The “Church of the East,” to which Maani Gioerida’s family belonged, had at one time been the most geographically widespread of the branches of Christianity, reaching to China and India. Nestorius, a fifth-century patriarch of Constantinople, had claimed that Jesus had two separate natures, one as a man and one as a god. Mary had given birth, he said, to Jesus the man, not Jesus the god, and therefore she should not be called the Mother of God. Nestorius’s doctrine was officially condemned, but his followers simply moved east, making Nestorianism the predominant religion of Persia until it was supplanted by Islam. During the years of Mongol rule the church had been suppressed, and it had never managed to recover its prior status. Nonetheless, there were sizable Christian communities in both the Ottoman empire and Safavid Persia, which were treated as protected minorities.
Most people of her time, like Maani Gioerida before she married, lived out their lives in just one place. So the historians, quite rightly, like to remind us: “In the world of the 1500s and 1600s,” says John E. Wills, Jr., “most people never traveled more than ten miles from home.” “Most Europeans never traveled very far from their home towns and villages,” agrees Merry Wiesner-Hanks. According to Henry Kamen, “Most people’s experience was limited to their own region. Food, tools and clothing were all normally produced within the home area.”
Sitti Maani Gioerida della Valle, 1745, by F. G. Scotin, l’ainé, from Les Voyages de Pietro della Valle. Engraving.
And yet a great many people were on the move in 1616. Artists and artisans often moved to serve their patrons: Artemisia Gentileschi and her father Orazio, for example, traveled to London to complete commissions; many Persian artists relocated to the Mughal court. Traders sometimes ranged long distances: a traveling yarn salesman like Jacob Boehme might crisscross Bohemia; maritime traders might spend years traversing oceans. Diplomats like Peter Paul Rubens or Thomas Roe were sent on distant missions. Pirates and adventurers buckled swashes around the globe. Algiers was filled with corsairs from every nation. Walter Raleigh was released from the Tower of London in 1616 to search for El Dorado. Settlers like John Rolfe (though the Powhatans would call him not a settler but an invader) also crossed oceans. It was a time of warfare: soldiers like Heinrich Kepler went where the fighting was, and women like Katharina Kepler followed them; other women also followed the men, as Grimmelshausen’s Mother Courage would do, to turn tricks or peddle goods. Missionaries traveled far. Vagrants and beggars rambled from town to town. Refugees fled conflicts in many parts of the world; pestilence and famine also caused migrations. Pilgrims, like Mulla Sadra, traveled long distances for religious reasons. Some people were forcibly moved: Cervantes and Malik Ambar were carried off as slaves, and a slave industry had begun that would move unprecedented numbers of sub-Saharan Africans to the Americas to harvest sugar or cotton, or to work in the mines after the native labor pool had been exhausted.
Artists and artisans; diplomats; pirates, adventurers, and explorers; migrants and settlers; soldiers and their hangers-on; traders and merchants; prostitutes; vagrants and beggars; opportunists; exiles and refugees from war, pestilence, or famine; religious and cultural pilgrims and missionaries; servants and slaves: they were all on the move. Maani Gioerida’s parents were refugees. But Pietro della Valle, a nobleman from a distinguished Italian family, was none of these, exactly. He was a new breed of traveler: though he had a little of the qualities of many of those different kinds of travelers, in the end he was a tourist, wandering mainly out of curiosity and a desire for new experiences.
Or maybe he was a refugee after all — a refugee from love, from a previous love affair that had been unsuccessful. For twelve years he had courted a woman named Beatrice Boraccio (taking time out along the way to father two illegitimate children by other women), only to be rejected in favor of another man. Wallowing in romantic broodings about killing his rival and then himself, he drifted listlessly, casting about for some grand gesture that would demonstrate his exceptional qualities: he wanted, he said, to play a role on the stage of the world — nel gran teatro di tutto l’universo. In 1611 he participated in some skirmishes against corsairs off the coast of Africa, and this awakened in him a curiosity about the ancient world. He latched onto a leading European orientalist, Mario Schipano, a professor of medicine at Naples. Schipano inspired him to undertake a journey to the Holy Land, making observations and collecting information about literature, science, and culture along the way.
Pietro della Valle, 1745, by F. G. Scotin, l’ainé, from Les Voyages de Pietro della Valle. Engraving.
In June 1614, accompanied by a Flemish painter named Giovanni, an Augustinian monk called Brother Andrea, and two servants, Tomasso and Lorenzo, he set sail from Venice for Istanbul on his way to the holy land. He was, at first, to be a typical pilgrim making a journey, like many others, to a religious center of his faith; in fact, he often referred to himself, through what would turn out to be many years of wandering, as “Pietro the Pilgrim.” At the outset he dressed as a traditional pilgrim, in a white robe with a horsehair belt. He strung a little gold pilgrim’s staff on a chain around his neck.
Except for that amulet, which he intended to leave in the holy city of Jerusalem, he abandoned this costume when he got to Istanbul. Something of a popinjay, he delighted there in dressing in the silks of an Ottoman pasha. On his head he placed “an immense white plume to make me easily distinguishable at a distance from everybody else.” Nothing pleased him more than to draw a crowd as he walked down the streets of the city in his extravagant costumes. Turkish maidens, he said, would fondle his moustaches and stroke his cheeks, crying “Ghiuzel! Ghiuzel!” as he passed by: “How handsome! How handsome!” When he learned that the elite of the city soled their boots with iron to go riding, he had a pair made with silver soles — “a thing so out of the ordinary that not even the Prince himself does the like.”
Della Valle didn’t know it yet, but he was already hooked on exoticism. Or we might call it “orientalism,” a term associated with the Palestinian-American literary theorist Edward Said, which refers to the tendency of Western writers to erect exotic, and ultimately belittling, mythologies about “oriental” peoples and cultures based on stereotypes and assumptions. Like others of his time, della Valle contributed to such mythologies, and consequently he has not fared well with some modern critics. J. D. Gurney holds him up as a prime example of “the limits of perception,” objecting that in his writing there are no more than “the barest indications of escape from a thoroughly Eurocentric attitude.” In Glenn Most’s assessment, “Pietro’s desire for great deeds, fame, and a typically Humanist form of immortality stood in a certain disproportion to his own capabilities.”
Pietro della Valle Discovers Egyptian Mummies, 1664–1665, from Der Voortrefelkyke Reisen van Pietro della Valle, a Dutch translation of his travels. Engraving.
Egyptian Mummy Portrait of a Man with a Richly Decorated Tunic. Inv. Aeg. 777. Skulpturensammlung, Staatliche Kunstsammlungen, Dresden, Germany. Photo: Elke Estel / Hans-Peter Klut. Image copyright © bpk Berlin / Skulpturensammlung / Elke Estel / Hans-Peter Klut / Art Resource, NY.
In 1616 Pietro della Valle became the first European to discover the Fayum mummy portraits of Egypt’s late antiquity. He sent examples back to Europe, including this portrait, which is now in the Albertinum, the state art museum in Dresden.
“On this outer casing was painted the figure of a young man, no doubt the portrait of the deceased, but fully dressed and decorated from head to foot with so many painted and gilt devices, with such a quantity of hieroglyphs, characters, and the like,” della Valle wrote, “that you can well imagine that it was the prettiest thing in the world.”
I think we should cut the man some slack. Admittedly, he was not an especially deep thinker, and his writing (which he did not intend for publication in its existing form, without editing) is marred by repetition and a lack of proportion. But the early seventeenth century — the “age of religious wars” — was not an
era noted for tolerance and cross-cultural understanding. Della Valle was a man of his place, time, and station. The mere fact that he resided in Islamic countries for nearly a fifth of his life is itself remarkable by the standards of his time.
In Istanbul he spent a year partying, seeing the sights, and learning Turkish, which was to be his go-to language throughout his journeys. He discovered there a strange new drink called cahue (coffee) and another called sherbet, as well as an unusual loose-weave fabric called terry cloth and a kind of furniture called a sofa, all of which he resolved to introduce into Italy. He judged coffee to be improved by the addition of sugar, cinnamon, and cloves, and he speculated that it could be made even better by brewing it with wine rather than water. He described his discoveries in a series of letters he sent to his friend Dr. Schipano. Before he was done he would send thirty-six lengthy letters back to Naples. Remarkably, all would reach their destination. They would be published after his death by his sons as The Travels of Pietro della Valle (Viaggi di Pietro della Valle) — Schipano had faithfully kept all of della Valle’s correspondence, misplacing just one letter.
Although della Valle wrote nothing about his own wedding ceremony in Baghdad, he did describe a wedding he had attended in Istanbul. It was held in the evening. Women guests arrived with trunks full of clothes, and they changed their outfits several times during the celebration. “I have never seen women so superbly dressed and bejeweled,” della Valle enthused. A lavish meal was served at 2:00 AM. Because it was considered inauspicious for the couple to consummate their marriage before dawn, the party continued through the night, the guests dragging themselves off at daybreak.
From Istanbul he sailed for Cairo. He found the city disappointing. As a consequence of the discovery of the sea route between Europe and India, trade through Cairo had fallen off, and the city was suffering from neglect by its Turkish governors. Still, della Valle was a sociable sort who made friends easily, and he attended another wedding there, of a Coptic Christian couple. This was accompanied by singing, playing stringed instruments, and ribald pantomime. To honor the new union the guests and the groom all got falling-down drunk.
In Egypt he came across white monkeys, and arranged for one to be shipped back to India. He visited the Sphinx (at that time almost entirely buried in sand) and the pyramids. He climbed to the top of the Pyramid of Cheops, where he carved his name on the side facing Italy. He became the first European to excavate Egyptian mummies, descending into a pit where many examples were stacked on top of one another “just like cheese and macaroni.” He shipped some mummies and the mummy portraits with which they were buried back to Italy. He saw Cleopatra’s Needles before they were removed to erode as monuments to imperialism and capitalism in London and New York. At Mount Sinai he prayed to the patron saint of marriages to heal his broken heart.
In Cairo della Valle witnessed the departure of a caravan to Mecca. The caravan was so long that it took a full day to pass by. It seemed to della Valle to contain
the whole body of those who in Cairo profess the holy life, bearing an infinity of different banners. These false friars marched two by two, singing in alternating choirs much as our monks do when they psalmodize. Among them was a handful of their ascetics, variously clad and posturing extravagantly, wearing theselves out with ceaseless cries of “hu!” Some, completely naked, freely displayed their nudity to proclaim their holiness.
Of the world’s religious pilgrimages, none was more important than the hajj, the journey of devout Muslims to Mecca. Mecca (the birthplace of the prophet Muhammad), and the secondary pilgrimage destination of Medina (his burial place) about two hundred miles to its north, were inconveniently located in the Hejaz, the region of the Arabian peninsula along the coast of the Red Sea. Vast numbers of pilgrims nonetheless made the arduous trip to these destinations. A late-sixteenth-century Portuguese writer estimated that two hundred thousand people assembled at a prayer meeting at Mount Arafat. Pilgrims came from as far away as Central Asia, passing through the steppes to the Caspian Sea in order to avoid their Persian enemies, and from Southeast Asia, stopping over at ports in India along the way.
The hajj was unique in that it was in theory obligatory, as one of the pillars of Islamic faith, for Muslims to make the journey at least once in a lifetime, so long as the worshipper was capable financially and otherwise of undertaking it. It was also unusual in that pilgrims were required only to set eyes on the Kaaba, the cube-shaped building said to have been constructed by Abraham and his son Ishmael, and not necessarily to enter it to visit holy relics. Those who were able to enter would emulate Muhammad and kiss its holy black stone if they could, but this was also not a requirement. Those who could not reach the rock would circle the Kaaba seven times. They would cry “Here, my God, here I am,” and point in its direction.
What was required was that pilgrims arrive by the time of the annual prayer on Mount Arafat on the ninth day of the twelfth lunar month. Because the Islamic lunar year was shorter than the solar year, the exact date of this event varied with respect to the solar calendar. But if the date was missed the pilgrimage would be invalid. Pilgrims were always attentive to the phases of the moon in order to measure their progress against this date. If the Day of Arafa fell on a Friday, the pilgrimage was held to be especially auspicious and effective. As a result, reports of new moon sightings always multiplied around the appropriate day. One local judge at Mecca complained of such reports that “a hair escapes from their eyelashes, they see something, and immediately they think it to be the new moon.”
The need to arrive on time by the Day of Arafa meant that caravans to Mecca had to run efficiently, at a predictable rate. There were two main caravan routes: one led down the eastern coast of the Red Sea from Cairo and the other led from Istanbul through Aleppo and Damascus south to Medina and then Mecca. Sometimes there was also an east-west caravan that ran from Basra on the Persian Gulf across the Arabian Desert to Medina, but this route was complicated by tensions between the Ottomans and Persia, as well as by the predations of Bedouins. A fourth route may have led north from Yemen on the southern tip of the Arabian peninsula, but scant historical record of such a route exists, whereas the northern caravan routes are well documented as a result of the compulsive record-keeping of the Ottoman bureaucracy.
The Ottomans had to make provisions for the safety of the caravans or risk suffering a damaging loss of prestige. This was not always easy, since their control over the desert regions was partial at best, and almost nonexistent over the route from Basra. A detachment of janissaries was assigned to protect the caravans, sometimes supplemented by cavalry, especially on the vulnerable Syrian route from Damascus. In particularly dangerous times caravans were sometimes armed with cannon, which proved to be the most effective deterrent against attack. Many of the pilgrims themselves carried personal arms.
The Ottomans attempted to establish guard garrisons along the caravan routes, but these were usually undermanned and vulnerable to takeover. In 1625, for example, Bedouins gained control of one such fort by drugging its soldiers. Bedouin maidens distributed spiked sweets to the soldiers, saying they were the charitable offering of a deceased person. The Bedouins took command of the fort while its defenders snoozed.
Caravans used precious water supplies in desert regions, which Bedouins would not share without compensation. Tolls and tributes were key components of caravan expenditures. Merchants moving goods by caravan found the variable protection costs to be one of the most difficult aspects of business. Once arrived at Mecca, the travelers could face a variety of fees imposed by the local rulers there, known as sharifs. The sharifs constantly vied with the central Ottoman government in Istanbul over their degree of autonomy in governing and their authority to impose taxes and fees.
The cost of maintaining camels and horses was a major caravan expense. Spare animals had to be taken to ensure against losses. Soldiers and officials alone required more than six hundred animals, and the travelers required thousands
more. If it appeared that the caravan was running behind schedule the animals would be driven hard, since making the Day of Arafa was critical. Camel entrepreneurs often complained bitterly about the way their animals were treated. In general the entrepreneurs were held responsible for replacing beasts that fell out of service. There are conflicting reports of the profitability of the camel trade but the fact that participation sometimes had to be conscripted by the Ottoman state suggests that camel entrepreneurship was at the least a chancy way to make one’s fortune.
The leaders of caravans were responsible for arranging the pilgrims. Otherwise anarchy would result when crossing narrow passages or vulnerable areas. Generally the wealthiest and most heavily armed travelers were placed in the front — this was the position Pietro della Valle occupied in his caravan journeys — while poorer travelers were made to travel in the more vulnerable rear. Security had to be provided not only against outside attack but also within the caravan itself. Thirsty, tired, and anxious travelers from different parts of the world, many of them armed, could easily get into dangerous disputes, which the caravan master would have to adjudicate.
Because the requirement of the hajj was recognized by both Sunni and Shiite Muslems, safe conduct could be given to high-ranking pilgrims even from enemy nations. The system was far from foolproof. The hajj could be a pretext for spying, and travelers from hostile nations were naturally viewed with suspicion. The Ottoman government had a top Safavid official who made the journey in the late sixteenth century murdered; to prevent the outbreak of war they staged a Bedouin attack to conceal their role in his assassination.
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