The Singing Turk
Ottoman Power and Operatic Emotions on the European Stage from the Siege of Vienna to the Age of Napoleon
Larry Wolff

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Introduction

Operatic Representation and the Triplex Confinium

Operas on Turkish subjects were performed all over Europe in the eighteenth century. The figure of the singing Turk recurred in every decade on every stage, and constituted an enormous cultural phenomenon, with Ottoman characters and stories constantly recycled, set to new music, and presented in Turkish costumes and on Turkish stage sets. The most famous such opera was Mozart’s The Abduction from the Seraglio, first performed in Vienna in 1782, enormously popular in German theaters in the 1780s and 1790s, and continuing to hold some place in the repertory thereafter—though never as perennially revivable as The Marriage of Figaro, Don Giovanni, or The Magic Flute. Much more than any of these latter masterpieces, however, Mozart’s Abduction was purposefully composed to fit with a particular trend, by focusing on an Ottoman subject, as Mozart intended the work to be his vehicle for introducing himself to Vienna as an opera composer. Mozart’s own celebrity later guaranteed the long-term survival of the Abduction, which therefore comes down to us as the magnificently visible tip of a vast submerged repertory that has been largely forgotten. This book will attempt to recover some of the bulk of that repertory, while exploring its relation to more general aspects of eighteenth-century culture, and considering the context of European-Ottoman international relations.

The century of Turkish subjects in European opera was a long eighteenth century, dating from the 1680s to the 1820s, a distinctive period in European-Ottoman relations from the wars of the Holy League in the 1680s, when the Habsburgs withstood the siege of Vienna and then conquered Hungary, until the Greek War of Independence in the 1820s, which produced the modern “Eastern Question” of how to regulate the ongoing territorial displacement of the Ottomans. In the mid-seventeenth century, the Ottoman empire might still have been denounced in Europe according to the rhetoric of early modern epithets—as the Enemy of God or the Infidel Scourge—consistent with the spirit of religious crusading. In the mid-nineteenth century, the European perspective on the Ottoman empire, according to the logic of the Eastern Question, had become a clinical problem of modern diplomatic pathology: the empire seen as the Sick Man of Europe.1 Neither as the Infidel Scourge, a punishment sent by God, nor as the Sick Man of Europe, an ongoing international crisis, was the Ottoman empire particularly fit for operatic compositions. In the intervening, long eighteenth century, however, the century of the European Enlightenment, when religious prejudice was somewhat moderated, and intellectual curiosity about other cultures was greatly stimulated, the Ottoman empire inspired a balance of fear, interest, curiosity, titillation, entertainment, and even sympathy—which made it entirely suitable as a subject for European operas. At the same time it became one of the most important operatic subjects through which Europeans explored what it meant to be European.

Even as the Christian armies broke the Ottoman siege of Vienna in 1683 and began to push into Hungary, the siege itself was transformed into opera in Hamburg in 1686 with an opera about the Ottoman Grand Vizier Kara Mustafa, who was executed for his failure to take Vienna. In 1689 in Venice there was performed an opera Il gran Tamerlano, echoed in Hamburg in 1690 by another opera on the same subject called Bajazeth und Tamerlan. Both dramatized the humiliating captivity of the Ottoman sultan Bajazet at the hands of Tamerlane in the early fifteenth century, and allowed the Ottoman sultan to sing for sympathy from the operatic stage. The most celebrated treatment of this constantly composed and recomposed operatic subject was created by Handel for London in 1724 under the title Tamerlano, though the central dramatic figure was certainly the Ottoman sultan Bajazet. Thus, the first inklings of the recession of the Ottoman empire in the 1680s almost immediately produced in response an outburst of baroque operatic dramatization that centered on the figure of a singing Ottoman sultan.

At the other end of the long eighteenth century, as the age of Napoleon gave way to the Restoration, Rossini created a whole series of works with Turkish themes and singing Turks. L’italiana in Algeri was created for Venice in 1813, and Stendhal believed that “never has a people enjoyed a spectacle that better fit its character; and of all the operas that have ever existed, it is this which must have most pleased the Venetians.”2 The huge success of L’italiana led Rossini to compose Il turco in Italia for La Scala the next year, in 1814. It was, finally, Rossini’s Maometto Secondo in Naples in 1820, revised as Le siège de Corinthe for Paris in 1826, which marked the culmination and conclusion of the whole Turkish tradition in European opera: a grand opera about Mehmed the Conqueror in the fifteenth century presented on the nineteenth-century stage in the decade of the Greek War of Independence. The advent of the modern Eastern Question in international relations, along with the beginning of modern Mediterranean colonialism when the French occupied Ottoman Algeria in 1830, altered the geopolitical circumstances that had made Turkish subjects so important for such a long time at the opera. In 1813 it was delightful to applaud Rossini’s Italian girl as she undertook an operatic conquest of Algiers, which was represented by a painted stage set; in 1830, when the French army undertook the military conquest of Algiers, the prospect of empire was compelling, but no longer operatic.

The urban contexts of Vienna for Mozart’s Abduction and Venice for Rossini’s L’italiana suggest the particular importance of these two cities, which were both major operatic capitals and also the political capitals of the two states—the Habsburg monarchy and the Venetian republic—which maintained long land borders with the Ottoman empire, adjoining the Ottoman pashalik of Bosnia. These three polities—the Habsburg, Ottoman, and Venetian states—all met at a single point in the eighteenth century, making their frontier into the so-called Triplex Confinium, or triple border, militarized and sometimes belligerent but also permeable in peacetime and conducive to a certain intimacy among the neighboring states.3

Both the Venetian republic and the Habsburg monarchy were sites of some familiarity with Islamic culture, Ottoman politics, and Turkish people, and in fact the Viennese of 1683 could actually contemplate the besieging Turks at very close proximity, just outside the city walls. The perspective of Venice involved not only the long border between Venetian Dalmatia and Ottoman Bosnia but a vast commercial network of contacts across the Mediterranean, extending from the Fondaco dei Turchi in Venice to the Venetian community in the Galata quarter of Istanbul. This book will consider Vienna and Venice as particularly important operatic sites for the production of works with Ottoman subjects, while recognizing that opera in Vienna may be considered in relation to operatic production at other German courts, and opera in Venice in relation to other important Italian operatic centers such as Milan and Naples. In fact, even Handel’s Tamerlano in London emerged from a Venetian libretto and Italian operatic tradition. At the other end of the long eighteenth century Rossini’s Adriatic origin at Pesaro conditioned the final flowering of European operas with Ottoman subjects.

While Venice and Vienna, capitals of the Triplex Confinium, neighbors and enemies of the Ottomans, serve as two of the principal sites for this study, the third and contrasting focal site is Paris, a crucial capital for eighteenth-century opera but with an altogether different relation to the Ottoman world. France was an implicit ally of the sultans against the common Habsburg enemy, dating back to the sixteenth century. The French did not face the Turks in battle, and Paris, unlike Vienna, could scarcely imagine the reality of an Ottoman siege. For all these reasons Paris became the site of a more whimsical operatic relation to Turkishness: anticipated with Molière and Lully’s Turkish ceremony in Le bourgeois gentilhomme in the age of Louis XIV. In the popular musical comedies of the Paris fairs in the early eighteenth century, there were performed such works as Arlequin au serail or Arlequin sultane favorite—with Harlequin disguising himself as a sultana to enter the harem. In 1735 Jean-Philippe Rameau created at the Paris Opéra, within the larger frame of Les Indes galantes, the operatic model of “Le Turc généreux” (The generous Turk) whose unexpected magnanimity toward his Christian captives would be replayed in numerous operatic scenarios, including the final scene of Mozart’s Abduction. In a more fully farcical approach, Charles-Simon Favart’s Les trois sultanes (The three sultanas), performed at the Comédie-Italienne in 1761, was set at the court of Suleiman the Magnificent and represented the great sultan becoming infatuated, domesticated, and ultimately civilized according to French tastes and values by a singing French sultana. The concept of the generous Turkish master and the captivating captive sultana circulated all over Europe, reflecting both in content and influence the sway of Paris as the capital of the European Enlightenment. In fact, the singing Turk on stage, like the European public in the opera house, was crucially conditioned by and susceptible to the enlightened values of the eighteenth century.

Operatic Turkishness and the Musical Confrontation of Cultures

This is not a musicological study but rather a study in cultural and intellectual history, exploring how ideas about the Ottoman empire and representations of Turkishness took operatic form. Musicologists have long noted the most striking musical features of operatic Turkishness, namely the adoption of percussion instrumentation inspired by Turkish Janissary bands—cymbals, jingling bells, bass drums—and the cultivation of a musical style alla turca that codified certain rhythms, intervals, and note patterns as recognizably Turkish to the ears of the European public. While the alla turca style and Janissary percussion were not identical to musical performance within the Ottoman empire, they were not entirely Orientalist inventions, musical fantasies of Otherness. In Vienna, Turkish Janissary bands played outside the walls of the city during the siege of 1683, but later there would be Janissary bands present at European courts in the eighteenth century, often influencing the musical styles of European military bands. Mozart probably had some opportunity to hear a Janissary band and could have drawn upon his perfect musical ear to recreate some of its aural components in the overture and Turkish choruses of the Abduction, the most famous examples of European operatic music alla turca. He would also, however, have been familiar with similar passages that had already been used in operas by composers he admired, such as Gluck and Haydn.

Beyond the matters of alla turca style and Janissary instrumentation, this study pays particular attention to the figure of the singing Turk and how song became expressive of Turkishness in different operatic contexts. Voice and range were certainly meaningful, and it is particularly notable that the singing Turk tended, over the course of the eighteenth century, to gravitate toward the deepest masculine tones of the basso register. Mozart’s Osmin in the Abduction affirms his human understanding with the words “Ich hab’ auch Verstand” (I also have a mind) in a musical phrase that descends to a very low F, and the composer carefully crafted the part to suit the dramatically low range of one particular German basso in Vienna, Ludwig Fischer. Rossini’s Turks were all performed by one particular Italian basso, Filippo Galli, in one opera after another, so that it would be very difficult to separate the question of vocal type from any discussion of operatic Turkishness.

Galli became a sort of Turkish specialist, singing as the Italian in Turkish disguise in La pietra del paragone of 1812, as the comical Mustafa, Bey of Algiers, in L’italiana in Algeri in 1813, as the romantic Prince Selim in Il turco in Italia in 1814, and finally as the charismatic historical conqueror Sultan Mehmed II in Maometto Secondo in 1820. The consistency of casting in these Turkish roles suggests that the operatic representation of Turkish characters was not treated altogether casually, and therefore the basso voice (for Rossini, as for Mozart) also had some dramatic Turkish significance. Handel assigned the role of Sultan Bajazet to a tenor, Francesco Borosini, who had previously, in Italy, sung the role of the same sultan in another operatic treatment of the same subject. He too was a sort of Turkish specialist, and Handel emphasized his tenor masculinity by placing him between two castrati stars, while the basso Galli, in Rossini’s Maometto Secondo, faced a Venetian romantic rival sung in dramatic travesty by a female contralto. The musical masculinity of the operatic Turk was an essential aspect of his operatic representation.

This study will bring together diverse approaches to music, opera, and exoticism in the eighteenth century, and place them, first, in the cultural context of the Enlightenment and, second, in the international context of European-Ottoman relations. The principal concerns will be to recover the dimensions of a largely forgotten body of operas on Turkish themes, to understand the significance of the singing Turk in eighteenth-century culture, and to study the connections between opera and international relations—the singing Turk on the operatic stage and the fighting Turk as a figure in European affairs. The arguments will address the particular cultural importance of three periods of warfare. First, there was an epoch of warfare dating from the siege of Vienna and the campaigns of the Holy League in the 1680s through the treaties of Karlowitz in 1699 and Passarowitz in 1718. It was during these decades that European operas with Ottoman subjects were first created and presented. Second, the midcentury Russian-Ottoman war of 1768 to 1774, closely watched by Europeans of the Enlightenment at the moment that Franco Venturi has described as the first crisis of the ancien régime, gave an enormous stimulus to operatic production on Ottoman themes.4 Finally, the Napoleonic wars of the early nineteenth century, dating from Napoleon’s invasion of Ottoman Egypt in 1798, provided the context for the last flowering of operas on Turkish subjects.

Musicologists have pointed the way toward the historical appreciation of this operatic repertory. Particularly important are Thomas Betzwieser’s study of French operas and Turkish exoticism, Bruce Brown’s book on Gluck’s work in Vienna, Thomas Bauman’s account of Mozart’s Abduction in the Cambridge Opera Handbooks series, and Matthew Head’s study of Orientalism and Mozart’s “Turkish” music.5 Fatma Müge Göçek’s account of France and the Ottoman empire in the eighteenth century, East Encounters West, has been exceptionally valuable for considering the cultural implications of international relations, as have been Daniel Goffman’s study The Ottoman Empire and Early Modern Europe and Juan Cole’s book Napoleon’s Egypt.6 Because of the importance of European captives in operas with Ottoman scenarios, the history of piracy and captivity is particularly relevant, including the recent books of Linda Colley, Robert Davis, and Molly Greene.7 The issues of opera, politics, and society have been engaged by a set of extremely original and thoughtful works, including Opera and Sovereignty by Martha Feldman, Listening in Paris by James Johnson, Backstage at the Revolution by Victoria Johnson, Napoléon et l’opéra by David Chaillou, Rossini in Restoration Paris by Benjamin Walton, and Listening to Reason by Michael Steinberg.8

Because of the prominence of issues of exoticism, European opera on Turkish subjects can scarcely be discussed without reference, implicit or explicit, to the insights of Edward Said. His ideas have been especially important for this project, inasmuch as he not only produced the pioneering study of modern Orientalism, and not only created a critical approach to issues of culture and empire, but also wrote with great insight about music in all these regards. The singing Turks of the eighteenth century, however, were not simply the manifestations of fantasized, exotic Otherness, produced by imperial projects of mastery, but rather reflected a sense of intimacy, and even identity, between Turks and other Europeans, between the singing subjects and the listening public.

Martin Luther wrote of the Ottomans as “God’s Scourge” (Gottes Rute), sent to punish Christian sinners, and sixteenth-century accounts, at the time of the first siege of Vienna in 1529, saw the Turks in apocalyptic terms as the armies of Gog and Magog.9 In the seventeenth century a crusading Christian perspective still tended to regard the Ottoman-European encounter in binary terms—framed as a “clash of civilizations” in the phrase of Samuel Huntington. Likewise, in the nineteenth century, Turkishness came to be regarded from a perspective closer to Said’s model of Orientalism, for this was the age of modern empire that Said saw as the particular condition of Orientalist thinking. During the eighteenth century, however, though the Habsburgs, Venetians, and especially the Romanovs all had designs on Ottoman territory, it was also true that the Ottomans had reciprocal ambitions. The Ottoman empire was as much an active and aggrandizing empire as it was the object of imperialist designs and annexations. While Said rightly notes the importance of the Napoleonic invasion of Ottoman Egypt in 1798 as an important turning point, it is also useful to keep in mind that that invasion was a failure, that Napoleon and the French had to retreat from Egypt, and that Napoleon ended up forming a tactical alliance with the Ottomans—the traditional French alliance—against the British.

The Ottoman empire finally became the object of consummated imperialist aggression in 1830 with the French occupation of Algeria, and one might argue that this also inaugurated the age of high Orientalism in French culture, with Eugène Delacroix arriving in 1832, right behind the occupation. This was, however, the very moment that European operas on Ottoman subjects ceased to play a major role in the repertory, just after the production of Rossini’s Le siège de Corinthe in Paris in 1826. In other words, far from being produced as a cultural consequence of European Orientalism, these operas could no longer flourish in an age of high Orientalism, the age of European colonization of Ottoman territory, the age of the Ottoman empire as the Sick Man of Europe.

Opera and the Ottoman Aspects of European Identity

The anthropology of the Enlightenment involved an engagement with other societies that was not simply a matter of constructing a binary system of Self and Other. In fact, many writers of the Enlightenment were both deeply interested in understanding different societies and notably self-aware of their own relative cultural perspectives as shaping their observations. This was true from the very beginning of the eighteenth century, with Montesquieu’s Persian Letters in 1721 and Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels in 1726, both foundational works of the Enlightenment and studies in the dynamics of cultural relativism.10 The Persian Letters concerned the balance of difference and resemblance between Christian Europe and Muslim Persia, and served as an implicit model for later reflections on the Ottoman empire, with the qualification that Turkey, as compared to Persia, was even closer and more familiar to Europe. A large part of the Ottoman empire was actually in Europe, and much of the rest confronted Europe directly along and across the Mediterranean Sea.

In his classic historical account of the Mediterranean region in the sixteenth century, Fernand Braudel argued that the sea was divided politically between Ottoman Muslim and Habsburg Christian forces, but that its shores were united by a variety of social, economic, and cultural common factors.11 In the eighteenth century the premise of European operas with Ottoman subjects was the very near resemblance of Europeans and Turks, so much so that one might well conclude that the Turks on the European operatic stage were intended to be taken as members of the European family. European performers became Turks on stage simply by donning an exotic costume, a turban, and sometimes a beard or moustache. The difference between Turks and Europeans was thus assumed to be fundamentally cosmetic, a matter of costumes and props, and this was often emphasized within the operas themselves with the theme of Ottoman disguises: from the Turkish ceremony of Le bourgeois gentilhomme, to the mock Albanians in Mozart’s Così fan tutte. The premise of Rossini’s Maometto Secondo illustrates the reverse procedure, since before the curtain rises the European heroine has already fallen in love with the Ottoman sultan in the successfully disguised persona of an Italian student.

The voices of the singing Turks in European operas proclaimed emotions readily recognized by Europeans, though sometimes in more extreme, passionate, or even violent forms—such that Turkishness became a vehicle for expressing the extreme passions that were, anyway, the domain of operatic drama. In the history of emotions, the long eighteenth century, from the 1680s to the 1820s, witnessed on the one hand an emphasis on emotional discipline, as suggested by Norbert Elias’s account of mannerly restraint in the “civilizing process,” but on the other hand the cultural articulation of emotions in a variety of styles from baroque passions, to Rousseauist sensibility, to Sturm und Drang, right up to the age of Romanticism.12 The dynamics of emotional expression and emotional control were therefore implicit in operatic representations, comic or tragic, and the singing Turk became a prominent protagonist in this enlightened exploration of emotional development and the civilizing process.

Just as the emotional excesses of the singing Turk referred to generally European emotions, so the political implications of operas with Ottoman subjects reflected on generally acknowledged European issues: usually connected to the manifestations of power and authority, between men and women, between rulers and subjects. The political scenarios of operas about Turks—from Handel’s Tamerlano to Rossini’s Maometto Secondo, both presenting historical Ottoman sultans—explored the issue of “despotism,” with its supposed pertinence to Oriental regimes. Lucette Valensi, however, has argued that the Venetian perspective on Ottoman government was especially relevant for articulating enlightened conceptions of despotism within a discourse on European political institutions. Joan-Pau Rubiés has likewise shown that the European attribution of despotism to the Ottomans was not merely a matter of Orientalist fantasy but was based on the empirical observations of early modern travelers and was applied to the European problem of evaluating the French monarchy following the death of Louis XIV in 1715. Rubiés emphasizes “a link between the issue of Oriental despotism and the European debate about limited versus absolute monarchies,” such that representation of the Ottoman empire was always, in part, a reflection upon Europe itself.13 Juan Cole has observed that the young Napoleon in Egypt was “playing the role of a Muslim sultan”—which thus became a sort of rehearsal for imperial rule in Europe.14 These political issues of despotism and authority could be culturally explored through opera by giving voice to the singing Turk.

Daniel Goffman has suggested that between the late seventeenth century and early nineteenth century it is possible to speak of the European “integration” of the Ottoman empire:

By the last decades of the seventeenth century, the Ottoman empire was as integrated into Europe as it would ever be. Earlier, it had been perceived as too much the belligerent outsider for Christendom to integrate the empire into its political, economic, and social body. Later as the “sick man of Europe” (a phrase that does suggest at least its geographic and political acceptance as a part of Europe) it was to become supposedly too weak to be taken seriously.15

This chronology of Ottoman integration precisely matches the age of the singing Turk in European opera. As the Ottoman empire drew closer to Europe, and vice versa, it became plausible for particular cultural representations of Turkishness to reflect upon Europe more generally.

Opera is an art form closely associated with European civilization, and for that reason the operatic perspective offers particular insight into the supposedly “civilized” view of the world in the age of Enlightenment, in the age that invented the neologism “civilisation” in French and “civilization” in English. The operatic stage may be viewed as a forum for the musically and dramatically inflected mental mapping of places and peoples located according to the geography and ethnography of European cultural consciousness. In this sense, European opera in the age of Enlightenment, from the generation of Handel to the generation of Rossini, helped to put Turkey and the Turks on the map of Europe, by setting them on the stage.

While the profusion of European operas about Ottoman subjects is immediately detectable from a study of eighteenth-century repertory, the phenomenon receives its most emphatic confirmation from the undeniable fact of its disappearance in the nineteenth century. The masterpieces of the modern operatic repertory—the works of Bellini, Donizetti, Verdi, Wagner, Gounod, Bizet, Massenet, Puccini, and Strauss—which have appeared night after night in opera houses all over the world, up until the present day, have featured Druids and Gypsies, Babylonians and Egyptians, Chinese and Japanese, but none of them include Ottoman Turks. The disappearance of the singing Turk in the nineteenth century thus further emphasizes both the importance of the phenomenon during the long eighteenth century and its historically contingent nature. This book will seek to explore and understand the particular dramatic power and musical charisma of the singing Turk during the long eighteenth century, when the palaces and harems of sultans and pashas were regularly recreated on the European operatic stage.

Notes

1. Nancy Bisaha, Creating East and West: Renaissance Humanists and the Ottoman Turks (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004), 28–29; John Bohnstedt, “The Infidel Scourge of God: The Turkish Menace as Seen by German Pamphleteers of the Reformation Era,” Transactions of the American Philosophical Society 58:9 (1968), 1–58; Preserved Smith, The Life and Letters of Martin Luther (New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1914), 412; Orhan Koloğlu, Le Turc dans la presse française (Beirut: Al-Hayat, 1971), 20; see also Almut Höfert, Den Feind beschreiben: “Türkengefahr” und europäisches Wissen über das Osmanische Reich 1450–1600 (Frankfurt: Campus Verlag, 2003); Paul Levin, “From ‘Saracen Scourge’ to ‘Terrible Turk’: Medieval, Renaissance, and Enlightenment Images of the ‘Other’ in the Narrative Construction of ‘Europe,’” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Southern California, 2007.

2. Stendhal, Vie de Rossini (Paris: Michel Lévy Frères, 1854), 55; Stendhal, Life of Rossini, trans. Richard Coe (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1970), 72; all translations are my own unless otherwise cited in the notes, and in some cases, as with Stendhal, I have adjusted an existing translation with reference to the original.

3. Constructing Border Societies on the Triplex Confinium, ed. Drago Roksandić and Nataša Stefanac (Budapest: Central European University, History Department Working Paper Series, 2000); Tolerance and Intolerance on the Triplex Confinium, ed. Egidio Ivetić and Drago Roksandić (Padua: Cooperativa Libreria Editrice, Università di Padova, 2007).

4. Franco Venturi, The End of the Old Regime in Europe, 1768–1776: The First Crisis, trans. R. Burr Litchfield (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989).

5. Thomas Betzwieser, Exotismus und “Türkenoper” in der französischen Musik des Ancien Régime (Laaber: Laaber-Verlag, 1993); Bruce Brown, Gluck and the French Theatre in Vienna (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991); Thomas Bauman, W. A. Mozart: Die Entführung aus dem Serail (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987); Matthew Head, Orientalism, Masquerade, and Mozart’s Turkish Music (London: Royal Musical Association, 2000); there have also been exceptionally valuable contributions by Eve Meyer, “Turquerie and Eighteenth-Century Music,” Eighteenth-Century Studies 7:4 (Summer 1974), 474–88; Eric Rice, “Representations of Janissary Music (mehter) as Musical Exoticism in Western Compositions, 1670–1824,” Journal of Musicological Research 19 (1999), 41–88; Edmund Bowles, “The Impact of Turkish Military Bands on European Court Festivals in the 17th and 18th Centuries,” Early Music 34:4 (2006), 533–59; Mary Hunter, “The Alla Turca Style in the Late Eighteenth Century: Race and Gender in the Symphony and the Seraglio,” in The Exotic in Western Music, ed. Jonathan Bellman (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 1998), 43–73; Françoise Dartois-Lapeyre, “Turcs et turqueries dans les représentations en musique,” in Turcs et turqueries (XVIe-XVIIIe siècles) (Paris: Presses de l’Université Paris-Sorbonne, 2009), 163–215; Michael Pirker, “Die Türkische Musik und Mozarts Entführung aus dem Serail,” in Die Klangwelt Mozarts: Eine Ausstellung des Kunsthistorischen Museums (Vienna: Kunsthistorisches Museum, 1991), 133–48; and Giovanni Morelli, “Povero Bajazetto: Osservazioni su alcuni aspetti dell’abbattimento tematico della ‘paura del turco’ nell’opera veneziana del Sei-Settecento,” in Venezia e i turchi: Scontri e confronti di due civiltà (Milan: Electa, 1985), 280–93; issues of musical exoticism are explored in the books of Anke Schmitt, Der Exotismus in der deutschen Oper zwischen Mozart und Spohr (Hamburg: Verlag der Musikalienhandlung Karl Dieter Wagner, 1988); Adrienne Ward, Pagodas in Play: China on the Eighteenth-Century Italian Opera Stage (Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell University Press, 2010); and Ralph Locke, Musical Exoticism: Images and Reflections (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009); valuable dissertations include those of Miriam Whaples, “Exoticism in Dramatic Music, 1600–1800,” Ph.D. dissertation, Indiana University, 1958; and Margaret Griffel, “Turkish Opera from Mozart to Cornelius,” Ph.D. dissertation, Columbia University, 1975; as well as the M.A. thesis of Christoph Yew at Osnabrück, 2009, published as The Turk on the Opera Stage: A History of a Musical Cliché (Munich: GRIN Verlag, 2009); there are very important edited volumes, including those of the Don Juan Archiv based on conferences in Vienna and Istanbul, Ottoman Empire and European Theatre, vol. 1, The Age of Mozart and Selim III, ed. Michael Hüttler and Hans Weidinger (Vienna: Hollitzer, 2013); and Ottoman Empire and European Theatre, vol. 2, The Time of Joseph Haydn: From Sultan Mahmud I to Mahmud II, ed. Michael Hüttler and Hans Weidinger (Vienna: Hollitzer, 2014); and two volumes of collected studies concerning the cultural and historical implications of the siege of Vienna, Geschichtspolitik und “Türkenbelagerung”: Kritische Studien zur “Türkenbelagerung,” vol. 1, ed. Johannes Feichtinger and Johann Heiss (Vienna: Mandelbaum, Kritik & Utopie, 2013); and Der erinnerte Feind: Kritische Studien zur “Türkenbelagerung,” vol. 2, ed. Johannes Feichtinger and Johann Heiss (Vienna: Mandelbaum, Kritik & Utopie, 2013); cultural history and criticism have been particularly valuable for appreciating issues of exoticism in the European-Ottoman context, notably the work of Alain Grosrichard, Structure du sérail: La fiction du despotisme asiatique dans l’Occident classique (Paris: Seuil, 1979), translated as The Sultan’s Court: European Fantasies of the East, trans. Liz Heron (London: Verso, 1998); Ruth Bernard Yeazell, Harems of the Mind: Passages of Western Art and Literature (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000); Paolo Preto, Venezia e i turchi (Florence: G. C. Sansoni, 1975); and Nebahat Avcioglu, Turquerie and the Politics of Representation, 1728–1876 (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2011).

6. Fatma Müge Göçek, East Encounters West: France and the Ottoman Empire in the Eighteenth Century (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987); Daniel Goffman, The Ottoman Empire and Early Modern Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002); Juan Cole, Napoleon’s Egypt: Invading the Middle East (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007); see also Eric Dursteler, Venetians in Constantinople: Nation, Identity, and Coexistence in the Early Modern Mediterranean (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006).

7. Linda Colley, Captives: Britain, Empire, and the World, 1600–1800 (New York: Anchor Books, 2002); Robert Davis, Christian Slaves, Muslim Masters: White Slavery in the Mediterranean, the Barbary Coast, and Italy, 1500–1800 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003); Molly Greene, Catholic Pirates and Greek Merchants: A Maritime History of the Mediterranean (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010).

8. Martha Feldman, Opera and Sovereignty: Transforming Myths in Eighteenth-Century Italy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007); James Johnson, Listening in Paris: A Cultural History (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995); Victoria Johnson, Backstage at the Revolution: How the Royal Paris Opera Survived the End of the Old Regime (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009); David Chaillou, Napoléon et l’opéra: La politique sur la scène 1810–1815 (Paris: Fayard, 2004); Benjamin Walton, Rossini in Restoration Paris: The Sound of Modern Life (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007); Michael Steinberg, Listening to Reason: Culture, Subjectivity, and Nineteenth-Century Music (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004).

9. Charlotte Colding Smith, Images of Islam, 1453–1600: Turks in Germany and Central Europe (London: Pickering & Chatto, 2014), 69–75 and 88–90; Hartmut Bobzin, “‘Aber itzt hab ich den Alcoran gesehen Latinisch’: Gedanken Martin Luthers zum Islam,” in Luther zwischen den Kulturen, ed. Hans Medick and Peer Schmidt (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2004), 264–65.

10. Larry Wolff, “Discovering Cultural Perspective: The Intellectual History of Anthropological Thought in the Age of Enlightenment,” in The Anthropology of the Enlightenment, ed. Larry Wolff and Marco Cipolloni (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2007), 3–32.

11. Fernand Braudel, The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Philip II, 2 vols., trans. Siân Reynolds (New York: Harper & Row, 1973).

12. Peter Stearns, “Modern Patterns in Emotions History,” in Doing Emotions History, ed. Susan Matt and Peter Stearns (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2014), 20–22; Susan Matt, “Recovering the Invisible: Methods for the Historical Study of the Emotions,” in Doing Emotions History, 44–45; William Reddy, The Navigation of Feeling: A Framework for the History of the Emotions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 161–72; Nicole Eustace, Passion Is the Gale: Emotion, Power, and the Coming of the American Revolution (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2008), 171–96; see also Norbert Elias, The Civilizing Process, vol. 1, The History of Manners, trans. Edmund Jephcott (New York: Urizen Books, 1978); Peter Stearns and Carol Stearns, “Emotionology: Clarifying the History of Emotions and Emotional Standards,” American Historical Review 90:4 (October 1985), 813–36.

13. Joan-Pau Rubiés, “Oriental Despotism and European Orientalism: Botero to Montesquieu,” Journal of Early Modern History 9:1–2 (2005), 162; Lucette Valensi, Birth of the Despot: Venice and the Sublime Porte, trans. Arthur Denner (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1993).

14. Cole, Napoleon’s Egypt, 125–27.

15. Goffman, Ottoman Empire and Early Modern Europe, 224–25.