables neither led the fighting nor did they, or any other townspeople, play any active part in it. T he pasha’s helplessness in the face o f factional strife, and his inability to suppress it by force, compelled him to negotiate with the leaders o f the opposing sides. T he forum of these negotiations was the majlis al-idära, in which the notables possessed great power and influence. Since the pasha needed the help of the notables to govern, they were able to turn the factional strife to their own advantage. Just as they were bribed by the con­ sulates, the monasteries, patriarchates, and others to advance their respective interests in the majlis, they were used by the village fac­ tion leaders in the same way. Thus the Lafibams, ‘Abd al-Rafiman 'Amr, and especially the Abü Ghôsh family had their allies in the majlis. Although it sometimes seemed that the effendis were also split into Qays and Yaman, the city’s participation in the factional strife was secondary and unconnected with the Qays-Yaman schism of the fellaheen.

Conclusion Studies of urban-rural relations in the Middle East have suffered in the past from too much generalization. Most authors who dealt with this question attempted to achieve a general model o f what happened in this regard in “the Islamic world,’’ of “les relations entre les villes et les campagnes d’O rient,” or about “city and country

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Society in the Pre-Modem Middle East

in Islamic society.” It is our conviction that this is an impossible task. Here we have tried to show the enormous variety that existed in these relations, the changes that occurred in this respect in one coun­ try (Egypt) in the course of its history from Mamluk to m odern times, and the differences between towns so near to one another as Jerusalem and Nablus. These differences were not the result o f a single cause o r even o f a definite set o f circumstances, but rather o f the interplay o f geo­ graphical, political, economic, social, cultural, and historical fac­ tors. Each o f these factors influenced urban-rural relations at some specific period and place to become a dom inant force in social develop­ ments. To begin with, it is due primarily to the geographical peculiarities of Lebanon and certain parts o f Palestine that rural-urban relations in these areas differed from those in other Middle Eastern regions. T he mountains of Lebanon and o f the interior o f Palestine kept these areas apart from the urban-based power of the central govern­ ment. Thus local rural notables were able to assert themselves as tax farmers and rulers o f their village o r area o f villages, and even maintain this privilege in their families as a hereditary right. As a result, the town did not dominate the villages politically and eco­ nomically in this region. In general, both Syria and Egypt comprised a great variety o f urban-rural relations that were the result of different sociopolitical structures and characteristics o f the different towns. In Palestine, Jerusalem ’s religious importance involved a demographic and ad­ ministrative situation that separated it from its rural neighbor­ hood, whereas in Nablus the urban population did not differ very much from the surrounding villages. In this case, the rural notables were able to gain control o f the town.1*4 Some o f the smaller towns o f northern Syria were characterized by sharp ethnic and religious differentiation between the urban and rural population, resulting in a sharp difference between town and village. On the other hand, the larger towns o f the interior plains of Syria, Aleppo and Damascus, apparently had stronger ties with their respective agricultural vicin­ ities—comparable not only with northern Syria and Lebanon, but also with the Nile Valley. This may have been the result o f the dif­ ferent spatial pattern (two towns in the Syrian interior against one predominant city in the Nile Valley). But in the Ottoman period at least, sociopolitical conditions contributed to the difference as

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well. In Egypt, the imported Turkish-speaking Mamluks who re­ sided in Cairo were the village tax farmers and rulers, whereas the countryside near Damascus had become the malikäne of notables, mer­ chants, and ulema. This difference in the social character of the tax farmers or village owners resulted in stronger political, economic, and religious ties between Damascus (and perhaps also Aleppo) and its rural hinterland than those that existed in Egypt at that time. But at the turn o f the century, when Cairo’s ulema had increasingly become multazims, more examples of relations between Cairo and fellaheen were recorded by Jabartî than for earlier periods.185 Egypt’s political history from Mamluk times to World War I seems to indicate that in periods o f a strong and centralized gov­ ernm ent urban-rural ties became closer, whereas a weakening of government tended to separate the countryside from the city. Com­ pared with Mamluk Egypt, during the time o f Ottoman rule, the power of the central government certainly deteriorated, especially during the seventeenth and eighteenth century, a period of relatively weak political ties between Cairo and the Egyptian countryside. But the new centralized state established by Muhammad ‘AIT and his successors displayed a ramified administrative and legislative activity attempting to integrate the village into the body politic; at least partly, these attempts were successful. Economic changes throughout these three periods brought about parallel results. During the Ottoman period, the urban economy of Egypt experienced a considerable decline. This had two effects: first, villages became less dependent on urban crafts, and, second, there was practically no urbanization at that time. In the nineteenth century, however, Egypt’s economy not only grew quantitatively, but underwent a transition from subsistence agriculture to cash crops, accompanied by a tremendous expansion of transport. As a result, urban moneylenders and merchants penetrated into the village, and a system of “rent capitalism’’ was established that con­ siderably strengthened economic and other ties between town and countryside. At the beginning of this study, we divided our discussion into three sets of relations between village and city: similarity or dif­ ference; contact or isolation; and conflict or integration. In this summary, we have dealt so far only with the impact o f different con­ ditions on the second set. We have tried to show that the same con-

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ditions did not necessarily affect the first set in a parallel m anner. In other words, growing contact was not necessarily accompanied by growing similarities between town and village, but in most cases rather by greater differences between them. This is true particularly for the nineteenth century, when economic and cultural differen­ tiation between the two environments widened. However, not all aspects o f the first set always went together. In some parts o f Syria and Lebanon cultural and religious differences went together with economic similarity. Growing contact is not always accompanied by greater differences (for instance, this rule is probably not true for the twentieth century). Finally, concerning the third set, we have seen that there were very few social conflicts in Egypt and Syria along urban-rural lines. In fact, there was only one instance o f such a conflict—in Lebanon. This certainly was no accident: only Lebanon, and to some extent southern Palestine, had a hereditary aristocracy residing in the countryside. When this feudal system deteriorated about the middle of the nineteenth century, an urban bourgeoisie em erged in the small Lebanese towns and clashed with the traditional muqâta’ajï families. But, even this conflict was o f a short duration. However, it should be stressed that the lack o f urban-rural conflict in the Middle East was not the result o f an integrated society comprising town and countryside, but rather o f a social structure in which the village was dom inated by one o r another urban elite.

NOTES 1. Ira M. Lapidus, “Muslim Cities and Islamic Societies,” Middle Eastern Cities, ed. Ira M. Lapidus (Berkeley and Los Angeles 1969), pp. 47-74. 2. Ira M. Lapidus, Muslim Cities in the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge, Mass. 1967). 3. Yûsuf al-Shirblnï, Hatz al-quhüf ß sharh qaftd Abï-Shâdüf (Cairo n.d., al-Maktaba al-Mahmiidiya), pp. 112, 166. For details on this source, see G. Baer, “Fellah and Townsman in Ottoman Egypt," Asian and African Studies, V III (1972), pp. 221-56. Also Princeton Near East Paper Number 16 (Princeton 1973). 4. P. S. Girard, “Mémoire sur l’agriculture, l'industrie et le commerce de l’Égypte,” Description de l'Égypte, État Moderne, II (Paris 1812), p. 593. Cf. W. S. Blackman, The fellàhin of Upper Egypt (London 1927), p. 154. 5. For references, see Baer, "Fellah and Townsman,” nn. 41, 42.

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6. S. D. Goitein, “Townsman and Fellah, a Geniza Text from the Seven­ teenth Century,” Asian and African Studies, VIII (1972), pp. 257-61, (1). 7. Baer, ibid., p. 232, and nn. 43, 44; Goitein, ibid., (5), (6), (7). 8. Baer, ibid., p. 233; Goitein, ibid., (11), (12). Cf. also ‘Abd al-Rabmän al-Jabartî, 'Ajà'ib al-âthâr fTl-tarâjim wa’l-akhbàr (Bulaq 1297/1880), I, 248. 9. ‘Abd al-Wahhâb al-Sha‘rânï, Lafà’if al-minan quoted in M. Winter, “Sha‘rânï and Egyptian Society in the Sixteenth Century,” Asian and African Studies, IX (1973), pp. 313-38. 10. Baer, op. cit., pp. 231, 233-34. 11. ‘Alf Päshä Mubarak, Al-Khifaf al-tawßqiya al-jadida (Bulaq 1304-5/ 1886-89), XIV, 76. 12. John Gulick, “Village and City: Cultural Continuities in Twentieth Century Middle Eastern Cultures," in Middle Eastern Cities, p. 144. 13. Baer, op. cit., pp. 230, 246-48. 14. Shirbini, pp. 12, 18, 29; Jabarti, III, 196. 15. M. de Chabrol, “Essai sur les moeurs des habitants modernes de l’Égypte,” Description de l’Égypte, État moderne, II, ii, 481. This is a typical example of the use of the word “propriétaire” for multazim. 16. Jabarti, III, 140. 17. Ibid., p. 166; IV, 233-34; I, 204; etc. 18. O. Gräber in Middle Eastern Cities, p. 78. 19. Cf. “List o f Egyptian Guilds,” in G. Baer, Egyptian Guilds in Modem Times (Jerusalem 1964), pp. 166-76. 20. Girard, pp. 594, 601-2, 609; Mubarak, XVII, 61. 21. Girard, pp. 591 ff. Cf. Blackman, pp. 135-54; Mubärak, e.g. IX, 82, 90. For baläf, see Girard, p. 593; cf. also Blackman, p. 142. 22. M. Michaud and M. Poujoulat, Correspondance d’Orient (Paris 1834), VII, 57 (written in 1831). 23. Girard, pp. 595-96. Mubarak mentions in detail some of the villages in Fayyum that were most famous for the production o f woolen fabrics (XII, 20; XIV, 36; XV, 69). 24. Girard, p. 599. 2 5 .Ibid., pp. 597,600. 26. Ibid., p. 600. 27. Mubarak, VIII, 60. 28. See, for instance, ibid, IX, 14, 61. 29. Girard, pp. 603-4; also Blackman, pp. 155-61, and Mubärak, passim. 30. Mubärak mentions oil-pressing in six villages only, and Girard (pp. 605-8) does not say where this craft was practiced. 31. Girard, pp. 594, 613; Mubärak, XI, 57. 32. Mubärak, XII, 44. 33. Ibid., p. 115; Hekekyan Papers, III, British Museum Add. 37450, fol. 231 (written January 1847).

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34. Mubarak, XV, 35. 35. Ibid., XVI, 50. 36. Girard, pp. 590, 6 17. 37. Lapidus, “Muslim Cities and Islamic Societies,” p. 64. 38. “Misir içinde iki bin alums bag bostan ve gaytan vardir,” Evliya Çelebi. Seyahatnamesi, Misir, Sudan, Habef (1672*1680). X (Istanbul 1938), p. 359. Evliya’s figures should not be taken by any means as accurate statistics! For the guild of gardeners in Cairo, see A. Raymond, Artisans et commerçants au Caire au XVIIle siècle (Damascus 1973), I, 309. Fowl’s eggs were hatched in Cairo in special incubators ( ma'mal farrüj) on a large scale ( ibid., p. 3 11). 39. M. Jollois, “Notice sur la ville de Rosette . . . ,” Description de l'Égypte. Il, 339-40. For a Cairo amir who sold fruit from his gardens, see Jabarti, II, 151. 40. Cf. Iliya F. Harik, “T he Impact o f the Domestic Market on RuralUrban Relations in the Middle East,” in Rural Politics and Social Change in the Middle East, ed. R. Autoun and 1. Harik (Bloomington and London 1972), pp. 342-43. 41. Service Historique de l’Armée, Château de Vincennes, sous-série B (hereafter: Vincennes), no. 81, passim. 42. Le comte Estève, “Mémoire sur les finances de l’Égypte.” Description de l’Égypte, État moderne, I, 322. 43. Vincennes, no. 162, pp. 46-48. 44. Ibid., no. 82; no. 162, pp. 39-40; Jabarti, I, 305; II, 226. 45. Vincennes, no. 162, p. 30. 46. Girard, pp. 597-98, 600, 621, 625-28; E. W. Lane, Description of Egypt, III, British Museum, Add. 34082, pp. 12-13 (written 1825-26). 47. Shirbinl, pp. 22, 27, 200, 209; Jabarti, II, 143, 154; Raymond, I, 208, 351. 48. Cf. Harik, ibid., p. 343. 49. Girard, pp. 628-29; Raymond, I, 246. 50. Shirbinl, pp. 6, 13-14, 30, 34. 51. Ibid., pp. 84, 125. 52. Michel-Ange Lancret. “Mémoire sur le système d ’imposition ter­ ritoriale et sur l’administration des provinces de l’Égypte . . .” Description de l'Égypte, État moderne, I, 250. 53. Ibid., p. 244; Jabarti, IV, 109. 54. Jabarti, IV, 207. 55. Ibid., I, 26; II, 83-84; Raymond, I, 87, 104. For a similar situation in the nineteenth century see Robertson Smith to Vivian, Cairo, 14 March 1879 and Report by Mr. Beaman on the state of the Nile villages, Cairo, 15 March 1879, Public Record Office (P. R. O.), F. O. 141/131. 56. Cf. J. Abu-Lughod, Cairo, 1001 Years of the City Victorious (Princeton 1971), pp. 22. 37, 52, 57. and notes to these pages. In comparison, the

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same author has frequently stated that Cairo has been attracting migrants from rural areas throughout its history. This has been explained by higher urban than rural mortality rates, which created vacancies to be filled by a “floating population.” However, this hypothesis needs proof. See J. AbuLughod, “Varieties of Urban Experience: Contrast, Coexistence and Co­ alescence in Cairo,” in Middle Eastern Cities, pp. 167-68. Table 2 (p. 169) is adduced as proof that there was migration to Cairo “much earlier than the present century,” but its figures relate only to 1917, 1947, and 1960. For the decline of Cairo’s population in the eighteenth century, see also Raymond, II, p. 812. 57. On the poor state of Egypt’s provincial towns of the Delta at the end o f the eighteenth century, see du Bois-Aymé et Jollois, “Voyage dans l'intérieur du Delta,” Description de l’Égypte, État moderne, II, i, 97, 105, 108, 114. 58. Abu-Lughod, Cairo, pp. 50-51. 59. See sources quoted in G. Baer, “Guilds in Middle Eastern History,” in Studies in the Economic History of the Middle East, ed. M. A. Cook (London 1970), pp. 12-14; S. M. Stern, “The Constitution of the Islamic City,” and C. Cahen, “Y a-t-il eu des corporations professionnelles dans le monde musulman classique?” in The Islamic City, ed. A. H. Hourani and S. M. Stern (Oxford 1970), pp. 25-63; Lapidus, Muslim Cities, pp. 96-101. In view of this conclusion, the present writer would revise some of his formulations in pt. 1 of his Egyptian Guilds. 60. For detailed discussion, see G. Baer, Egyptian Guilds, passim. 61. Ibid., pp. 105-9; idem, “Monopolies and Restrictive Practices of Turkish Guilds,'JESHO, XIII (1970), pp. 145-65. 62. Information on functionaries of the iltizäm according to M. Sharon, Agrarian Relations in Eighteenth Century Egypt, unpublished seminar paper, Jerusalem 1962, pp. 14-20. Sharon's summary is based mainly on JabartI, Lancret, and Estève. 63. Ibid., p. 10, based on Jabartî, I, 187, 206, 343-45; Girard, p. 510. For other cases of Bedouin multazims see Mubarak, VIII, 28 (Abu Manä’, Qena province); and for fellaheen who had become clients, tenants, or even some sort of slaves of bedouins, see ibid., p. 82, and Girard, pp. 512-13. 64. On the Habä’iba see JabartI, I, 345-49. On these tribes and on the relation between Cairo and the tribes in general, see also Ottoman Egypt in the Eighteenth Century, the Nizâmâme-i Mtstr of Cezmr Ahmed Pasha, ed. Stanford J. Shaw (Cambridge, Mass. 1962), pp. 8-9 o f the Turkish text (pp. 26-28 of translation). 65. See G. Baer, Studies in the Social History of Modern Egypt (Chicago and London 1969), p. 190 and sources quoted there. 66. See, for instance, Mubarak, XVII, 22 (relating to Girga province). This situation lasted in the villages described by Mubarak up to Muhammad ‘AITs time. 67. Cf. Shirblni, p. 86 (also p. 40).

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68. Lancret, p. 258. This situation has been well summarized by Janet Abu-Lughod as follows: “Prior to the nineteenth century there was a wide discrepancy between the degree of local autonomy granted legally to rural or provincial communities (virtually none) and the amount actually enjoyed by them, which often was quite extensive, given the weaknesses at the center and the absence of administrative and physical techniques facilitating control.” J. Abu-Lughod, “Rural Migration and Politics in Egypt,” in Rural Polities and Social Change, p. 327. 69. Jean-Léon l’Africain, Description de VAfrique (Paris 1956), II, 517-18. 70. For a detailed description of this episode see Jabarti, II, 53-54. 71. See, e.g. Jabarti, II, 25, and many other biographies. This question needs of course a more detailed examination and explanation; but see below. 72. Cf. Baer, “Fellah and Townsman,” p. 231. 73. Shirbïnî, p. 87. 74. Und., p. 36. Cf. Baer, “Fellah and Townsman,” pp. 246-47. 75. ShirbinI, pp. 36, 39. 76. H. A. R. Gibb and Harold Bowen, Islamic Society and the West, I, ii (London 1957), pp. 184-85. 77. Winter, p. 327. Cf. also Jabarti, I, 300. 78. Jabarti, I, 220-21. Cf. J. W. McPherson, The Moulids of Egypt (Cairo 1941), pp. 174-75 (quoting Murray). 79. See, for instance, Muhammad Amin al-Muhibbi, Khulàfat al-athar ft a'yan al-qam al-hâdî ‘ashar (Cairo a .h . 1284), III, 134-35. Cf. Winter, p. 328. 80. Jabarti, I, 65; Mubarak, VIII, 22; J. Jomier, “al-Azhar,” £/*, I, 819. 81. For references see Baer, “Fellah and Townsman,” p. 253, n. 102. 82. Ibid., p. 225. 83. Und., pp. 252-56. 84. Ibid., pp. 229, 237. 85. Jabarti, III, 329-30. This has led some authors to the erroneous assumption that “forty thousand fellahin converged upon the Cairo courts in 1805. . ." See J. B. Mayfield, Rural Politics in Nasser’s Egypt (Austin and London 1971), p. 25. See also our review of this book in Asian and African Studies, IX (1973), p. 99. 86. E. W. Lane, The Manners and Customs of the Modem Egyptians (London 1944), p. 27. For an additional example, see Raymond, II, 787. 87. Kitäb al-dhakhä’ir wa’l-tuhaf f i bïr al-fanà’i ‘ wa'l-hiraf, Gotha, Arabische Handschrift No. 903. Cf. Baer, Egyptian Guilds, pp. 2-3, 14-15. 88. On fellah revolts in Ottoman Egypt see Baer, “Fellah and Townsman,” p. 238; idem. Studies in the Social History o f Modem Egypt, pp. 95-96. Very little is known about these revolts, and this may explain partly the non-decisive character of our conclusions. 89. A detailed discussion of the twentieth century is beyond the scope

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of this study. Recently much has been written on this problem, especially by contributors to the volumes edited by Lapidus and by Autoun and Harik. Most authors are in fact convinced that the gap narrowed or even disappeared. Jacques Berque differs: “The divergence between town and country was intensified” (Egypt, Imperialism and Revolution, London 1972, pp. 622-23). No proof or explanation whatsoever is given for this state­ ment, nor does the author define the period to which it relates. We as­ sumed, however, that the twentieth century or part of it is meant since the statement is found in a chapter dealing with the period of World War II and after. 90. See above, n. 5. 91. Lady Duff Gordon, Letters from Egypt, 1862-1869 (London 1969), p. 56. 92. Patrick O’Brien, “The Long-term Growth of Agricultural Production in Egypt, 1821-1962,” in Political and Social Change in Modem Egypt, ed. P. M. Holt (London 1968), p. 193. 93. G. Baer, A History of Landownership in Modem Egypt 1800-1950 (London 1962), pp. 39-70; idem. Studies in the Social History of Modem Egypt, p. 57. 94. Charles Issawi in Middle Eastern Cities, p. 154. 95. J. Weulersse, “La primauté des cités dans l’économie syrienne,” Congrès International de Géographie (Amsterdam 1938), section Ilia: Géog­ raphie Humaine, p. 239. 96. Compiled on the basis of V. Edouard Dor, L’instruction publique en Égypte (Paris 1872), Appendix, pp. 379-80. 97. Ibid., pp. 381-82. Dor’s table has no date; it probably relates to the same time as the former one, i. e., about 1870. 98. Compiled on the basis of Yacoub Artin Pachau, L ’instruction publique en Égypte, Paris, Annex C, pp. 175-202. 99. J. Heyworth-Dunne, An Introduction to the History of Education in Modem Egypt (London n.d. [1939]), Appendix A, p. 444. 100. See Baer, Studies in the Social History of Modem Egypt, pp. 134-35, 136,143. There are indications that in the field of education the urban-rural gap continued to widen even in the twentieth century, but the evidence is not conclusive. 101. Mubarak, VII, 22. Mudmya and qism are province and district, respectively, but mean also the capitals of these administrative units. 102. Ministère de l’Intérieur, Statistique de l’Égypte, Année 1873 (Cairo 1873), p. 234 (for population figures, cf. p. 20). Our percentages disregard figures for Sudanese towns that are included in the table. 103. “Report on the Medical and Sanitary Administration of the Govern­ ment of Egypt by Surgeon-Major Greene," Cairo, 7 February 1885, en­ closure in no. 19, Reports on the State of Egypt and the Progress of Administrative Reforms, Egypt No. 15 (1885), C.-4421, pp. 73-76. 104. Lady Duff Gordon, pp. 156-57.

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105. Statistique de l'Egypte, 1873, pp. 19-21. 106. Mubàrak, IX, 65, 79, 98; XI, 57; XII, 2, 7; XIII, 41; XV, 79; etc. 107. Charles Issawi, “Asymmetrical Development and Transport in Egypt; 1800-1914,” Beginnings of Modernization in the Middle East, the Nine­ teenth Century, ed. W. R. Polk and R. L. Chambers (Chicago and London 1968), pp. 394-97. 108. See Baer, Studies in the Social History o f Modem Egypt, pp. 134-35, 13840, 147. 109. Idem, A History o f Landownership, p. 34. 110. Estève, pp. 318-19; Chabrol, p. 488. 111. Shirbini, pp. 83, 125-26; Baer, “Fellah and Townsman,” pp. 22526. See also rather scanty references in Raymond, II, 720. 112. For detailed discussion of this process see Baer, A History o f Landownership, pp. 34-38. In addition to sources mentioned there, see also Lady Duff Gordon, p. 182. 113. Xavier de Planhol, “Regional Diversification and Social Structure in North Africa and the Islamic Middle East: a Geographic Approach,” in Rural Politics and Social Change, p. 104. 114. “Introduction,” Rural Politics and Social Change, p. 6. 115. 1. Harik, “The Impact of the Domestic Market on Rural-Urban Re­ lations,” Rural Politics and Social Change, pp. 341-42. 116. Und., pp. 338, 345, 362-63. 117. Despatch from H. M. Agent and Consul General in Egypt, forwarding Consular Reports on the state o f the country, Egypt No. 3 (1880), C. 2606, pp. 4. 7, 8. 118. Baer, Studies in the Social History of Modem Egypt, pp. 215-16. 119. Mubarak, IX, 94-97. 120. For references, as well as discussion of this point, see H. Shaked, “The Biographies of ‘Ulamä’ in Mubarak’s Khifaf as a Source for the History of the ’Ulama’ in Nineteenth-Century Egypt,” in The ‘Ulamä’ in Modem History, ed. G. Baer, in Asian and African Studies, VII (Jerusalem 1971), pp. 62-63. 121. Mubarak, XVII, 22, 25. 122. For Shirbini and Mubarak, see Baer, “Fellah and Townsman,” p. 230; cf. Blackman, pp. 30-31 (speaking even of Upper Egypt): “A mosque is to be found in every village, and in many places there are three or four such buildings.” 123. H. Ammar, Growing Up in an Egyptian Village (London 1954), p. 78. 124. Cf. J. Berque, Histoire sociale d’un village égyptien au XXème siècle (Paris and The Hague 1957), p. 42. “Islamisation, reinforcing the significance of the essentials of Orthodox Islam for every day village life” has been ob­ served among the resettled Nubians. See Hussein M. Fahim, “Change in Religion in a Resettled Nubian Community, Upper Egypt,” IJM ES, IV

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(1973), pp. 163-77. For similar trends in modern Sudan see H. B. Barclay. Buurri al-Lamaab, a Suburban Village in the Sudan (Ithaca, N.Y. 1964), pp. 145, 271-72. 125. P. Kahle, “Zur Organisation der Derwischorden in Ägypten," Der Islam, VI (1915), p. 152; Gibb and Bowen, I, ii, p. 199; and see discussion of this point in M. Berger, Islam in Egypt Today (Cambridge 1970), pp. 69-70. 126. For villages in Daqahlîya, Gharbfya and Minùfîya, see Mubârak, XI, 18; XIV, 65; XV, 18, 89; XVI, 47. 127. For Bam Suwayf and Minyä, see ibid., XI, 83; XVI, 55. 128. Ibid., XI, 2. 129. Ibid., IX, 37, 97; XI, 2. 14, 69; XII, 54; XIII, 40; XIV, 125; XV, 79. 130. Ibid., XVII, 22. 131. For details see Baer, Studies in the Social History of Modern Egypt, pp. 109-13. 132. Cf. idem, A History of Landoumership, pp. 1-12, and passim. 133. Idem, Studies in the Social History of Modem Egypt, p. 45. 134. Und., pp. 5-6, 54, 55-56, 57, 58, 221. Since we have dealt with all these developments in great detail in the works given as reference, we are summarizing them here only very briefly. 135. For details see D. Farhi, "Ni;âm-i Cedid—Military Reform in Egypt under Mahmed ‘All,’’ Asian and African Studies, VIII (1972), pp. 153 ff., 178. 136. Baer, Studies in the Social History of Modern Egypt, pp. 134-35, 147. According to our revised estimate, the population of 23 important towns in Egypt grew during that time from 9.5 to 14.3 percent of the total pop­ ulation, which does not make a basic difference. 137.Ibid., pp. 136-46, 148. 138. Charles Issawi, "Economic Change and Urbanization in the Middle East,” Middle Eastern Cities, pp. 102-5. 139. Baer, Studies in the Social History of Modem Egypt, pp. 138, 144. 140. For analyses of this failure see A. E. Crouchley, The Economic Develop­ ment of Modem Egypt (London 1938), pp. 72-76; M. Fahmy, La Rh'olution de l'industrie en Égypte et ses consequences sociales au 19e siècle, 1800-1850 (Leiden 1954), pp. 98 ff.; H. Rivlin, The Agricultural Policy of Muhammad *Ali in Egypt (Cambridge, Mass. 1961), pp. 198-200. 141. For references, see Baer, Egyptian Guilds, pp. 138-39. 142. Ibid.,passim. 143. See, for instance, Barnett to Canning, 16 March 1845, P. R. O., F. O. 78/623. 144. B. St. John, Village Life in Egypt (London 1852), II, 84-85; Hekekyan Papers, VII, British Museum Add. 37454, fol. 365a.

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145. Correspondence Respecting the Affairs of Egypt, Egypt No. 1 (1880), C. 2549, p. 49. Zawats are notables and high officials. Fellaheen working on their and Europeans' estates were exempt from forced labor. 146. Mubarak, X, 31, 100; XII, 93; XVI, 90. 147. For details see Baer, A History of Landownership, pp. 13*15, 17, 45-60. 148. See, for instance, the interesting biography of ‘AE Bey al-Badrâwî, Mubârak, XII, 49-50; cf. Rogers to Stanton, Cairo, 3 November 1871, F.O. 141/75, pt. 3. 149. Mubarak, III. 54-55; XV, 26. 150. For details on their landed property and urban business, see A. Wright and H. A. Cartwright, Twentieth Century Impressions of Egypt (London 1909), pp. 384, 389, 481-82. 151. Cf.,e.g., W. S. Blunt, Secret History of the English Occupation of Egypt (New York 1922), pp. 99 ff.; Sir Edward Malet, Egypt 1879-1883 (London 1909), p. 128; J. M. Laudau, Parliaments and Parties in Egypt (Tel Aviv 1953), p. 85 ff.; and more recently, A. Schölch, Ägypten den Ägyptern. Die politische und gesellschaftliche Krise der Jahre 1878-1882 in Ägypten (Freiburg i. Br. n.d. [1972 or 1973]), passim (but he puts “fellachische” in inverted commas). 152. Schölch, pp. 112; 316, nn. 22. 24; 323. 153. Ahmad 'Uräbl, Mudhakkirât 'Uräbi (Cairo n.d., foreword by Liwä' Muhammad Najîb), I, 62. 154. Ibid., pp. 45. 59. 62, 65, 124, etc. 155. For details and references see Baer, Studies in the Social History o f Modem Egypt, pp. 96-99. For the revolt of 1807-8, see Jabarti, IV, 62. De­ tails of the revolts in 1812 and 1816 are given in Rivlin, p. 113, and of the revolt in 1838, ibid., p. 207. 156. Jabarti, IV, 207. 157. Ftllb Jalläd, Qämüs al-idära wa’l-qadä (Alexandria 1890), III, 354. 158. Ibid., II, 98; A. von Kremer, Ägypten (Leipzig 1863), II, 62. The stress on the shaykh al-balad has to do with the rebellious mood that manifested itself among these shaykhs in some districts o f Egypt toward the end o f Muhammad ‘All’s rule and in the time of ‘Abbas. See Baer, Studies in the Social History of Modem Egypt, p. 54, and sources mentioned there. 159. H. L. Bodman, Jr., Political Factions in Aleppo, 1760-1826 (Chapel Hill, North Carolina 1963), p. 8. 160. Ibid., p. 63. For another impediment to fellah migration to Damascus, namely the opposition of tax farmers and holders of iq(â‘, see Dr. Rafeq's contribution to this volume. 161. C. F. Volney, Voyage en Égypte et en Syrie pendant les années 1783, 1784, et 1785, Oeuvres Complètes (Paris 1864), pp. 291, 292. 162. Muhammad Khalil al-Murâdî, Silk al-durar fi a‘yàn al-qam al-thànï ‘ashar (Cairo 1291-1301), IV, 129-30: III. 207.

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163. Quoted by Bodman, p. 100. 164. See I. M. Smilianskaya, “The Disintegration of Feudal Relations in Syria and Lebanon in the Nineteenth Century,” in The Economic History of the Middle East, ed. Charles Issawi (Chicago and London 1966), pp. 227*47. For the acquisition of the land near Damascus by members of the Damascus elite in the 1870s, see also “Report by Vice-Consul Jago on the Trade and Commerce of Damascus for the Year 1879,” Damascus, 13 March 1880, U. K., F. O., Diplomatic and Consular Reports CRC, no. 26 (1880), pp. 1003*6. I am grateful to Dr. Gad Gilbar for having drawn my attention to this report and supplied me with a photographic copy o f it. 165. J. Weulersse, “La primauté des cités dans l’économie syrienne," (see above, n. 95), pp. 233-39; idem. Paysans de Syrie et du Proche-Orient (Paris 1946), pp. 87-88. 166. Idem, Paysans de Syrie, pp. 72, 86, 87. 167. Idem, “La primauté des cités,” p. 235; Paysans de Syrie, p. 88. 168. The present position of the ‘Alawîs in the Syrian army and state and their conflict with the urban Sunni Muslims, is indeed explained by some observers, inter alia, by their rural origin. 169. Idem, “La primauté des cités,” p. 235. 170. Ibid., p. 233; idem. Paysans de Syrie, p. 87. 171. Idem, “La primauté des cités,” p. 233; Paysans de Syrie, pp. 87-88. 172. Jacques Weulersse has written an excellent monograph on the 'AlawI region, Le pays des Alaouites (Tours 1940). It should be noted, by the way, that even his findings are represented in a somewhat exaggerated way. Thus he says (Paysans de Syrie, p. 87) that the villagers around Antioch are “alaouites et arabes,” but a map in his book (ibid., p. 75) shows clearly that of the villages in the hinterland of Antioch, quite a large number were Turkish. 173. See. for example, lists of villages owned by the Junbaläfs, in Yusuf Kha((är Abu Shaqrâ, Al-Harakät ß Lubnän (Beirut n.d.), pp. 7, 93-94. For the iqtä* system of Lebanon, see I. Harik, Politics and Change in a Traditional Society, Lebanon 1711-1845 (Princeton 1968), pp. 38, 42, 63-64, 68, and passim. For the description of the rural residence of a muqata’ajï, the Junbalät castle in Mukhtära, see, e.g., D. Urquhart, The Lebanon: A History and a Diary (London 1860), I, 183-214. A list of residences of Lebanon’s notables is found in T. Tourna, Paysans et institutions féodales chez les Druzes et Us Maronites du Liban du XVIle siicU à 1914 (Beirut 1972), II. 439. The social and economic function of the muqâta’ajls has been analyzed in the excellent work of D. Chevallier, La société du Mont Liban à l’époque de la révolution industrielU en Europe (Paris 1971). 174. Urquhart, p. 4; Mrs. Finn, “The Fellahheen of Palestine—Notes on Their Clans, Warfare, Religion, and Laws,” PEFQS, 1879, p. 40. 175. Harik, pp. 62-63; Ibrahim Aouad, Le droit privé des Maronites (Paris 1933), pp. 120-21.

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176. Aouad, pp. 240-44. 177. Abû-Shaqrâ, p. 86. 178. Mrs. Finn, “The Fellahheen of Palestine,” pp. 38-39, 44-45; J. Finn, Stirring Times (London 1878), 1, 216, 220; Ph. Baldensperger, “The Im­ movable East” PEFQS, 1906, p. 15; Yüsuf Jiijis Qadûra, Tarikh madinat Rämallah (New York 1954), pp. 29, 40, as quoted in M. Hoexter (see below, n. 183). 179. For Palestine, cf. U. Heyd, Ottoman Documents on Palestine 1552-1615 (Oxford 1960), passim (a possible exception is doc. no. 42, p. 88). A list of such conflicts in Lebanon, based primarily on Shidyäq, is given by Y. Porath, Agrarian Relations in Lebanon in the 18th Century, up to the Changes o f the Middle of the 19th Century, unpublished seminar paper, Hebrew University o f Jerusalem, July 1962; pp. 34-37. There occurred of course many clashes between different villages or different families in the same village, but this is beyond our subject. 180. By far the best study o f this revolt is Y. Porath, “The Peasant Revolt of 1858-61 in Kisrawän," Asian and African Studies, II (1966), pp. 77-157. The following conclusions are based largely on Porath’s study. 181. Colonel Churchill, The Druzes and Maronites under the Turkish Rule (London 1862), pp. 103-8, 181, and passim. Cf. also Abu Shaqra, p. 33; and J. L. Burckhardt, Travels in Syria and the Holy Land (London 1822), p. 193 (for the population of Dayr al-Qamar in 1812). 182. Porath, “The Peasant Revolt o f 1858-61 in Kisrawän,” p. 86. 183. Miriam Hoexter, “The Role of the Qays and Yaman Factions in Local Political Divisions—Jabal Nablus Compared with the Judean Hills in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century,” Asian and African Studies, IX (1973), pp. 249-311. With the author's permission, we have drawn heavily on this excellent study. We have not repeated here its detailed documen­ tation. 184. It is most probable that similar relations developed elsewhere as well. Unfortunately, material on the smaller towns is extremely scarce; but without further study of the character of these small towns we will not be able to arrive at a comprehensive analysis of urban-rural relations in the Middle East. 185. For instance, fellaheen from the villages of Shaykh Ahmad al-Sharqâwî came to Cairo to be judged and married by him. See Jabartî, III, 61. See also ibid., pp. 92, 94, 134, 150, 166, 177, 180, 181, 189, 196, 199, 202, 204, 209, 241. No cases of this kind are recorded by Jabartî in vols. I and II of his work.

19 Economic Relations between Damascus and the Dependent Countryside, 1743-71 Abdul-Karim Rafeq

Historical Background. The province of Damascus, like many other Ottoman provinces, witnessed during the eighteenth century the emergence of power groups with a degree of self-assertion that was unprecedented during the two previous centuries. Members of the local *A?m family assumed the governorship of Damascus at inter­ mittent periods for about half a century, their rule reaching its zenith under As‘ad Pasha (1743-57). The Yerliya Janissary corps, which was taken over, so to speak, by Damascenes anxious to benefit from its many privileges, defended local interests against imperial interests protected by the Kapi Kulus Janissaries, who were first installed in Damascus in 1659. Outside Damascus, bedouin tribes, notably the ‘Anaza con­ federation, which had come out of the Arabian peninsula early in the eighteenth century, dominated the Syrian Desert in the wake of the waning power of the Mawäli and pushed the smaller tribes, such as the Sardlya, the Sakhr, and the Saqr, into the rural regions on the periph­ ery of the desert, mainly across the river Jordan, where they ex­ ploited the villagers. £ähir al-‘Umar, who belonged to a bedouin family of tax farmers and had been officially entrusted with this task in the region of Safad-Tiberias at the beginning of the eighteenth century, allied himself with the latter tribes, and, taking advantage of the preoccupation of the amir of Mount Lebanon and of the chief­ tains of the Matäwila with internal factionalism, established a local amirate in Palestine and defied Ottoman authority for over half a cen­ tury. Commercial activity in southern Syria at the time, where French merchants had a leading role, played into the hands of £ähir and provided him with the revenue necessary for the establishment of his power. In terms of political power, £ähir eclipsed the ‘A?ms. 653

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These local power groups shouldered responsibilities no longer properly discharged by the weakened Ottoman central administra­ tion. T he ‘A?ms, for instance, in their capacity as governors o f Damascus—commanders o f the pilgrimage to Mecca—ensured the safety o f the pilgrimage, and this helped them retain their governor­ ships for long periods. T he transfer o f the command o f the pilgrim­ age to the governors o f Damascus during the first quarter o f the eighteenth century was the culminadon o f political developments in southern Syria that had begun with the elimination by Fakhr alDfn Ma‘n II, am ir o f Mount Lebanon (1590-1635), o f the local chief­ tains who first supplied commanders for the pilgrimage. It reached its second stage with the suppression o f the Damascene Janissaries, who had replaced the chieftains as commanders, and ended with the appointm ent o f Ottoman officials, and eventually the governors o f Damascus, as commanders. T he year 1743 is im portant in the history o f Damascus and o f the ‘Azm family, for in that year As‘ad Pasha succeeded his uncle, Sulaymän Pasha, as governor o f Damascus. From an economic viewpoint, As‘ad Pasha’s governorship is unique in the history o f Ottoman Damas­ cus in two respects; first, the general economic situation in the province o f Damascus had improved considerably as a result o f the increase in French commercial activity at the time. T he political stability ensured by As’ad Pasha and the safety he accorded to the pilgrimage all through his rule encouraged more pilgrims and merchants to come to Damascus. Damascus also benefited from being the market o f the hinterland and the center of transit trade with Baghdad and Basra. Secondly, anxious to promote his prestige in Damascus, As’ad Pasha adopted a policy o f extensive economic exploitation and profiteering, which was made possible and was tolerated by the inhabitants thanks to the overall economic prosperity. Following As’ad Pasha’s rule, a period of economic and political decline set in. T he disastrous attack by bedouin tribes on the Da­ mascene pilgrimage in 1757 resulted in the loss o f the accompanying goods;1 it also frightened away future pilgrims, whose numbers con­ siderably diminished, causing much economic loss to Damascus. T he earthquakes that occurred in the whole o f Syria in late 1759 and the plague that immediately followed were disasters to the local economy and strains on manpower.* T he economic and political situation further worsened in the wake o f the invasion o f Syria and

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the occupation of Damascus in June 1771 by Mamluk troops from Egypt, the intervention of the Russian fleet in the Mediterranean as ally to both Mamluks and ?ähir al-‘Umar and its bombardment of Beirut,3 and the continued havoc caused by the bedouins, who terrorized the countryside and threatened the lines of communi­ cation. Damascus emerged from the struggle subdued and weak. Its political ascendancy in the region was surrendered to Acre, under Ahmad Pasha al-Jazzâr. Thus, economically and politic­ ally, Damascus was relegated to the background. The Economic Situation in Damascus. The ‘Aims were rich before they were first appointed to Damascus in 1725. Indeed, their wealth helped them buy support in Istanbul and, consequendy, in obtaining governorships. From being peasants in Ma’arrat alNu’män and Hama, during the second half of the seventeenth cen­ tury, Ismâ‘11 Bey, the elder ‘A?m member, acquired the mälikäna (tax farm for life) of Hama and Him$. His son As‘ad Pasha obtained the mälikäna of Hama shortly before his appointment to Damascus in 1743. Even after the ‘A?ms had moved their residence from Hama to Damascus, in the late thirties of the eighteenth century, Hama remained the bulwark of their economic power and provided them with the essential commodities that earned them money: namely, wheat, barley, and sheep. Anxious to promote his prestige locally, As'ad Pasha looked every­ where for money. When prices o f wheat tended to decrease in the wake of a good harvest, As‘ad Pasha intervened and enforced high prices.4 He was also in collusion with the shaykh of the corporation of wheat millers, who hoarded wheat. As‘ad Pasha’s disciplinary campaigns against the Druzes of Mount Lebanon, in the years 1746 and 1747, were timed with the harvest, and Druze crops were con­ fiscated and sold in Damascus. The same is true of As’ad Pasha's campaigns against the weak bedouin tribes from whom he con­ fiscated sheep and sold them in Damascus at high prices.3 As’ad Pasha’s wealth grew enormously as a result of the policy of profiteering he adopted both inside and outside Damascus. He invested in numerous properties and also rented them for an amaz­ ingly small amount of money and for an unprecedented length of time (in one case for 120 years); it amounted to a monopoly ( ihtikâr), as it was in fact referred to in the law-court registers.* O ther members of the ‘A?m family, notably Sulaymän Pasha and Sa’d

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al-Dïn Pasha, bought, o r rented, property as well. Having an ominous example in the confiscation by the state o f his uncle’s property, As’ad Pasha transferred much o f his property into waqf ahR, o r dhurri, to the benefit o f his children and their descendants.7 Apart from the governors, certain families o f ulema, such as the Mahäsinis, who figured as khatibs (orators) at the Umayyad Mosque, and the Murâdïs, who produced several Hanafi muftis o f Damas­ cus, bought o r rented property and speculated in the market. A prom inent ‘alim, accused by Budayn* o f hoarding wheat in 1749, was the Hanafi m ufti o f Damascus Hämid Efendi al-*Imâdî. He actually represented the up p er ulema, who allied themselves with the governors, acted as agents for them, and amassed great wealth for themselves. A nother Damascene mufti, of the second half of the eighteenth century, M uhammad Khalil al-Murâdï, author of Silk al-durar, states that he inherited several villages in the region o f Damascus as mâlikâna.* T h e ulema basically drew their wealth from handling waqf af­ fairs, in their capacity as mutawwalts (administrators), and näzirs (supervisors), and from several religious posts whose pay was de­ ducted from the revenue o f khayri waqfs (foundations for public benefit). Salaries were paid to the ulema either on a daily o r yearly basis.10 A single ‘älim could be entrusted with several posts, whether in part o r as a whole. Al-Sayyid Muhyï al-Dîn Chelebi Kharrät Zàdeh, for instance, was appointed on 11 Jum ädä I 1168/23 February 1755 to the following posts: reading parts o f the Q ur’an at the Umay­ yad Mosque in Damascus for four Ottoman dirham s (darähim ‘Uthmäniya) a day, paid from the waqf o f the mosque; reciting verses from the Q ur’an in the mosque o f Sinän Pasha for one and a half paras a day; reading from the Q ur’an in the waqfs o f the Two Holy Sanctuaries in Damascus (awqâf al-haramayn al-sharifayn) for two Ottom an dirham s a day; and acting as witness in the waqfs o f the Umayyad Mosque for twenty Ottoman dirham s a day. All these posts were conferred on him by their form er holder, Mu$(afa Efendi, for no obvious reason.1* O ften two or more persons, not neces­ sarily brothers, shared the same posts.'2 It was practically impos­ sible for one ‘alim to perform at one time all the jobs assigned to him. Yet he availed himself o f all their revenue. T he easiest of the ‘älim’s jobs was that o f reading verses wherever he chose ( qird'at mä tayassar haythumä tayassar).13 In practice, the ‘alim delegated part of his duties, as is still the custom, to other ‘älims for a minimal

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share o f his pay. Sometimes the ulema were paid in kind from the produce o f waqf villages. Beside the governors and the ulema, the Janissaries of Damascus played an im portant role in the economic life of Damascus and its countryside. Like their namesakes elsewhere, they joined the crafts and became merchants and moneylenders. They held land as iqtä\ rented property, acted as muhitasibs, and engaged in hoarding food­ stuffs.14 They dominated the Maydän quarter, the economic artery that linked Damascus with its granary, Hawrân, and through which the pilgrimage passed on its way to the Hijaz. Wealthy merchants from this quarter became Janissaries to benefit from the privileges o f this corps and to safeguard their economic interests.15 T he citadel, where training was supposed to take place, became a business center for military and civilians alike, because it was not threatened by external enemies. Although the military qualities o f the Janissaries o f Damascus were lamentably poor and they often fled from the battlefield before engaging the enemy, they held a large part o f the resources of Da­ mascus. Many unqualified persons, either elderly people or children, enrolled in the Janissary corps, with the obvious purpose o f obtain­ ing pay.16 Among other resources, the revenue of muqâfa'at aldamgha was assigned to the Janissaries of the citadel, the Kapi Kulus. This tax was raised on textiles imported into Damascus.17 For a better control of taxable textiles, the final stage of their manufacture (known as daqq) was done in Süq al-daqq in Damascus18 with the agree­ m ent of the tax farmers of muqâça'at al-damgha, referred to as muqäta* ßyyat al-damgha. Another resource assigned for the Janissaries was the tax raised on imported coffee, known as muqâta'at al-bunn.19 While the governors, the ulema, and the Janissaries may eco­ nomically be classified as “non-productive groups,” the craftsmen— the real productive group»—were self-supporting and hardly played any im portant role in coveting resources, whether in Damascus or the countryside, with the exception o f certain shaykhs who co­ operated with the form er groups. T he shaykhs o f the corporations of the fahhàntn (millers), the khabbäztn (bakers), and the qoffäbln (butchers), for instance, cooperated with the governor, the ulema and other interested parties in monopolizing commodities and en­ riching themselves.20 Craft corporations were an important factor in the economic stability ol Damascus. A large section of the population belonged

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Society in the Pre-Modem Middle East

to them, and any member could rise to the highest ranks; the only exceptions were non-Muslims, who, in corporations of mixed mem­ bership, such as fattdlat al-hartr (silk-spinners), nahhdsün (copper­ smiths), and fabbàghûn (dyers), or even in corporations where nonMuslims were predominant, such as mi‘màrïya (builders and $iyyägh (goldsmiths),21 could not reach the office o f shaykh. Only in certain minor corporations, such as masämmya (dealers in nails),22 whose membership seems to have been wholly Christian, did a Christ­ ian become a shaykh. Corporations seem to have been well organized, and discipline, backed by tradition and the sharTa, prevailed within their ranks. At the head o f the corporation ( fâ ïfa ) was the shaykh, and above the shaykhs was shaykh al-mashàyikh.** Below the shaykh were, in order of rank: the master-workman, the mu'aUim o r ustâdh (of Persian origin and shortened into usfd), the master-apprentice, the fà n ï, and finally the apprentice, the afir. Beside these technical ranks, there existed the office o f bäsht, such as qaffäb bâshi (chief butcher),24 who, although elected like the holders o f the upper ranks by members of the corporation, received the confirmation o f the governor. As such, he may have been the tool with which the government controlled the corporations, as happened, for instance, in Egypt at the time.22 The elders among the members o f a corporation were referred to as ikhtiyäriya.** Members could practice their craft only in the places prescribed by the corporation; they could not enforce prices higher than the ones fixed by the corporation. T he apprentice had to name a guaran­ tor before he could engage in work, so as to ensure the safeguarding of goods entrusted to him.27 The craftsman was not allowed to work in a craft other than his own,28 nor was he entitled to encroach upon the interests of a colleague. Specialization was respected in all crafts; for example, there were among the dyers those who specialized in dark blue only.28 T he fluctuation in the prices of commodities, during the period under study, was mainly due to monopoly and profiteering rather than to a rise in cost or in wages. The sharTa upheld the status quo and took the side of the master-workman against the apprentices. T he qadi, for instance, turned down a demand by a num ber o f ap­ prentices asking for a raise in pay.30 In fact, a wide gulf existed between what a master and an apprentice earned. This is further

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confirmed by several examples depicting the poverty of apprentices in the various corporations. In such cases where apprentices suffered from accumulated debts and risked imprisonment, the qadi, taking into consideration their proven poverty, agreed to pay their debts in yearly installments and according to a fixed ratio.31 Most craftsmen sold their own products and conducted business directly with the customers. In certain cases, however, as with the coVporation of the habbàlün (rope dealers), composed o f members specializing in the manufacture o f ropes as well as others special­ izing in their sale,33 the manufacturers of a commodity were not allowed to sell it themselves. The regulations of the crafts were strictly adhered to by the members as well as by the qadi, who adopted as his motto the following phrase: al-karät là yuhhraj ‘alayhim33 (regulations of crafts should not be violated). T he observance of custom and the establishment of order, desirable though they were in maintaining the status quo, seem to have hindered any attempt at improvement. T he cumbersome regulations that stood in the face o f improvement in production and limited the chances of bet­ ter gain were partly responsible for the poverty attested among a growing number of craftsmen.34 The attempt by the qadis to prevent any increase in rent, even though the beneficiary was a waqf, may have temporarily relieved the poor, but it was economically insignificant, given the rapid increase in the prices of essential com­ modities. Fluctuation in the prices o f foodstuffs—with an ever-increasing tendency to move upward mainly as a result of profiteering on the part o f governors and their entourages rather than by the failure of crops (which may have been responsible for a limited rise in prices, but not to the degree attested by the contemporary chroniclers)— was an outstanding feature of the economic life of Damascus during the period under study. It was not lost on the people, especially because at times of good harvest, when prices tended to decrease, the speculators intervened to raise them.33 Another reason for the high prices was the endemic devaluation and counterfeiting of the currency. T here was a variety of coins in Damascus, made either of gold, silver, copper, lead, or of a mixture of them, and especially o f the latter with sand. The law-court registers of Damascus refer to dhahab ‘a6q, each piece of which was equivalent to 4.60 piasters.36 Some­

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Society in the Pre-Modern Middle East

times this term was shortened into dhahab, to designate a coin whose value in 1167/1753-54 was worth four piasters a piece.37 T he registers also speak of English gold pieces (dhahab inklis) being current in Damascus,38 as well as of dhahab findiqli,39 sometimes referred to as altin findiq, in addition to furli dhahab. O ther currency included the piaster and the mifriya, which were the two units o f currency most common in Damascus during the period under study. Their rate in 1721 was forty mi$riyas to the piaster.40 In Ramadan 1160/September 1747, the piaster seems to have been worth twenty-four miçrïyas.41 O ther coins were the zolafa, 123 pieces of which equaled 92.25 piasters42 (in 1157/1745), and the qi(‘a, thirty pieces of which equaled ten miçrïyas (in 1169/1756).43 T he fu lû s, minted in Damascus and usually mixed with sand,44 were valued in late Rabr 1 1161/late March 1748, at nine fulüs for one miçrïya, and those of silver, but with a bare surface, thirty-six for one piaster.45 In mid-Rabf I 1166/mid-January 1753, the governor of Damascus announced that genuine fulûs, namely the qusfanftni, were to be valued twelve to one miçriya, instead o f the previous rate o f twenty-four to one miçrîya.46 Also current in Damascus was the riyâl, valued by the governor on 21 Ramadan 1160/26 September 1747, at one and two-thirds piasters instead of one and a half piasters and four mi$riyas. T he people, fearing the confiscation o f their wealth and political instability, hesitated in exploiting their riches in Damascus, let alone in the countryside. They were more inclined to convert their wealth into gold, which they hid,47 as did As‘ad Pasha.48 As a result o f exploitation and profiteering, social tension in Da­ mascus was aggravated, and animosity between exploiters and ex­ ploited came into the open. When the new governor, Husayn Pasha, entered Damascus on 25 February 1757, and was received by the notables of the city, a crowd assembled and protested against the tyranny o f the notables and the high prices. This happened in the wake of the deposition of As‘ad Pasha al-‘A?m from Damascus, after he had exploited the Damascenes during his fourteen years of rule. A more daring event occurred the following day, when religious officials and notables came to the saräyä to greet the pasha. A crowd intercepted them and called them names, such as tnunâfiqün (hypocrites, who helped the rulers in oppressing the poor), and even went to the extent of stoning them.49 Although Muslim society was no stranger to the existence of such disparity in wealth, it allowed, nevertheless, for a remedy. T he

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poor in the village of Därayyä, allegedly established by the founder o f the waqf, Nur al-Din al-Shahld, would be helped with the revenue of certain waqfs assigned to them, such as “the wheat o f the poor” ( hintat al-fuqara).i0 When people were heavily indebted and their poverty established beyond doubt, the qadi either completely ex­ em pted them from payment or allowed them to repay the debt in installments.51 Economic Institutions in the Countryside. T he limits o f the countryside dependent on Damascus, as revealed in the cases re­ ferred to the qadis o f Damascus, corresponded roughly to the limits of the fanjaq o f Damascus and extended between the village of Hisyä (nearer to Him$ than to Damascus) in the north,52 and alKarak, in the region o f Dar'a, in the south,53 and between the east­ ern extremity of the Marj (the borderline between the green belt of al-Ghüta and the desert) in the east, and the Biqa*,54 up to Zaljleh,55 in the west. T he administrative divisions, utilized in the law-court registers, were those o f nähiya (in the sense of a region) and of village, as in the following representative statements: “qariyat Zäkiya bi-nähiyat wâd! al-‘Ajam min nawàhï Dimashq” or “qariyat al-Tall täbi' [sic] nähiyat al-Jubba (Jubbat al-‘Assâl) min 'amal Dimashq." T he villages in the immediate vicinity o f Damascus were referred to as such: “qariyat ‘Aqrabâ min qurä Dimashq.” T he southern and eastern extremities of the countryside of Da­ mascus were frequented by bedouin tribes. T he weaker and smaller tribes usually lived either on the periphery o f the countryside or within it, such as the $akhrs, the $aqrs, and the Sardiyas. T he Syrian Desert, the Bädiya, was left to the bigger and stronger tribes, such as the confederation o f the Mawâlï of the seventeenth century, and the confederation o f the ‘Anaza o f the eighteenth century. Beside the bedouins, Turkom ans—rem nants o f Turkish nomadic hordes who under Ottoman administration were settled on the borderline between the desert and the rural regions to guard against bedouin infiltration and insubordination—abounded in the vicinity o f Damascus, especially in the eastern regions o f al-Marj, facing the desert. Although they settled in villages, owned land, and ex­ ploited it, they remained distinct from the rest o f the population, and worked mainly in the rearing of sheep56 or as soldiers.57 They were divided into several groups, such as Td'if at al-Turkmän Albûz Qoyûnlï,58 sometimes shortened into Albüzlîya,59 Tà'ifat al-Turkmän al-Fahltya ;*° Tä'ifat al-Turkmän al-Taljiyät\61 Tà'ifat al-Turkmän al-

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Soäety in the Pre-Modem Middle East

Sawàdvya;42 and Tà’ifat al-Turkmàn al-Qiblïya.*3 In the first q uarter o f the eighteenth century, the (ä’ifas o f al-Qaräkshtya and al-Takhtamriya were mentioned among the Turkom ans.44 T he elders am ong the (ä’ifa were referred to as al-mutakalUmün .®5 Although the T urko­ mans were dispersed in several rural regions, those who constituted the majority in one village lent their name to it, as in qariyat Hadlthat al-Turkmän, in the vicinity o f Damascus.44 T he state also considered the Turkom ans a distinct group, and, as such, collectively levied taxes, known as m il al-ra‘iya, on them. T he tax farm er who collected these taxes from them was known as (faint muqäfa'at mal al-Turkmän. It seems that these taxes were divided among the various (ä’ifas, and within every {a’ifa a num ber of persons were in charge o f col­ lecting the taxes from fellow-members within a given administrative division. A Turkom an from al-Ta’ifa al-Fahllya o f Hama brought a case before a qadi in Damascus against two Turkom ans from Hama who, he alleged, had immigrated to Damascus, and dem anded that they pay the taxes that they and their fathers had formerly paid in Hama. They denied having ever paid such taxes and maintained that they had been born in Damascus and had no connection with al-Tâ’ifa al-Fahllya o f Hama. T he qadi, convinced o f their evidence, acquitted them .47 Another group of people who frequented the countryside o f Damascus, but did not settle there, were the gypsies ( nawar). Two parties, the HaläwTya and the Shefiädas, known after their chiefs, caused trouble in the countryside.44 Since the unit o f agricultural economy in the countryside was the village, it is appropriate to study certain aspects o f the institutions that existed there. Each village was headed by a shaykh, sometimes by two shaykhs,44 and in at least one case by six shaykhs.70 It is not known if the shaykh was appointed by the authorities o r elected by the villagers, nor if there was a time limit for his period in office. Apparently, the shaykh of the village was chosen from among the elders (ikhtiyäriya) and the landowners,71 recognized by the villagers as their head, and perhaps endorsed by the authorities. However, the term shaykh was not limited in the village to shaykh al-qariya. O ther persons assumed the title72 but did not discharge similar duties. T he shaykh of the village usually deputized for the villagers in trans­ acting business with the authorities, such as transporting pilgrims or provisions to the Hijaz,73 or accompanied them to the law-court to defend a common cause. T he shaykh, or shaykhs, o f the vil-

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läge also collected money from the villagers for the payment of taxes and impositions due on the village.74 When the villagers wanted to depose their shaykh, they usually had recourse to influential persons in Damascus to help them achieve this goal. Another influential person in the village was the ustädh, very often referred to in the registers as ustad. T here might be two ustàdhs in the same village.79 The nature of this “office" is not known from the available sources, and one wonders if it had any relation with the then current usage of the term applied to an owner and emancipator of mamluks.76 It is unlikely that the term had any con­ nection with teaching because biographical dictionaries of learned men of that time never used the term in this sense. The rank of ustädh could be inherited.77 T he ustädh could also be a holder of an iqtä*.78 He had a special tax collected from the villagers, known as màl al-ustàdhiya,7* Like the shaykh, the ustädh was identified with the village where he functioned, as in the following statement: “ ‘Uthmàn Agha ustäd qariyat Harrän al-'Awämid al-täbi‘a li-nâhiyat al-Marj min naxüàhï Dimashq."M In one case, Husayn Bey ai-Hawâ$li acted as ustädh in the village of Dummar, in the immediate vicinity of Da­ mascus, apparently for about fourteen years, between 1167/1754 and 1182/1768.81 Also, like the shaykh, the ustädh made common cause with the villagers when their interests were at stake and ac­ companied them to the law-court. On several occasions, villagers headed by the ustädh appeared before the qadi in Damascus and asked for the banishment of certain troublemakers from their vil­ lage.8* Certain ustädhs were rich enough to lend money to the villagers.89 Others shared with the villagers their poverty, failed to pay debts, were imprisoned, and eventually paid their debts in installments.84 Each village also had one or more fübàshis,85 primarily entrusted with security affairs.88 Eventually, the çübâshis turned into merchants and moneylenders.87 The çübàshï often provided the villagers with money to help them finance agricultural projects, and, in return, shared the profit with them. He also collected from planters at harvest time a special tax known as màl al-fûbàshîya, or *awà'id alfübäshiya, which amounted to fifteen mudd (a container, kayl, of fixed dimensions),88 and a similar amount of barley for every feddan89 of cultivated land.90 The title of mutakallim 'alà al-qariya91 refers to the fact that a cer­ tain village was under the takallum of a certain person. It is not

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known whether this was an adjective applied to a shaykh, or ustâdh, or an influential person, or whether it was an office or rank. T here might be more than one mutakallim in the same village, and he was entrusted with certain duties, such as the levying of a special tax known as rasm al-ra'iya from the inhabitants of a village.*2 Village land was held by a variety o f people: landowners ( malläkün), cultivators—referred to in the law-court registers either as zurrä‘, fallähün, or shaddädün, holders o f iq(ä* (mainly zi'àmet and ttmdr)— or tax farmers, and beneficiaries o f waqfs. In acts of sale o f property, the entry registered in the mahkama indicates the means by which the property was originally acquired by the vendor, whether by purchase (as in the statement: bä'ahu mä huwa jâ ri f i mulkihi wamuntaqil ilayhi bi'1-shirä’ al-shar'i)*3 or by inheritance (as in the state­ ment: bä'ahu mä huwa jâ ri f i mulkihi xoa-muntaqil ilayhi irthan min wälidihi).*4 Inhabitants of one village had the right to buy property in another village." Although sometimes they kept living in the “home" vil­ lage, they had to share with the inhabitants o f the other village the taxes levied on the protection of property, each according to his resources and the extent of his property, and in accordance with an order from the sultan issued in early Muharram 1146/mid-June 1733 and a fatwâ issued at the time by the Hanafi mufti o f Damascus Hämid Efendi al-‘lmädl.*e During the period under study, landownership as well as the right o f tafarruf in the countryside tended to move away from the villagers to urban people. Influential persons among the latter, becoming richer through exploitation, commerce, or moneylend­ ing, extended their influence to the countryside, lent more money to the villagers, and eventually expropriated much of their property, when they were unable to pay back their debts. From their residence in Damascus the urban landowners, either directly, or more often through agents, inefficiently exploited their newly-acquired vil­ lage land. Absentee landownership, primarily interested in revenue, failed to attract the peasants to its side, and consequently their ded­ ication to work faltered. T he villagers also suffered from a lack of security, which en­ couraged bedouin incursions into their land, and from locusts, which ravaged the countryside, especially between 1747 and 1748.97 T he disastrous earthquakes that befell Syria in late 1759 and the

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plague that followed strained economic resources and manpower.*8 A grape press in the village o f Talfita, for example, was destroyed during an earthquake and remained out o f work for over twelve years.** Landowners among the villagers usually exploited the land them ­ selves, or through the help o f cultivators ( al-zurrä‘). T he cultivators, who did not own land, obtained it through taçarruf or lease. AlSayyid ‘Uthmän ihn al-Sayyid Muhammad al-Sakrän legally rented ( ijärat shar'tya) from the woman Satüt bint Husayn ai-Tanükhî, from the village o f al-Balät, the arable land and the buildings therein {jam? bay&d wa-qaràr al-qifa' al-arâdt), which she possessed in the village o f al-Khiyâra, measuring one Roman feddan100 and tenand-a-half qiräts o f a feddan, including the trees and the plantations they contained and the water irrigating them , for three full years, beginning on the day the case was registered in the law-court, for fifty piasters a year, the rent o f each year to be paid in Sha‘bän. T he lessee could exploit the trees and plantations and pay the woman one share in a thousand ( sahm wdhid min alf). Both parties also agreed that whatever taxes were imposed on the land during this period were to be paid by the lessee. All arrears in taxation had to be paid by the woman-lessor.101 A lessor could lease the land he already rented.102 A cultivator might employ an ajïr (servant) to help him in the exploitation o f land. T he ajïr was usually paid in money or in kind.103 But it is not known if he was employed according to a contract and for a specific period. A cultivator might also employ 'ummàl (laborers), who might receive a fixed share of the crops. T he following example depicts the relationship between the cultivator and the laborers on the one hand and the landowner on the other. Al-Hâjj Hasan ibn $adaqa, a Damascene landowner, gave his land in the village o f alNajdafiya to Ahmad Bäshä ibn Rajab to cultivate ( mra'ahu), with the laborers (‘ummäl) being supplied by al-Hajj Hasan. It was agreed that Ahmad Bäshä should pay al-Hajj Hasan eight qiräts of the revenue for his land, six qiräts to the laborers, and the rem ainder (ten qiräts) to be retained by Ahmad Bäshä.104 A nother group o f people who constituted an integral part o f the village population and worked in the exploitation o f land were called al-ghallatiya, or al-aghallatiya (from the Arabic ghalla, meaning revenue). T he ghallatïya were not wandering laborers, but lived

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in villages and sometimes had their own houses there.105 In some villages, the ghallatiya were under the obligation to pay yearly a variety o f taxes, some o f which were ordered by the sharf a and some levied by order of the sultan, known as ‘urftya. Both types included m rt and waqf taxes, provisions for the army, impositions in kind on cows, goats, and sheep, and on land produce, primarily wheat and barley, in addition to corvée and the requisition o f men as well as o f transport animals for carrying provisions. T he ghallatiya in the village o f Judaydat ‘Artûz brought a case before the qadi objecting to the levying of the above taxes on them, because, they maintained, they were neither landowners nor mutafarrifs (malläkün o r shaddädün). They alleged that the latter groups, who were present with them in the mabkama, should pay these taxes instead and should stop har­ assin g them. T he malläkün and the shaddädün made it known that the ghallatiya in the village o f Judaydat ‘Artüz since old times had paid these taxes yearly. But the ghallatiya referred to other vil­ lages in the same region o f Wadi al-‘Ajam, where their namesakes were exempted from these taxes (which were paid only by the mallä­ kün and the shaddädün). A group o f Muslims then intervened be­ tween both parties, and it was agreed that all shar‘1 and ‘urfi taxes, in­ cluding mlrl and waqf taxes, the large provisions (al-dhakhtra al-kabtra) for the army, the impositions on goats and sheep and all other im­ positions, together with the requisition of men and o f animals for more than two days, should be levied on the malläkün and the shaddädün, whereas the ghallatiya should be responsible for requisitions o f less than two days. It was also agreed that if the ghallatiya were employed by the shaddädün in cultivation as muraba'vya (apparently taking onefourth of the revenue) and as khawliya (herdsmen), they should be paid what the ghallatiya were paid in the neighboring village o f ‘Artüz.100 Holders o f iq|ä4, whether timär or zi'ämet, played an im portant role in the economy of the countryside. They were usually referred to as ofhob, or muta$arrifs in timär and zi’ämet.107 These iq(ä*s were given to their holders by virtue of a barà'a issued by the sultan and duly registered in al-daftar al-sultânî, or al-khaqânï, preserved in the defter khäne, and of which copies might be provided on request.100 A whole village might be given as zi'ämet to a single person, as was the case with the village o f al-$awämi‘.10° A large village, such as al-$anamayn, might include, at the same time, a zi'ämet and a

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timär,110 or more than one zi‘ämet.in A holder o f an iqtä* might live on his iqtä* or in Damascus. In either case, he normally had an agent ( wakil) to collect the revenue.11* Since a large percentage of the holders of i q t a ' s were originally government employees, they were more inclined to lease their iqta's.113 It was a common practice at the time for the holder of an iqtâ* to obtain an additional hiffa (portion) from the total revenue ( ijmdl) of another village or farm, given as iqtä* to another holder, in order to augment his revenue.114 The hi$$a might be acquired according to a barä’a.115 Sometimes the degree of iqtä* is not given in the registers, and the holder is identified as the sipahi of a certain vil­ lage, as in the following statement: “Muhammad Bek ibn Khalil Bek sipahi Dayr al-‘Adas.” T he term sipahi probably refers to timàriot, because in other statements the zu'amâ’ were mentioned alongside the sipahis.118 The iqtä*, whether timär or zi'àmet, could be legally leased ( ijära shar'ïya) by the holder for a fixed number of years. A timär in the village o f Jimba, for instance, was let to Sulaymän Bek ibn ‘Abdulläh, an agent of Sulaymän Pasha al-‘A;m, for six years. T he rent for each year was to be paid in kind, in the month o f Rajab, and consisted of eight Damascene ghirâras of wheat and six of barley. T hen a certain Husayn Agha ibn Muhammad Agha came forth and asked the timär-holder to let him the timär for one year, with an increase in rent by one and three-quarters ghirâras of wheat and two and a half kayls of barley. T he timär-holder accepted the offer. But Sulaymän Bek stated that this was detrimental to his interests and brought forth witnesses, who spoke of the damage that would be done to him. The timär-holder then brought a case before the qadi against Sulaymän Bek alleging that ‘aqd al-tawàjur between him and Sulaymän Bek was unlawful because it was for a long period, because the land was an iqtä* and a mushd' (part of a collective property), and also because it was let to a person who was not a cul­ tivator. Sulaymän Bek insisted that the contract was in order, be­ cause it was originally endorsed by a tfanbali qadi. The present qadi, also a fjanbali, ruled that despite all these objections, the con­ tract was sound according to his own madhhab.111 A Shäfi‘1 qadi sup­ ported the ‘aqd al-tawäjur, o f another iqtä* despite the objections raised that the land consisted of an iqtä* and of a waqf, and that the iqtä* was mushä*.118 Sometimes several iqtä's were let to the same

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person, who was often influential, such as the governor of Damascus. On 13 Ramadan 1174/18 April 1762, for instance, the governor of Damascus, ‘Uthmän Pasha al-Kurji, rented at one time sixteen iq(à‘s in sixteen villages (nine o f which were situated in the Hawrän and seven in the region of Qunaytra), for the total sum of 830 piasters, 320 o f which were paid to the iqtä‘-holders in the tfawrän and 510 to those in the region of Qunaytra, each according to the value of his iqtâ‘.u * Holders of iqtä‘s, anxious to augment their revenues, tried to bind the cultivators to the iqta‘ while forcing others to come and live there on the mere pretext that their fathers originated from the village of the iq(ä*. T he following case illustrates this. H am m ùdibn ‘Uthmän, from the village of al-Shafüniya, in the Maij, brought a case before a qadi in Damascus against Ibrâhîm Agha ibn Rajab, zaïm o f the village of al-$awämi‘. Ibn ‘Uthmän accused Ibn Rajab o f trying to force him to go and live in the latter village or to pay to him a certain tax known as kasr faddàn, on the pretext that Hammüd’s father originated from the village o f al-$awâmi‘. Hammùd objected to this, stating that he was born and brought up in the village of alShafünîya, where he still lived, and that he did not live in the village of al-$awâmi‘ and had no property there. T he qadi, supporting his verdict by a fatwä from the muftî o f Damascus, ‘Alî Efendi alMurâdî (who took the side of Hammüd), prevented Ibrâhîm Agha from molesting the latter, stating that Hammüd had the right to live where he pleased, that he had no property in the village of al$awämi‘, and that a free man could not be possessed ( al-hurr là yutnlak).120 State land not given as iqtä* was mainly entrusted to tax farmers ( multazims), who were appointed on a yearly basis. T he multazim of the village of al-Qu$ayr, on the outskirts o f Damascus, was ap­ pointed to this post by the governor of Damascus, occupied it for six years, and during that time exploited the inhabitants.121 Some­ times the term ddbif was used in place of multazim;122 it was also applied to the holder of a mälikäna.123 During the eighteenth cen­ tury, tax farms were very often retained for life in the form o f mälikäna. A single person might be given the mälikäna of one or more villages.124 According to Murâdî,125 his grandfather, Murâd ibn ‘Alî al-Murâdî, was given the mälikäna of several villages in the Damascus region by Sultan Mu$(afa II (1695-1703), and he claimed that his grandfather was the first to be offered a mälikäna (perhaps in Damascus). T he Murâdïs retained the mälikänas until at least

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the last quarter of the eighteenth century, at the time when Murâdî started writing his biographical dictionary, Silk al-durar. Apart from the miri dues and the 'ushr collected by the holder of a mälikäna according to the barä’a given to him by the sultan,126 he also imposed, especially on laborers, fixed dues ( rusûm) on mar­ riage, wheat-mills, and sheep, in addition to other taxes in kind on wood, coal, and burghul121 (wheat that is boiled, dried, and then ground and is a village staple). The holder of a mälikäna normally attended the cases referred to the mabkamas by the inhabitants of his mälikäna.126 Parts o f villages, and very often whole villages, such as Därayyä,129 Babilä,130 and Dümä131 (in the immediate vicinity of Damascus), Ta‘la in the Hawrân,13* and al-Taybba in Wäd! al-’Ajam,133 were turned into waqfs and were always measured in qlrä(s. Mu tawwalls and nä/irs (supervisors) of waqfs were very often chosen from among the descendants of the founders, and were appointed to these offices by a barä’a from the sultan.134 Women could be appointed as na/irs of waqfs,135 but very rarely as mutawwalls, probably because the administration of waqfs was a difficult task for them. The deputy of the mutawwali was called the qà’im maqàm.1** If the founder of a waqf was the sultan, then the mutawwali would be an official, mainly from Damascus, and very often the daftardâr. The waqfs assigned to the Two Holy Sanctuaries were often in the care of the Kizldr Agha, in Istanbul who delegated mutawwalls to administer them. In addition to the mutawwali and the nä?ir, there was the jàbï, who collected the revenue of the waqf.137 The two main types of waqfs were: the khayri (founded for public benefit) and the ahli or dhurri (a family foundation). However, certain waqfs were a combination of these two, primarily dedicated to public welfare, but the surplus of their revenue was allocated to the descendants of the founder. Most wheat mills in the countryside belonged, in part or as a whole, to waqfs.138 Waqfs were usually leased for longer periods than mulk or iqpV. The unit of lease for any kind of land was the ‘aqd, which was normally of three years’ duration. (In certain cases, however, it was of two years’ duration.)139 This applied to the waqf when it was a whole village, land, or building or when it was part (measured in qiräis) of a whole, either o f specified dimensions or an integral part of a collective property (mushä*). The water assigned for land irrigation was also leased with the waqf in the same contract. The rent, ac­ cepted in cash or in kind, was normally paid yearly, either at the be­

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ginning or the middle of the year, and sometimes paid in installments. A num ber o f waqfs, for instance, were leased for ten full ‘aqds ( ‘uqüd kawàmil), each o f three years’ duration, for twenty-two piasters a year, the rent o f each year paid at its beginning.140 When the lease was for twenty ‘aqds, each o f three years’ duration, the contract was called ifrtikarl (monopolistic).141 In one case, a waqf land, near the house o f As‘ad Pasha al-‘A?m in Damascus, was rented by him for forty ‘aqds, each of three years’ duration, at a price o f thirty piasters for the whole period.14* Sometimes a num ber o f villagers jointly rented a waqf. In the contract it was very often stated that one percent o f the produce o f the waqf should be given to the mutawwaB o r nä?ir o f the waqf.14* Nearly always, after the lease o f the waqf and the issuing o f a hijja legalizing the act o f contract ('aqd al-tawäjur), a speculator ( muxàvnd) came forth and offered an increase on the amount at which the waqf was let. This usually caused a change o f heart on the part o f the mutawwalî o r nä?ir in charge of the waqf, who would then bring the m atter to the attention o f the qadi, dem anding the annulm ent o f the ‘aqd. His objections normally centered on the length o f the ‘aqd, even though it could not exceed four years; on the fact that the lessee was not a cultivator, in case the waqf was an agricultural land; on whether the waqf, o r even part o f it, was mushä*; on whether the lessees were more than one, whereby the description mushä* ap­ plies to them; on whether the rent was less than the rent o f a similar land ( li-kawn al-ujra düna ujrat al-mithl); o r on whether the whole contract was not to the benefit o f the waqf ( laysa f i dhàlika ha& Wlwaqf). Sometimes the qadi called in witnesses in connection with the suggested increase o f rent, and nearly always they agreed that the increase was unfair and that it was harm ful to the lessee. T he qadi looking into waqf leases was nearly always a Shäfi'v, he always rejected any attempts made to annul the original contract (despite the pretexts already referred to) because, according to him, the contract was in harmony with his m adhhab ( 'aid qä'idat madhhabihi alsharif).144 Muslim law, while prohibiting the sale o f a waqf, allowed for its exchange, provided certain conditions obtained. This operation, legally referred to as istibdcU star's, is illustrated by the following case. Before the grand IJanafi qadi o f Damascus, Muhammad Amin $ädiq Efendi, on 8 Rabl* I 1166/13 January 1753, it had been es-

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tablished that a garden on the outskirts o f Damascus belonging to the waqf o f $äfiya Khänum (whose mutawwal! was al-Sayyid Muham­ mad Efendi al-Qäri) could not be exploited, its trees being dry and fruitless. It was, therefore, difficult to let the garden, and there was no money in the waqf to improve its condition. Necessity ( al-darûra), therefore, called for the exchange o f the garden for the sum o f 960 piasters paid by governor As*ad Pasha al-‘A?m, through his agent al-Sayyid ‘AB Efendi al-Murâdï, to the mutawwaB Muhammad Efendi al-Qäri, pending the purchase o f some other, more financially reward­ ing, asset in its place. T he istibdäl was legalized by the grand Hanafî qadi despite the fact that the garden was in effect sold for money (the istibdäl by another asset was not realized) and that the woman-founder had stipulated in the act o f waqf not to apply istibdäl to it. T he buyer, As‘ad Pasha, was entitled to dispose o f the garden as his property. However, the mutawwaB Muhammad Efendi al-Qäri seems to have changed his mind shortly after the sale; he claimed before the grand Hanafî qadi that the act o f istibdäl was unlawful because the womanfounder had not approved it; because the istibdäl was made for money; and because it was detrimental to the interests o f the waqf, the price being far below the actual value o f the garden ( al-ghubn alfähish). Thus, he dem anded the annulm ent o f the istibdäl. T he agent o f As’ad Pasha replied to these accusations by saying that the istibdäl was legal despite the founder’s wish, as the qadi himself ascertained, and that in cases when another asset was not available, the istibdäl could be made for money. Furtherm ore, As’ad Pasha had paid twice the value o f the garden, as witnesses on the spot main­ tained. After quoting Muslim jurists, including the famous Abü Yüsuf, the qadi endorsed the act o f istibdäl.145 T he istibdäl was often a means o f buying waqf property. This was legalized by the grand Hanafî qadi, as in the following case, which begins with these words: Hadhà kitâb tabâyu' mu'tabar shar'ï fodar al-amr fih t bi-ta‘ä(ihi min qibal qadi al-qudàt Muhammad Amin Efendi $âlih Zädeh al-qâfi al-'âmm bi-Dimashq yawma'idhin li-nà'ibihi Jïl-hukm al-hàkim al-Hanbali al-muwaqqi‘ khaffahu a'alâh ß samà’ al-mabr al-àti fihi wa’l-hukm bihi ‘alà qaidat madhhabihi al-sharïf fa-imtathal al-idhn bi’l-sam' wa'l-(â‘a.

Accordingly, two shops in Süq al-Bzürïya, in the center of Damascus, appertaining to a waqf, were sold to al-Häjj Muhammad ‘Umays,

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on 22 Rabf I 1166/27 January 1753. On the same day, the shops were sold to As’ad Pasha al-‘A?m, and, six days later, they were tu rn ed by him, together with other property, into waqf ahl!.145 A waqf let to two persons could be used as a pretext to invalidate an ‘aqd al-ijàr that had become mushä*. But a Shaft*! qadi would still legalize it.147 T he period o f lease o f a waqf could be brought to an end before the date o f expiration o f ‘aqd al-ijâr, but with the agree­ ment o f the parties concerned. This operation is called muqâyala.14* Villagers were continuously in debt to local officials (such as to the holders o f iqtä* and the çùbàshïs) and often to urban notables as well. Besides the regular taxes, villagers had to account for the var­ ious impositions frequently levied on them, a n d th eir revenue was not enough to pay for their debts ( inna fädil kasbihi min find'at alfiläha lä yaß bi-adä’ mâ'alayhi min duyûn). T he shari*a was on the side o f the indebted in questions of settlement o f debt, and when a villager’s poverty was established before the qadi, he ordered that the debts be paid in yearly installments, usually in the range o f 10 percent for each creditor. T he Ottoman sultan issued a decree, registered in the mahkama in Damascus in late M uharram 1167/late November 1753, recommending the payment of debts by installment, and the qadi based his judgm ent on this o rd er.149 Villagers were often col­ lectively held responsible for the payment o f debt and were imprisoned for their failure to do so.150 Records show that villagers had a strong sense o f solidarity when it came to crime: they acted as one in appealing to the qadi to have criminals and undesirables removed from the village. T he qadi, impressed by the unanimity, acted favorably.151 Agricultural land was, and still is, measured by the feddan, o r its fraction, the qîràt. T he feddan usually equals an area o f land plowed during one day. Since a day’s work can vary according to climate, strength of oxen, and efficiency o f the worker, two types o f feddans were in use during the period under study: faddàn khattät and faddàn rûmânï. T he faddän khattät equaled early in this cen­ tury 240 qaçabas (each of about 23.75 square meters), and was about 0.57 o f a hectare. T he faddàn rûm ânï equaled 24 faddän khattät, or roughly 13.68 hectares.152 However, the feddan varied according to time and place. In eighteenth-century Egypt, the feddan was reckoned at 5.929 square meters; but for taxation purposes, it was reckoned at 5,353 square m eters.153 T he feddan was also men­ tioned as equal to one acre.154 T he qasaba (literally "reed”) was used

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during the period under study for the measurement of land in vil­ lages,155 but its length in square meters is not known. T he qa$aba is still used nowadays to measure land o r orchards and, especially, buildings. Although the qirät was the unit most widely employed, in certain cases, the land was divided into seven parts. A share could be divided into any num ber o f sevens and their fractions.196 Grain products were measured by the ghirära, whose volume seems to have differed from one place to another, or by the Da­ mascene kayl ( al-kayl al-Dimashqi). Each ghirära was equal to seventyeight m udd,197 or kayl,196 during the period under study. Land was irrigated according to a set o f customary regulations. W ater was usually distributed from rivers by openings referred to locally as mazxâz (“distributor"; colloquial plural: mazäziz). When there were more than one mazzäz in the same place, stones were used to separate them from each other, and the whole complex was known as al-basf. T he qadi, accompanied by builders (mi'màrïya), inspected the bast whenever it was destroyed, and no reconstruction work could be undertaken without his approval. Reconstruction had to be done very carefully in order not to deepen the course o f the river and cause an imbalance in the ratio o f water.19* Water was cut off from a certain region so as to divert it to another by means o f a sikr— an embankment or a plate of wood.160 T he unit o f time used for irrigation was the 'addin, which, like the feddan, was divided into twenty-four qïrâfs. A qirät o f water may denote a volume of water or the time o f irrigation (varying from half an hour to one full hour). T he time also varied from one year to another, according to the amount o f rainfall. In dry years, the qirät was estimated as a quarter of an hour, and, in rainy years, as half an hour. In certain regions, however, the value o f the qirät was fixed at half an hour for every feddan. When a person said that he owned thirty half hours of water, he meant, in effect, that he owned thirty feddans.161 W ater could be measured, in addition to the qirät, by days, nights, and fractions o f them. When land was sold, its share o f water was usually sold with it. A land in Mazza, a village on the outskirts o f Damascus, for example, was supplied with water from the Däräni River every Sunday (day and night), six hours every Monday, and six hours every other Wednesday.161 Another land was assigned five days o f water from the river Tora every fortnight.163 A land allotted twelve hours o f water every Friday received it one week

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by day and one week by night.164 Another was supplied with a mifrä4 (that is, twelve hours o f water) every third day, once by day and once by night. T he fourth day had a special arrangem ent.166 W ater was also measured by a fraction of a mi$rä‘.166 Damascus and the Countryside. T he Damascene upper classes (which included the governor, the daftardär, the higher ulema, the holders o f iq(ä‘ and o f tax farms, the high-ranking military of­ ficers, well-to-do merchants and craftsmen, and beneficiaries o f waqfs, who among themselves disposed o f the wealth o f Damascus) played an important role in the exploitation o f the countryside. These groups, as we have already seen, either owned villages or collected taxes from them. They also engaged in lending money to the villagers. This was acknowledged by the qadi, referred to as dayn shar'i, and duly registered in the mafikama. T he naqib al-ashräf o f Damascus, al-Sayyid ‘All al-‘Ajlânï, for instance, lent, in 1174/1760, eighteen thousand piasters—a sum hardly equaled among the debts of the time—to the inhabitants o f the village o f al-Qubba, in the northern Marj. T he debt was to be repaid in nine yearly install­ ments.167 He also bought much property for himself and for his minor children in the village o f Zibdin, in the Ghû(a.166 Money was normally borrowed for a period of six months to one year. T he shortest period for a debt, during the period under study, was thirty days.169 Payment of a debt was nearly always deferred for an equal, or longer, period. In certain cases, the lender handed over the borrowed money to the villagers at the mabkama.170 Some­ times the debt did not consist o f money actually borrowed but rather of expenses, such as taxes, paid by the lender.171 T he debt might consist also o f the price o f certain commodities sold to the villagers.179 T he law-court registers, understandably, mention nothing about interest. But from the particulars o f the debt, it seems puzzling that in the majority o f debts, a separate amount, about one-sixth o f the total sum, was assigned for the sale o f soap by the lender to the villagers. In one case, for instance, a group of villagers from the village o f al-Süq, in the region o f al-Zabadänl, borrowed eight hun­ dred piasters from Husayn Agha al-Kurdl for a period of ten months after they had produced evidence of their ability to repay it. One hundred and fifty piasters of this sum were allocated for the buying of soap from the lender, and the remaining amount they received in cash from him.173 Even the serd&r (military officer), stationed at mafykamat al-bäb, where the grand Hanafi qadi resided, included

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in the meager loan he gave to villagers a certain amount for the price of soap.174 T he recurrence of soap buying in the debts, when it is well known that villagers lacked cleanliness, may mean that the price of soap, or at least a part o f it, was used as a cover-up for interest money. If this is not the case, then the lender, not necessarily a mer­ chant or m anufacturer of soap, may have earned money from trading in this commodity, and it may well be that interest money was de­ ducted in advance. When the villagers were unable to repay their debts on time, they were allowed to repay them in installments.178 Collective debts were attended to by villagers, sometimes accompanied by the village shaykh or the ustàdh, in the presence of a qadi and o f witnesses. In individual debts, the villager sometimes offered his property, mainly land, trees, or house, as security ( rahn). Such property could be sold by the creditor. In those cases in which property offered as security was part of a collective property ( hiffa shà'i'a) or consisted of trees— either owned by the villager or exploited by him, according to the right o f ta$arruf ( mashadd maska), while the land belonged to a waqf— only a Hanbalî o r a Shâfi‘1 qadi could endorse the act o f rahn.174 Villagers could borrow money from more than one source at a time. They used to pay a creditor part o f the debt so as to improve their image and be able to borrow additional money from him.177 This clearly shows the constant need of the villagers for money. Eventually, they either sold ( bay* bàtt) their land and property to the creditors or reverted to a conditional sale ( bay' bi’l-wafà) that was nullified as soon as the debt was redeemed. Although villagers were sometimes forced to sell their houses and stores ( bäyka)—in which they kept their produce—to creditors in Damascus, the prices they received were meager compared to the debts they had contracted. They paid back part o f their debts in kind, from the produce of their land.178 Jews, whose main occupation in Damascus was that o f $arräf (moneylender), lent money to villagers and paid for their expenses, crediting their account with the value;179 Christians were less active than Jews as moneylenders, but could be found in this occupation as well.180 Apart from moneylending and the sale o f commodities on advance payment, both communities played no other important economic role in the countryside. They neither bought nor cultivated land there because o f their inability to protect it. However, in vil­ lages with mixed Christian and Muslim populations, as in Ma‘arrat

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Society in the Pre-Modem Middle East

3aydnâyâ and Dayr al-‘Ashä’ir, the inhabitants jointly borrowed money from both Christians and Muslims.181 Interm arriage between urban and rural people was very rare. When this happened, it was because the urban bride o r bridegroom usually had rural origins o r connections, and vice versa.188 In fact, mass migrations, whether from one village to another, o r from vil­ lages to Damascus, were hardly feasible, because tax farm ers and holders o f iq(ä‘ opposed it so as not to forfeit any part o f the revenue. However, villagers interested in learning and teaching in Damascene schools had no choice but to migrate to the city, as did the Maninis, the Kaywänis, and the Baytîmânîs. A part from wheat and barley, the main products o f the country­ side were maize, cotton, and silk (mainly from Zahleh);183 sheep were reared in the immediate vicinity o f Damascus, largely by the T urko­ mans,184 and in the Hawrän. T he countryside also provided Da­ mascus and other places with qild1** (ash), produced by burning certain alkaline desert shrubs and used locally for the m anufacture o f soap. It was also exported to Europe by French merchants for the soap and glass industries in Marseilles and Venice.188 Certain villages, such as Saydnäyä, Ma'lùlâ, Rankùs, and others in Jabal alDurüz, supplied Damascus with gunpowder. This was a mixture o f powdered charcoal obtained from poplar tree branches, o f sul­ fur, and o f saltpeter obtained from potassium nitrate deposited on the walls and floors o f certain caves of this area as a result o f the interaction between sheep and goat urine and limestone.187 Muskets and bullets were secretly m anufactured in Damascus mainly by Christians; they were smuggled to the countryside and sold there and elsewhere.188 Direct economic transactions between one village and another were small and sometimes nonexistent; thus, the role o f Damascus as an economic intermediary was very much enhanced. Several products from the countryside were first brought to Damascus and then sold to villagers. Coffee im ported from the Hijaz, mainly with the Damascene pilgrimage for security reasons (hence, known as al-bunn al-hijdzï), was in turn sold by the Damascenes to the villagers.189 Occasionally, coffee was described as being “white" ( al-bunn alabyad al-fiijdzi),190 but it probably was o f ivory color. A nother com­ modity imported from the Hijaz was the sand (occasionally referred to as sandmakki, after Mecca), used for treating constipation, and

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sold in Damascus, principally by Jews, who were known for their medical knowledge.191 T he countryside also bought from Damascus woolen textiles on credit.192 T he registers also mention the sale of French woolen textiles193 and Egyptian-made linen d o th .194 Very often these commercial transactions were carried out through the village ÿùbâshïs and ustâdhs.193 An im portant source o f village revenue, especially those in the region o f the Hawrân, settled by small nomadic tribes holding large numbers o f camels, centered on the organization o f caravans as­ sociated with the Damascene pilgrimage to the Hijaz. Sakhkhâna bedouins, in the region o f Hama, also participated in carrying pil­ grimage provisions to Mecca.196 Some o f the villages involved were those o f Shaykh Miskin, B$eila, A dhra\ al-Turra, al-B$ira, Musayfira, Man$ùra, al-Sahwa, al-Hräk, Bu$ra, Majmar, and al-Karak. In Shawwäl 1175/April-May 1762, a num ber o f the shaykhs o f these villages received from ‘Uthmän Pasha al-Kurji (governor of Da­ mascus and comm ander o f the pilgrimage) the sum of 16,666 piasters for carrying his provisions from Muzaynb to Medina and back, another 8,000 piasters for carrying provisions from Muzaynb to Hadiya and back to Damascus, and another 8,000 piasters from the governor of Tripoli—comm ander o f the Jarda (the escort for the protection and the carrying o f supplies to the returning pil­ grimage)—for carrying his luggage from Muzaynb to Hadiya and back to Damascus.197 In late Jum ädä II 1176/mid-January 1763, the two shaykhs o f the village o f Adhra* and the shaykh o f the village of al-Turra jointly received from governor ‘Uthm än Pasha the sum of 13,000 piasters for providing him with two hundred camels for the transport o f his provisions from Muzaynb to Mecca.198 T he large sums o f money earned by these village shaykhs aroused the jealousy o f other shaykhs whose services were not solicited, and they often retaliated by attacking the pilgrimage.199 T h e persons engaged in the transport o f individual pilgrims from Damascus to Mecca constituted a special corporation based in Da­ mascus and called Tâ'ifat al-muqawwtmïn. Before assuming their responsibilities, members o f this corporation appeared before the qadi and pledged to discharge their duties faithfully and consider themselves collectively responsible for the harm done to the pil­ grims by any one o f them .200 In 1158/1745, a pilgrim paid, for transport from Damascus to

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Mecca, including full board and forty-five okkes ( oktya) o f luggage, the total sum of 70 piasters: 40 piasters for transport; 5 for drinking water; 15 for luggage; 5 for buying a seat ( shaqdùfa) on the back o f the camel (two passengers usually rode on a camel); and 5 piasters for the camel driver ( ‘akhäm).201 T he cost o f the return journey from Mecca to Damascus for one pilgrim in 1151/1738 was 110 piasters, including full board (90 piasters without food and water).202 In 1158/1745, the return journey cost 100 piasters per pilgrim, but these were special prices for Muslims ( si‘r al-muslimin),203 probably meaning “pilgrims.” Prices paid by merchants for the transport o f goods were slightly higher than those for the transport o f pil­ grims.204 T he increase in the cost o f the return journey may be due to several factors, such as an increase in the num ber o f pieces o f luggage accompanying a pilgrim, the increased dangers o f the return journey (the comm ander o f the pilgrimage sometimes withheld from certain bedouins their customary payment, o r $arr), and the exploitation by camel owners o f a pilgrim’s anxiety to get back home soon. T he transport o f pilgrims was a very profitable business be­ cause the camel, normally employed for several years and for a variety o f purposes, cost at the time only 70 piasters.205 O f course, a pilgrim, by paying such a high price, was also ensuring his safety during the journey; he was, in fact, paying the bedouin for his protection. Vil­ lagers also supplied mules for the transport o f the khazna o f Egypt (which carried the surplus o f its revenue), while crossing Syria to Istanbul.206 NOTES 1. For details see A.-K. Raleq, The Province of Danuiscus 1723-1783, 2nd ed. (Beirut 1970), pp. 213-22. 2. Ibid., pp. 227, 232-33. 3. Ibid., pp. 300-301. 4. Ahmad al-Budayri, liau