Osman Hamdi Bey’s Turkish Street Scene and Late-Nineteenth-Century Power Relations between the Ottoman and German Empires

Archaeological Artifacts and the Power Relations between the Ottoman and German Empires

The international environment that took shape a few years after the founding of the Wilhelmian Empire in 1871 facilitated the instigation of closer relations between the German and Ottoman empires. A determining factor in that regard was the Russian-Ottoman War of 1877–1878, which had profound consequences for the latter following its defeat.^[9] At the Congress of Berlin, held in 1878 and headed by the German Chancellor Otto von Bismarck (r. 1871–1890) to reach a final agreement among the parties, the European order and the relations between the Ottoman Empire, Russia, Britain, Austria-Hungary, Germany, France, and Italy were reconfigured.^[10] During the congress, Bismarck pursued a policy to ensure that the balance of power in Europe did not shift against the German state. As the Three Emperors’ League, the alliance he had established in 1873 with Austria-Hungary and Russia, subsequently dissolved as a result of the conflict of interests between the latter two countries in the Balkans, Bismarck, anxious about the rising power of Russia, effectively put effort into preventing the disintegration of the Ottoman Empire. Thus, Germany opted not to make any claims to Ottoman territory – contrary to Russia, Austria-Hungary, France, and Britain, the countries siding with the separatist movements erupting within the empire.^[11] This effort was one of the important factors that led Sultan Abdülhamid II to consider the German state as an ally and provide leverage for the latter during the reign of Kaiser Wilhelm II to peacefully expand its influence across the Middle East as part of his Weltpolitik.^[12]

In the 1880s, two problems encountered by the Ottoman Empire left an impact on the political-economic relations emerging between these two states: an economic crisis that was plaguing the empire and a need to reform the military. The rising balance of payment deficit and the increasing need for financial resources to modernize the military after the Crimean War (1853–1856) had already led the Ottoman Empire to depend on European loans, especially from Britain and France.^[13] However, following Britain’s decision to withdraw from being involved in the Ottoman Empire’s finances due to the latter’s bankruptcy declared in 1875, the German bureaucrats took the opportunity for the advancement of German interests in the Ottoman territories. Thanks to these favorable conditions, which lasted until the Young Turk Revolution in 1908 that put an end to Abdülhamid II’s regime in 1909, Germany increasingly turned the Ottoman Empire into a fertile market and supplier of raw materials, and became a major source of loans for the Ottoman treasury. It played a part in the establishment of the Ottoman Debt Administration in 1881, reorganized the Ottoman army after the German model,^[14] and via Deutsche Bank acquired the prerogative to construct and operate the Anatolian Railway in 1888. Consequently, the German state secured a predominant position in this web of political-economic relations as the German industry and financial capital gradually expanded into the Middle East, ending France and Britain’s exclusively dominant status in the region.^[15] Sultan Abdülhamid II utilized the support the German government provided to implement his own political projects. After suspending the Ottoman Parliament in 1878, he embarked on an effort to establish a centralized and personalized state system.^[16] He also focused on enlarging the empire’s railway network, expanding the telegraph system, and developing roadways that would enable the institutions of the newly emerging modern bureaucratic state to extend their reach throughout of the Ottoman Empire.^[17] The construction of railways had a particular importance in this process since it would facilitate the rapid transportation of troops to the peripheral territories to pacify revolts and to the frontiers for defensive purposes. Abdülhamid II attached importance to it also as part of his Islamic projects for building hegemony and acquiring financial gain, as the number of Muslims willing to go on pilgrimage (hajj) to Mecca was increasing. While the sultan initiated these projects with the aim of reinforcing the state power he wielded, he progressively collaborated with the German Empire in a process that resulted, from the late 1880s onwards, in the political, economic, and cultural penetration of the latter into the Ottoman realm.^[18]

Archaeological explorations constituted a significant aspect of Germany’s political and cultural interest in Ottoman territories. They had critical importance as the German state aspired to have a say, at the global level, in the fields of science and culture, and thereby to strengthen its general position in the international arena.^[19] One of the primary goals of the Bismarck government was to bring German museums up to a level at which they could compete with their counterparts in France and Britain.^[20] Therefore, the German state conducted many excavation campaigns in the northern Mesopotamia region after 1880 thanks to the increasing political capacity it acquired vis-à-vis the Ottoman state, and a large number of artifacts were added to the collections of German museums. These campaigns were conducted via its Foreign Office, the Ministry of Culture, and the German embassy in Istanbul, and they were financed by institutions such as the Royal Museums of Berlin, the Royal Academy of Sciences in Berlin, the German Orient-Committee, the German Orient Society, and the German Archaeological Institute (DAI).^[21]

Within this context, the greatest archaeological achievement of the Bismarck government was the excavation of the ancient city of Pergamon and the transportation of the Altar of Zeus to the Royal Museums of Berlin. The ancient city was excavated by the engineer Carl Humann, who came to Izmir and Istanbul in 1863 to work as an inspector for the railway and road construction on behalf of the Ottoman government.^[22] As part of his work in Western Anatolia, in the winter of 1864–1865 he visited the site of ancient Pergamon for the first time and, subsequently, launched excavations there. These early digs became systematic when he received the support of Alexander Conze, the director of the Royal Museums of Berlin’s Collection of Sculptures and Plaster Casts (Antiquities Collection) at the time.^[23] They took charge of three excavation campaigns in Pergamon conducted between 1878 and 1886, mainly with the financial support of German Emperor Wilhelm I.^[24] By 1884, the year in which the Ottoman state adopted a new antiquities regulation that prohibited the taking of artifacts out of the empire (while retaining a clause providing for exceptions), most of the Pergamon Altar had already been excavated and sent to Berlin. This was carried out by means of the lenient provisions of the 1874 Antiquities Regulation. The regulation allowed that a third of all archaeological finds were to be granted to whoever oversees excavations and the remaining two-thirds were to be split equally between the Imperial Treasury and the landowner. It authorized the exporting of the finds provided that they were registered with the Ministry of Education.^[25] Moreover, the correspondence in the Ottoman state archives also reveals that the Zeus Altar and many other rare artifacts excavated there could be transported to the Royal Museums of Berlin in return for a payment made by the German authorities to the Ottoman government.^[26] The transaction was made possible as a result of the permission given by Sultan Abdülhamid II in 1879 and 1881. The major remaining sections of the altar were transported to Berlin in 1885 following negotiations between the Ottoman authorities and Joseph Maria von Radowitz, the then German ambassador to the Ottoman Empire.^[27] Chancellor Bismarck participated in the negotiations himself to ensure that the remaining parts were sent to Germany.^[28] Osman Hamdi, who played an important role in the drafting of the new antiquities regulation and was initially opposed to the removal of what was left of the altar in Pergamon out of the country, eventually approved the arguments of German archaeologists, who contended that “its integral unity should be maintained.”^[29]

In 1886, a huge panoramic view of the Pergamon Altar was put on display at the Berlin Fine Arts Exhibition, an international event organized to celebrate the centennial of the exhibitions of the Berlin Academy of Arts. In 1899, the altar was placed at a building on Museum Island that was constructed particularly for that purpose.^[30] The Pergamon Museum soon became a well-known institution like its French and British counterparts. The transport of the Pergamon Altar to Berlin and its exhibition there rendered apparent the presence of the German Empire within Ottoman territories. Thereby, Bismarck’s government could demonstrate to both domestic and international spectators that Germany had succeeded in acquiring a powerful status in the Middle East.^[31]

Sultan Abdülhamid II, who is generally portrayed in scholarly literature as having little interest in classical artifacts, did not take a stance against the German authorities taking possession of the Pergamon Altar, and in the following years continued to display a conciliatory attitude regarding the export of archaeological finds.^[32] For instance, in March 1899 he approved a secret agreement that went against the provisions of the 1884 Antiquities Regulation. The treaty in question granted the Royal Museums of Berlin the right to claim half the finds made during the course of excavations carried out in Ottoman territories.^[33] Moreover, in 1900, upon the counsel of museum director Bode and a request made by Emperor Wilhelm II, Sultan Abdülhamid II bequeathed to Germany an assemblage of artifacts dating from the early Christian era, and in 1903 he similarly handed over the façade of the Mshatta desert palace (Qasr Al-Mshatta), which was originally located in Jordan and dated from the Umayyad period (eighth century AD). The memorandum delivered by the grand vizier to the Ottoman ministries of Education, Internal and Foreign Affairs reveals that the façade was bestowed to the Kaiser Friedrich Museum in Berlin as a gift upon the request of Wilhelm II “due to the friendly and amicable relations between the two states.”^[34] While the specifics of Mshatta’s handover are beyond the scope of this article, it should be noted that it was added to the collection of the newly established Department of Islamic Art at the Kaiser Friedrich Museum (today’s Bode Museum) and later became one of its most important pieces.^[35] Sultan Abdülhamid II, therefore, let Germany take possession of valuable historical artifacts as a means of perpetuating the close relations that had been established between the two states and that he saw as being crucial to power strategies he sought to implement.^[36] He offered his cooperation on various political and economic projects (e.g., the Anatolian railway system) that laid the initial groundwork for the German state’s subsequent peaceful expansion into Ottoman territories during the reign of Kaiser Wilhelm II, so that he could reinforce his own political power.

International Power Relations at the Imperial Museum and the Acquisition of Turkish Street Scene

Osman Hamdi, many of whose family members had already served in the upper echelons of bureaucracy, held various positions in the Ottoman administration. He worked as the vice-director of the Protocol Office of the Palace in 1871, the head of the Bureau of Foreigners at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in 1875, and mayor to the Sixth Municipal District of Pera and Galata in 1877, before he became the director of the Imperial Museum of Antiquities in Istanbul in 1881.^[37] Although he was personally critical of the authoritarian regime of Abdülhamid II, he remained politically aloof during the nearly thirty years (1881–1910) he held this position as he often had to have the approval of the sultan in performing his tasks.^[38] He participated in the negotiations conducted with German officials regarding archaeological finds, and his decisions could only be overridden by Abdülhamid II, whom he avoided contradicting. It was due to the 1884 Antiquities Regulation, which was mostly drafted by Osman Hamdi himself,^[39] that the Imperial Museum of Antiquities held authority within the decision-making process to grant or deny permission for excavations to be conducted in the Ottoman Empire and for foreign nationals to take antiques out of the country. The new regulation stipulated that all archaeological finds unearthed in the excavations carried out in the empire belong to the state (article 3), and prohibited the division of them among different parties or shipping them out of the country. However, there was still room in the regulation that made these possible with the permission of the museum director. Thus, while article 8 reads: “It is strictly forbidden to transfer or export ancient artifacts discovered in Ottoman territories to foreign countries,” article 32 envisages a margin for exception: “The official license, which must be obtained for taking ancient artifacts out of Ottoman territories, is provided only by the Ministry of Education after taking the advice of the Directorate of the Museum…”^[40] Hence, within the scope of the bureaucratic field in which he had authority, it can be argued that Osman Hamdi could practice power via varied stances he adopted in his relations with German authorities, and this provided him a space in which he could act on his career as a painter comparable to the one utilized by the sultan in his dealings with the European states. Before moving on to elaborate the particularities of the contacts Osman Hamdi established with German museum officials in the early years of his tenure as director of the Imperial Museum of Antiquities and the course of actions both sides engaged in at the personal and institutional level, it will be useful, first, to touch briefly on his career as an artist.

In 1860, Osman Hamdi moved to Paris with the intention of studying law, but he gravitated towards the art of painting, ultimately becoming a student of academic painter Gustave Boulanger (1824–1888). Under the influence of both Boulanger and Jean-Léon Gérôme (1824–1904), a well-known Orientalist painter, Osman Hamdi created his own unique style. During his career as a painter, he participated in numerous exhibitions abroad, ranging from the World Fair of 1867 in Paris to the International Art Exhibition held in Munich in 1909. Additionally, he served as the imperial commissary at the World Fair held in Vienna in 1873. Upon returning to Istanbul from Paris in 1869, he held various positions in the Ottoman bureaucracy, as mentioned above (except in 1879–1881), but never ceased to paint. In 1880, he was appointed palace painter by Sultan Abdülhamid II.^[41] He continued to hold that position even after he became the director of the Imperial Museum of Antiquities,^[42] and while additionally heading the Academy of Fine Arts in Istanbul (Sanayi-i Nefise Mektebi, 1882–1910).

Carl Humann, the foreign director of the Royal Museum in Berlin (Auswärtiger Direktor) responsible for all German archaeological expeditions in the Near East from 1884 to 1896, and Alexander Conze, the general secretary of the German Archaeological Institute in Berlin from 1887 onwards, were the two important archaeologists with whom he established scholarly, bureaucratic, and personal relations during his years at the museum. Osman Hamdi allegedly recounted that he learned how to conduct excavations from Humann and that Conze praised him for his accomplishments, encouraging him to undertake new projects.^[43] Between the two of them, Osman Hamdi became rather close friends with Humann, whom he addressed by his first name from 1894 onwards.^[44] Just like Osman Hamdi, Humann did not have an education in archaeology but launched systematic archaeological explorations in Ottoman territories and carried out major excavations nonetheless. They competed in their work as well. In the 1880s, they carried out back-to-back projects on Mount Nemrut and in Zincirli.^[45] They retained their professional and personal relations over the years; Humann’s wife and daughter were hosted many times at Osman Hamdi’s villas in Kuruçeşme and Eskihisar.^[46]

Within this favorable professional and personal setting, the authority that Osman Hamdi held regarding archaeological finds provided a space for him to pursue variegated policies as both the director of the museum and as an artist. Although he complained about how artifacts, unearthed in the course of excavations, were being ‘looted’ by Western powers, he made a number of decisions that favored the interests of foreign archaeologists and thus contradicted the prohibiting provisions set forth in the 1884 Antiquities Regulation.^[47] Just as in the cases of French excavations in Tello and American dig sites in Nippur (Iraq) in the late 1880s, Osman Hamdi occasionally responded positively to the requests of European and American archaeologists, enabling the sharing of finds and their transportation to other countries. Unsurprisingly, foreign archaeologists and museum officials who were interested in conducting work in Ottoman territories put effort into establishing friendly relations with Osman Hamdi, whom they referred to as the ‘General Conservator.’ Some of them granted him membership to prestigious institutions like the Institut de France; others awarded him honorary doctoral degrees and medals, or arranged the purchase of his paintings by their states. Accordingly, in 1893 the director of the National Museums of France purchased Osman Hamdi’s painting Women in a Türbe (1890) in order to facilitate the transfer of artifacts discovered in the ancient Sumerian city of Tello (known today as Girsu) in the south of Iraq to the Musée du Louvre, and in 1895 the American Babylonian Exploration Fund bought Osman Hamdi’s painting At the Mosque Door (1891) in support of a campaign conducted by the University of Pennsylvania for excavations in Nippur (today’s Nuffar).^[48]

Archival documents indicate that German authorities engaged in similar efforts on numerous occasions. For example, art historian Wilhelm Vöge travelled to Istanbul in October 1898 upon the request of Wilhelm von Bode and tried to obtain some early Christian and Byzantine artworks that had been discovered during excavations or were in the hands of private collectors, to send them to the Royal Museums of Berlin.^[49] In his letters, he advised Bode to buy a painting from Osman Hamdi in order to speed up the official formalities.^[50] Theodor Wiegand also assisted Vöge in his efforts.^[51] A report that he wrote concerning the transport of parts of the façade of Mshatta Palace to Germany in 1903 makes it clear that the purchase of Osman Hamdi’s paintings was an integral aspect of the relations established between the two countries with regard to archaeological excavations. Wiegand had the following to say about Osman Hamdi, who initially opposed the transportation of the façade:

Just as before, he has behaved in a rather comical manner, acting as though he is unwilling to cooperate… For that reason, we have bypassed him altogether and contacted the Sultan directly. This time around we must show these people that we are not docile sheep to be ordered around. No longer will we stand for being deceived and, on top of that, made to purchase oil paintings of dubious quality for unseemly sums of money.^[52]

Wiegand’s comment suggests it is quite likely that the German state’s purchase of Osman Hamdi’s painting Turkish Street Scene was also related to archaeological finds as an early case. No doubt this is the painting that is mentioned in a series of letters exchanged between Humann and Osman Hamdi as well as in the correspondence between Humann and Conze (even if the title of the painting was never mentioned).^[53] The correspondence between the German Empire’s Ministry of Religious, Educational, and Medical Affairs (Ministerium der Geistlichen, Unterrichts- und Medizinal-Angelegenheiten) and the National Gallery in November of 1888 indicates that a painting referred to as Street Scene in Constantinople was bought from Osman Hamdi to be added to the museum’s collection.^[54] Moreover, Turkish Street Scene is the only work by Osman Hamdi to be included in the collections of German museums in those years aside from the painting Miraculous Fountain (Der Wunderbrunnen), which was sent to Berlin in 1904 (fig. 2).^[55]

2

Osman Hamdi, The Miraculous Fountain, 1904, oil on canvas, 200 × 151 cm. Berlin, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Alte Nationalgalerie, inv. no. A II 842

The developments that led to the purchase of Turkish Street Scene can be traced through the above-mentioned letters between Humann, Conze, and Osman Hamdi.^[56] A letter sent by Humann to Conze on 17 June 1887 reveals what transpired. Here, Humann reported to Conze that in Smyrna (Izmir) he was informed about the discovery of sarcophagus statues and inscriptions which were, in his opinion, rather important pieces. He complained that if circumstances had been favorable, Osman Hamdi would have hopefully been willing to give half the finds to them, as he had done before.^[57] Subsequently, Humann brought up the issue of extending a reward to certain Imperial Museum personnel, the withholding of which, Humann argued, could lead to a retaliation, and speculated on the reward, possibly a German order, that could be extended to Osman Hamdi, whom he defined as “a person belonging to the diplomatic field of the German Embassy”:^[58]

Presenting him a gift is a difficult task; at least Testa once offered him a silver centerpiece, and he rejected it (that’s how he recounts it). You cannot offer him a couple of hams and a barrel of wine, which I bring him every year as a tribute. Hamdi is a very aspirant and ambitious person. I praised him as much as I could in my last report. If you want to do him a favor, commission a painting from him for the National Gallery for between 5–15.000 Marks. That would be utile [useful] and dulce [pleasant] to him. Do not even think about offering him a sum of money between 1–2000 Marks; that’s because he knows very well how valuable many things he handed us willingly or by turning a blind eye are…^[59]

A letter Humann sent to Osman Hamdi on 25 August 1887 makes it clear that Conze had given his approval to Humann’s idea of commissioning a painting for the National Gallery in Berlin. At the beginning of his letter penned in French, Humann wrote in detail about his endeavors in Magnesia on the Maeander (Aydın), the Artemis temple that was being unearthed, and the reliefs that were discovered.^[60] Probably motivated by his personal ambitions as an archaeologist as well, while acting on behalf of the German government, he requested from Osman Hamdi to hand their copies to Berlin, and indirectly demanded his permission to let the unearthed pieces be archaeologically categorized. Subsequently, he made various offers of possible rewards that could be extended to him, including the above-mentioned transaction:

Ten different ideas go through my mind – would you like the porcelain manufactory, which as an art institution is under the Ministry of Education, to supply you with a full and most elegant service specifically produced for you, and how would you like it? Would you like the National Gallery of Modern Painters to exhibit a painting of yours? Would you prefer to have a gift personally selected by His Royal Highness the Crown Prince, as he is the patron of the [Royal] Museums? – Books, collections, all the plaster casts of the museum or the devil knows what? Hell, what else would you like? Oh, don’t be mad at me, because my intention is not to hand you a bahşiş [tip], don’t reprimand me and don’t curse at me – I genuinely ask you, as a friend, do not act like an epitome of righteousness. Write to me and accept something, because if you reject all of them, no one will honor you or thank you for it. You can sincerely write to me, because I swear, I will send your letter back to you as soon as I read it and not tell anyone anything about it… Hence, we are talking as friends now, let’s see if you will turn me down…^[61]

As already noted, Western institutions opted to praise Osman Hamdi for his work on archaeological excavations in order to make him cooperate with them. Relying on the fact that Humann’s engagement with the idea of extending a reward to Osman Hamdi is entwined with his enthusiastic recounts of new archaeological finds in his two letters and his proposal to send Osman Hamdi’s letter back in case he accepted the reward connotes the idea of a ‘transgression,’ it can be argued that Humann was also driven by a desire to obtain his correspondent’s support for his archaeological projects when he put effort into extending a reward to Osman Hamdi. In his letter sent to Humann three days later, on 28 August 1887, Osman Hamdi declared that he appreciated the attempts made by the former to persuade the German government to honor him under the auspices of the museum for his work at the Pergamon site, though, according to him, there was no need for it. Nevertheless, he eventually accepted Humann’s offer for a painting of his to be integrated into the collection of the National Gallery in Berlin. Thus, the following excerpt from the same letter reveals that Osman Hamdi followed his own aspiration, in the space opened, to be ‘acknowledged’ as a painter in Germany:

[T]hough I am being completely frank when I say to you that the Berlin Museum owes me no debt of gratitude and I would never accept a gift from that institution, I, nonetheless, must quietly confess to you, my dear friend Humann, that if perchance one of my paintings were to be deemed worthy of the honor of being placed in the National Gallery of Modern Painters, my artistic pride could imagine no greater compliment. I have long desired for my humble talent to be known in Germany and I thank you in all sincerity [for the opportunity you have offered me]. While my paintings have been exhibited far and wide in places like London, Paris, Vienna, St. Petersburg, and America, not a single one has been shown in Berlin; [I thus embrace this opportunity with great excitement] and as I await your reply, I keep at my home a painting which I am about to complete; this painting, which I intend to send wherever is deemed feasible. It is one of my best.^[62]

In October of 1887 Humann wrote to Osman Hamdi that a decision had been made regarding the addition of a painting prepared by him to the collection of the National Gallery in Berlin. In another letter sent to the general directorate of the Royal Museums of Berlin on 23 December 1887, Humann mentioned the purchase of the painting as a done and decided deal. Moreover, he shared that Osman Hamdi was very pleased about the transaction and conveyed the artist’s deep gratitude to the museum’s general director, Richard Schöne, and the director of the Sculpture and Plaster Cast Museum, Alexander Conze.^[63]

On 14 February 1888, Osman Hamdi in his letter to Humann brought up the subject of excavations that Humann had long been planning to conduct in Zincirli (Antep, Islahiye), as he also informed Humann that he still was not finished with the painting he intended to send to Berlin. Some of the statements he made in the letter seem to indicate that the purchase of Turkish Street Scene by the German state might also be connected to the digs Humann wanted to do in Zincirli, among others. The following lines are particularly striking in that regard:

If perchance the request for permission for Zincirli has been received by the Ministry – I can find out about that tomorrow – I believe that we can obtain the permission in the upcoming month. Let me assure you, I’m going to make certain that this matter is handled swiftly. If for some reason the request has not yet been delivered, I do not foresee that it will cause any harm for me or the matter at hand if I pay a visit to the ambassador. In any case, place your trust in me, as I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure that this issue is settled within the year.^[64]

Zincirli (ancient Sam’al) was one of the most important Syro-Hittite cities. Some stone relief sculptures were unearthed during the excavations conducted by Osman Hamdi in 1883, shortly before renowned archaeologists Otto Puchstein and Felix von Luschan arrived at the site.^[65] In December 1887, Humann took steps to obtain permission to conduct extensive excavations in the area. This means that while Humann was working to secure the purchase of Turkish Street Scene he was also preparing for his dig in Zincirli. After receiving the necessary permits, he conducted his first excavations from April to July 1888 together with Felix von Luschan and with the financial support of the Orient Committee.^[66] A letter from Osman Hamdi to Humann dated 18 January 1889 reveals that the museums in Berlin had received a sizeable share of the finds, as Osman Hamdi complained that the committee had taken possession of “almost half” of the artifacts discovered in Zincirli, and thus should have been satisfied with everything he had done on its behalf, but was still making new demands.^[67] Hence, it can be deduced that Osman Hamdi adopted a strategic stance based on the discretionary powers he wielded within the framework of 1884 Antiquities Regulation to either allow or reject the demands of the other party. This was arguably so at least until his final years as the director of the museum in which he more often than not took a stand against the requests of the Western archaeologists, most probably due to the increasing cases of antiquities smuggling from the Ottoman Empire and the growing public reaction against them.^[68]

The Orientalist Composition of Turkish Street Scene

While Osman Hamdi was engaging in power relations with German officials in the bureaucratic field he held authority, which created a favorable space for advancing his artistic career, at the same time he sought the ‘affirmation’ of German art authorities and, arguably, exhibited a subjectivity that complied with both the hierarchical relationship that had been established with Germany and the Orientalist narratives produced by the ‘West’ in the late nineteenth century. The visualized form of that subject position can be observed in the composition of Turkish Street Scene (fig. 1).

This painting has a distinguished place among Osman Hamdi’s Orientalist genre paintings in that, as noted above, it is the only composition that brings together ‘Westerners’ and Ottomans in the same locale. He chose the north side of the Fountain of Sultan Ahmed III (1728), located in Sultanahmet in Istanbul, as the setting of the painting; and in order to draw viewers’ attention to the storyline, the painter focused on the figures rather than depicting the fountain in its entirety. In the background, there is the fountain to the left, a sebil (a kiosk where water is freely distributed) decorated with metalwork grid to the right, and a niche in the center. A ‘Western’ family and their servant are depicted in profile on the left, and the carpet merchants are on the right. The ‘Western’ man wearing a khaki suit and a pith helmet is seated on the fountain wall, and off to the side in front of him there is a young girl with blonde hair, behind whom stands a woman wearing a blue dress and a hat. Both the woman and the man are holding black umbrellas. It is apparent from his clothing that the bearded man who is standing beside the woman is Ottoman; as he is carrying articles of clothing for the Western couple, he is, evidently, a servant. Attired in baggy trousers known as şalvar and a vest and cap, he stands there stroking his beard, suspiciously eyeing the merchants.

The servant’s gaze is directed at the two bearded street merchants opposite the group, one of whom is seated while the other is standing. These two figures, both of whom are wearing turbans, are clad in caftans made of shimmering cloth, one green and the other yellow. The young merchant who is standing is presenting the Westerners a nineteenth-century Caucasian rug; the others are listening. A contemporary red Yörük carpet adorned with stylized animal figures hangs from the metalwork grill behind the merchant, while other carpets are laid out on the ground. As Anna Schütz argues, the “Oriental carpets” in the painting are depicted as objects that help establish communication between the ‘West’ and the ‘East’ and also represent the ‘East’ in a symbolic sense.^[69] Among them on the ground there is a fifteenth-century Ottoman helmet, an eighteenth-century Ottoman rifle, a Mamlukstyle candleholder, and a blue powder bottle. The inclusion of other objects in the scene, such as the seventeenth- or eighteenth-century Ottoman calligraphy panel (hilye) and a fifteenth-century Chinese vase in the niche, suggests that Osman Hamdi wanted to expand the subject of the painting to encompass the antique trade.^[70] These items, the likes of which could be found in the Imperial Museum of Antiquities under his direction as well as in private collections and in his other paintings, such as Miraculous Fountain and After Iftar (1886),^[71] were carefully assembled in a narrative manner. By choosing objects from the Imperial Museum of Antiquities, he possibly intended to draw attention to the collections of the museum he directed.^[72]

In Orientalist paintings, the Middle Eastern merchant is a recurrent theme. Marià Fortuny’s painting The Carpet Seller (Le marchand de tapis au Maroc, 1870) and Jean-Léon Gérôme’s The Carpet Merchant (Marchand de tapis au Caire, 1887; fig. 3) are among the prominent examples. In terms of both topic and style, Turkish Street Scene displays commonalities with Gérôme’s work. Both paintings were executed in an academic style, and the decorative elements of the objects and clothing as well as the architectural features were depicted in great detail.^[73] However, Turkish Street Scene is distinguished from other paintings dealing with the theme of merchants, as the potential buyers engaging with the traders are not ‘Middle Eastern’ or ‘North African’ but a ‘Western’ family.

3

Jean-Léon Gérôme, The Carpet Merchant in Cairo, 1887, oil on canvas, 86 × 68.7 cm. Minneapolis Institute of Art, The William Hood Dunwoody Fund, acc. no. 70.40

The scheme of the composition, bringing together ‘Western’ tourists and ‘Middle Eastern’ merchants, can be seen in advertising posters used in France in those years to promote the sale of ‘Eastern’ carpets. When he was planning the composition, it is quite possible that Osman Hamdi drew inspiration from such posters. As Rima Chahine points out, the nineteenth-century posters of French artists Eugène Ogé and Eugène Grasset depicted ‘Eastern’ merchants showing carpets to European tourists clad in white tropical uniforms.^[74] The European tourists depicted in these works as sitting or stepping onto a carpet occupy a superior position vis-à-vis the merchants opposite them. In these posters, the ‘Eastern merchant’ takes on the role of trying to meet the expectations of the tourists. An important example of this type of composition from France is Eugène Grasset’s colored lithograph House of the Orient (La maison orientale, 1897; fig. 4). Chahine argued that this lithograph and Turkish Street Scene share certain qualities in terms of arrangement, pointing out that both compositions depict an Eastern merchant on the right and a European couple examining carpets, accompanied by an Eastern servant, on the left.^[75]

4

Eugène Grasset, The Oriental House, 1897, color lithograph, 24.8 × 18.6 cm, published in Ernest Maindron, Les programmes illustrés des théâtres et des cafés-concerts, Paris 1897. Krakow, National Museum

Osman Hamdi revisited the theme of merchants in two of his later works, The Merchant (1905; fig. 5) and The Weapons Merchant (1908; fig. 6).^[76] Even though these paintings are similar to Turkish Street Scene in terms of subject matter, there are three major differences between them. In the former two paintings, the locations are unclear; the temporal settings of the figures are ambiguous and no ‘Western’ figure is depicted. However, the figures in the latter work are situated in front of the Fountain of Sultan Ahmed III, a historical building symbolizing the capital city, Istanbul, and hence the Ottoman Empire. It is quite likely that, while depicting the ornamentation of the building, Osman Hamdi used photographs of the fountain (fig. 7).^[77] Additionally, the drawings that were included in the book titled Usul-i Mimari-i Osmani: L’architecture ottomane (Istanbul 1873) might have also been taken by him as a model for his painting. The book was commissioned by the Ottoman government for the World Fair held in Vienna in 1873, where Osman Hamdi served as the imperial commissary, and a full-scale replica of the fountain was exhibited.^[78] In the Turkish Street Scene, the historical context is made readily apparent by the clothing, particularly that of the ‘Western’ woman and young girl; a ‘moment of encounter’ is portrayed between ‘Westerners’ and Ottomans via the potential sale of a carpet.

5

Osman Hamdi, The Merchant, 1905, oil on canvas, dimensions unkown. Private collection

6

Osman Hamdi, The Weapons Merchant, 1908, oil on canvas, 185 × 140 cm. Ankara, State Museum of Painting and Sculpture

7

Abdullah Fréres, The Public Fountain of Sultan Ahmed III, ca. 1880–1893, photographic print from Abdulhamid II Collection. Washington, D.C., Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division

The fact that the local merchants are situated directly across from the ‘Westerners’ in a lateral composition suggests that the artist wanted to oppose the two cultures and highlight their differences. While the family is attired in clothing that coincides with the fashion of the times, the merchants are wearing historical garments that offer no clues about the epoch at hand, which is common in Osman Hamdi’s paintings. As for the Ottoman servant accompanying the family, instead of being clad in historical attire, he is dressed rather plainly. There are also differences in terms of the poses that are struck by the members of the family and the merchants. While the standing merchant is speaking and putting effort into convincing the tourists, the ‘Western’ man is comfortably seated, and it appears that this man and the woman are trying to form an opinion about what the merchant is saying. The way that the servant accompanying the family is looking suspiciously at the merchant gives the impression that he is questioning the veracity of what the carpet seller is saying.

According to Linda Nochlin, a defining feature of Orientalist artworks, such as the French Orientalist paintings, is the absence of ‘Western’ colonial or touristic figures. The ‘Westerner’ is implicitly present in those paintings through the controlling gaze of colonial agency.^[79] However, in Turkish Street Scene the ‘Eastern’ and the ‘Western’ figures are placed against each other in an Oriental setting.^[80] The differences between them are emphasized in the painting through clothes and poses; they serve to construct a hierarchy between ‘Westerners’ and ‘Orientals.’ The arrangement reinforces the hegemonic discourses that the European countries generated within the framework of their colonial activities in the Middle East in the nineteenth century about a geography they referred to as the ‘East.’ As Edward Said highlighted in his book Orientalism, the ‘West’ came to represent ‘progress’ and ‘development,’ while the ‘East’ represented ‘stasis’ and ‘stagnation.’^[81] In the painting, the historical clothing of the merchants, which makes a reference to the past, creates an image of a ‘static’ and ‘untransformed/unevolved East,’ while the apparel of the tourists, which corresponds to the fashion of the day and symbolizes the unfolding of an era, gives the impression that they are members of a society that is transforming and developing. Moreover, the fact that the Ottoman merchants are trying to get the ‘Western’ family interested in the carpets, the depiction of the servant as passive and suspicious (which casts doubt on the reliability of the merchants), and the dominant and relaxed stances of the tourists not only place the ‘West’ in a judging position vis-à-vis the ‘East’ in line with Orientalist discourses, hence giving them the upper hand in the encounter, but also bear the implication that the ‘East’ may be ethically problematic.

Since it was clear, before its completion, that the painting would be sent to Germany, and since Osman Hamdi was eager to be ‘acknowledged’ by the German art community, it would not be off the mark to contend that the family represented in the painting is German. Philipp Demandt has even made the claim that the ‘Western’ man is possibly Carl Humann.^[82] However, the fact that Humann had a beard, in contrast to the man in Turkish Street Scene – as can be seen in the artist’s portrait of Carl Humann dating from 1894 (fig. 8) – weakens this claim.^[83] Nonetheless, the depiction of the man in the painting as wearing a pith or safari helmet – or, in German, a Tropenhelm – is notable. ‘Western’ tourists, archaeologists, scientists as well as administrative and military personnel wore pith helmets to protect themselves from the sun.^[84] Commonly worn by the political, economic, and cultural actors of imperial policies (including German engineers working on the Baghdad Railway, archaeologists, and soldiers), the pith helmet had become a symbol of colonial policies (fig. 9).^[85] If the assumption that the ‘Western’ family in the painting is German is upheld, the composition – together with all of the aforementioned qualities – can thus be read as being representative of the acceptance of the dominant position Germany held over the Ottoman Empire and normalization of its political, economic, and cultural infiltration into Ottoman territories in pursuit of imperial strategies. German imperialism attained its ultimate power base within the framework of the Weltpolitik Kaiser Wilhelm II implemented after his accession to the throne in 1888; however, it can be stated that the influence-seeking policies put into place by the Bismarck government in the previous years had laid the initial groundwork and paved the way for the subsequent peaceful expansion.^[86] In that context, the overall composition of the painting suggests that Osman Hamdi, as both a museum director and a painter, did not problematize Germany’s imperial policies but rather acted from a subject position configured in conformity with them. If the family is taken more generally as a ‘Western’ family, it can be stated that instead of questioning the Orientalist discourses, Osman Hamdi internalized them and reproduced, even bolstered their discursive components through his painting.

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Osman Hamdi, Portrait of Carl Humann, 1894, oil on canvas. Formerly in the Humann family collection, present whereabouts unknown

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Carl Humann, Otto Puchstein, Felix von Luschan, Osman Hamdi, and Yervant Osgan near Nemrud Dag, photograph taken by a servant of Osman Hamdi, 1883. Berlin, Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, Estate of Felix von Luschan

Conclusion

Throughout his reign, while Sultan Abdülhamid II concentrated state power in himself, he utilized the support provided by the German state to infiltrate society through newly emerging bureaucratic institutions and to reinforce his political power. This process laid the initial groundwork for Germany to expand politically, economically, and culturally into Ottoman territories during the reign of Kaiser Wilhelm II. Osman Hamdi, as the director of the Imperial Museum of Antiquities, engaged in comparable exercises of power in his relations with German officials within his own bureaucratic domain that benefitted his career as an artist. As the 1884 Antiquities Regulation provided authority to the director within the decision-making process to grant permission to those who sought to conduct excavations on Ottoman soil and take artifacts out of the country, German officials and archaeologists (like their European counterparts) acted strategically in their dealings with him. This outlook was evident in the letters that were written between Carl Humann and Osman Hamdi. The letters exchanged between August of 1887 and February of 1888 contain information about the German government’s intention to purchase one of Osman Hamdi’s paintings and the archaeological expeditions that Humann was carrying out in Magnesia on the Maeander and the excavations that he was planning to carry out in Zincirli as well, thereby pointing to a connection between the intended purchase and the archaeological digs that Humann was engaged in.

Archival documents suggest that the painting in question was none other than Turkish Street Scene, which was added to the collection of the Royal Museums of Berlin in 1888. As has been shown, the narrative in the composition of the painting reveals an image of the ‘East’ that the ‘West’ was accustomed to seeing. The way that the carpet sellers in Istanbul take on the role of trying to meet the expectations of the ‘Western’ tourists, and the dominant, judgmental position held by the tourists themselves, reflect the Orientalist discourses that the ‘West’ formed about the ‘East.’ The fact that the ‘Western’ male figure wears a pith helmet or Trophenhelm – a symbol of Western colonial power in the Middle East – is particularly striking. As Osman Hamdi knew in advance that the painting would be sent to Berlin, the ‘Western’ family in the painting may very well be German, which further opens up the work to being interpreted within the context of Ottoman-German relations.

Hence, by taking into consideration the nature of the relations established between Osman Hamdi and German museologists/archaeologists and the iconography of the painting, it can be stated that instead of rigorously hindering the infiltration of German influence into the Middle East, the artist adopted a variegated approach that enabled him to wield power in correlation with the power strategies of Sultan Abdülhamid II, while exhibiting a subjectivity that was in compliance with the hierarchical relations established between the two countries and the Orientalist perspectives that prevailed in the 1880s.

The transcription and translation of four letters in French (dated 28 August 1887, 15 November 1887, 8 January 1888, and 14 February 1888) were done by Aurélie Stern and Ali Bilgin; one letter (dated 25 August 1887) was translated by Ali Bigin alone; the transcription of a letter written in German Sütterlin script (dated 17 June 1887) was done by Christine Annette Margit Özgan; and translations of sources in German into English are the author’s. The author is genuinely thankful to Stern and Bilgin for their meticulous work, to Özgan for her scrupulous transcription and help, as well as to the two anonymous reviewers of Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte for their comments on an earlier version of this article. The author would also like to thank Martin Maischberger of the State Museum’s Antiquities Collection, Berlin, for photographs of two letters, and Gerrit Walczak for his invaluable contributions to the text.