Since the publication of Henri Lapeyre’s demographical inquiry into Morisco exile in France, Morisco contacts with French authorities and Morisco emigration across the Pyrenees after 1609 have been scrutinized in detail.1 Thanks to the classic studies of Louis Cardaillac and Pierre Santoni, among others, the trajectories of expelled Moriscos across southern France are now better known, despite the paucity of records.2 From early 1610, no less than 50,000 to 60,000 Moriscos arrived in France. Most of them transited through the southern regions of Languedoc and Provence to reach French ports. Vessels loaded with Moriscos then departed from Marseille, Toulon, and Agde, most of them sailing toward North African ports. Despite the harsher stance taken toward the Moriscos by the French monarchy from mid-1610 onward, small groups of Moriscos also chose to settle permanently in France. After the 1630s, traces of Morisco presence seem to disappear altogether from local French records.3
On the other hand, the early history of interactions between Moriscos and Frenchmen in the years preceding the expulsion remains more obscure. The secrecy that characterized Morisco contacts across the Pyrenees makes it particularly challenging to study their relationship to French authorities before the expulsion. Using both Spanish and French documents, scholars have devised a tentative chronology of Franco-Morisco interactions. It is now known that Morisco contacts with the French monarchy intensified in the mid-1580s, when Aragonese Moriscos established connections with the French King Henry IV, pushing for his military support against the Spanish monarchy.4
Seeking to shed new light on Morisco contacts with French authorities before the expulsion, this chapter focuses on a particular episode of cross-regional interactions in the early seventeenth century. This episode mobilized both Morisco and French agents between Valencia, Segorbe, and Pau from 1602 to 1605. In 1602, Pascal Saint-Estève, a French agent who was secretly travelling across the Kingdom of Valencia, came into contact with a group of Moriscos.6 Saint-Estève offered the Valencian Moriscos to forward a message on their behalf to King Henry IV, whose enmity toward King Philip III of Spain was well known. Through Saint-Estève’s mediation, the Moriscos could convince Henry IV to send men and weapons to assist them in conquering the city of Valencia. Sometime during the summer of 1604, two representatives of this Morisco group travelled from the Valencian kingdom to Pau (southwestern France) to meet Henry IV’s trusted advisor Jacques Nompar de Caumont, the governor of French Béarn and Navarre. In 1605, however, the projected uprising was stopped dead in its tracks. Betrayed to Spanish authorities, Saint-Estève and several Morisco leaders were apprehended by the men of Valencia’s viceroy and put to death in September of the same year.7
Most Morisco specialists are familiar with this failed uprising. Louis Cardaillac, Antonio Domínguez Ortiz, Bernard Vincent, and, more recently, Mayte Green-Mercado have all studied more or less extensively the set of letters and chronicles attesting that a group of Moriscos attempted to seize the city of Valencia, relying on the logistical support of the French.8 Indeed, this episode
The examination of original documents, however, sheds new light on this episode. While the present chapter makes full use of the correspondence and the chronicles mentioned above, it focuses on the original versions of two letters sent to Henry IV and his council by a leader of the uprising. Signed by a Valencian Morisco named Hamete Musrif, these two letters are kept today in the personal collection of Jacques Nompar de Caumont at the French Archives Nationales (Pierrefitte-sur-Seine).10 Only the truncated and translated version of Hamete Musrif’s first letter, published in 1843, has been known to historians. The original version of the first letter (See Figure 4.1, Appendix) and the entire second letter (Figure 4.2, Appendix), both composed in Castilian, remain completely unexplored. This chapter argues that a careful analysis of the original versions of the two letters gives unprecedented insights into the attempt of a marginalized group to advance its interests by practicing diplomacy on a regional scale.11 Of course, neither Henry IV, nor the Valencian Moriscos, nor any of those involved in the failed uprising used the term “diplomacy” to describe Franco-Morisco mediation.12 Here, my entirely etic use of this term aims at restoring this group of Moriscos as full-fledged actors in a system of
Recent studies, notably Tijana Krstić’s, have provided new elements concerning Morisco contacts with foreign powers, whether with the Porte, the Ottoman provinces of Algiers and Tunis, or Saʿdian Morocco.13 These investigations into the Moriscos’ cross-Mediterranean networks focused mainly on the Ottoman and North African perceptions of Morisco pleas and the Moriscos’ failure to convince their allies to send large-scale military support to the Peninsula. In examining Hamete Musrif’s letters to Henry IV, this chapter studies instead the diplomatic practices of the Valencian Moriscos themselves, rather than how they were perceived by others. How did the Valencian group manage to initiate a years-long negotiation with Henry IV? What were the tools of this group’s diplomatic action? Through the study of this episode, I do not aim to define a monolithic Morisco way of “doing diplomacy”: the mediation of the Moriscos of Valencia was profoundly shaped by a specific regional context. Rather, I shed light on the construction of a diplomatic action carried out by a particular marginalized group, by studying the dialogue that it built with its interlocutors, its transregional networks, and the practicalities of its legation to Henry IV.
This chapter’s goal is to analyze the Valencian Moriscos’ legation in order to broaden our current understanding of intra-European diplomatic dialogue in the early modern period.14 Throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, a myriad of non-official groups maintained, just like the Valencian Moriscos, cross-regional diplomatic ties in early modern Europe. Throughout the French Wars of Religion, the French Catholic League enjoyed abundant contacts with the Spaniards, pushing for King Philip II’s help against Protestants and moderate Catholics. Active Spanish support to the League lasted until 1597, when Philip II fully recognized the legitimacy of Henry IV’s claim to the French crown.15 Beyond continental Europe, Spain also supported various foreign groups and provided asylum. From the early 1520s onwards, the Irish
This chapter argues that Morisco diplomacy with France needs to be recontextualized within the wider framework of such diplomatic practices: Morisco communication with France was nothing exceptional in early modern Europe. In other words, the diversity of European diplomacy invites us to examine the Valencian Moriscos’ legation in a comparative perspective in order to isolate its potential specificities. In this framework, the traces left by the Moriscos of Valencia represent an unprecedented opportunity: to understand, through the Moriscos’ own voice, the elaboration of a diplomatic mediation by a group that was previously kept on the margins of studies on seventeenth-century European diplomacy. In other words, even though this projected uprising did not lead to any concrete achievements, Morisco diplomatic practices in France encourage us to further reassess the nature of the actors, the rhetoric, and the networks that constituted intra-European diplomatic dialogue in the early modern period.
1 The Rhetoric of Rebellion: Justifying and Planning the Uprising
In his letters to Henry IV and his council, Hamete Musrif used an array of arguments to both justify the uprising and convince the French king of its feasibility on the ground. In the framework of renewed interest for apocalyptic discourse across the early modern Mediterranean, the messianic language used by Hamete Musrif in specific sections of his appeal to Henry IV has drawn the attention of the historians who have studied these letters. Indeed, his first letter makes several brief mentions of a Morisco prophecy according to which the French king would rescue the Moriscos and conquer Valencia without bloodshed: “We find in our prophecies that the city [Valencia] will surrender without resistance and without being rescued [by the Spanish authorities].”17
The creation and circulation of prophecies announcing the advent of a providential savior (sometimes conflated with the Islamic figure of the mahdī), was by no means exclusive to the Moriscos. Rather, Hamete Musrif’s messianic rhetoric needs to be recontextualized within a regional, if not global, trend. As
Although the “mahdization” of King Henry IV and the exploitation of messianic ideas in a dialogue with the French monarchy is perhaps the most surprising aspect of Hamete Musrif’s letters to twenty-first-century readers, the use of such rhetoric remains very limited in the original version of the letters. I argue here that too strong a focus on messianism obscures the variety of the arguments used by Hamete Musrif, most of which follow the classic forms of a request for military support addressed to a foreign power. Alluding to prophecies was just one argument among the many used by Hamete Musrif to convince Henry IV to participate in the uprising. Indeed, Hamete Musrif insists much more on the legitimacy of the recourse to force against Philip III, by using arguments that would have been familiar and intelligible to French officials.
In his appeal to Henry IV and his council, Hamete Musrif seems to have aimed to better the reputation of the Moriscos, which was clearly suffering from a credibility deficit at the French court. Indeed, while showing interest in the project, Henry IV expressed, in his correspondence with Jacques Nompar de Caumont, his fear of being duped by the Valencian group.19 Using a rhetoric of honor and integrity, Hamete Musrif argued that the Moriscos of Valencia were a respectable and loyal “nation” facing an unjust situation. The Valencian Moriscos were honorable, first, because they were of illustrious ancestry: Hamete Musrif pointed out that the “nation” descended in direct line from the Almohad ruler Abū Yūsuf al-Manṣūr (d. 1299). The reference to al-Manṣūr seems to hint that he drew on the second part of Miguel de Luna’s Historia verdadera del Rey Don Rodrigo, which had just been published in Granada (1600) and Zaragoza (1603).20 This chronicle of the Muslim conquest of Iberia, which
Second, and most importantly, Hamete Musrif argued that the Moriscos of Valencia had fallen victim to the deceitfulness of the Spanish monarchy. He recounted at length how the Catholic Monarchs and Philip II had betrayed their trust, reneging on the pact concluded after the fall of Granada, and then on the agreement negotiated after the War of the Alpujarras (1568–71). To Hamete Musrif, the Spanish monarchs were serial oath breakers: “The kings kept nothing of their words.”21 Such insistence on the disloyalty of the Spanish monarchs was a common trope in Morisco appeals to foreign powers. In their letters to the Ottoman and Mamluk sultans at the beginning of the sixteenth century, the Moriscos of Granada had also referred to the agreement violated by Isabella of Castile and Ferdinand of Aragon, insisting on the religious oppression imposed by the latter.22
Rather than emphasizing at length the repression of Morisco religious beliefs, however, Hamete Musrif devoted a section of his appeal to stressing the dire economic situation in which the Moriscos found themselves as a result of local policies. Such an argument was unprecedented: mentions of economic conditions did not loom large in previous Morisco appeals to foreign powers. Did Hamete Musrif believe that proof of economic oppression would have a greater sway over Henry IV and his council than complaints regarding
Having established the legitimacy of the Moriscos’ rebellion against the Spanish monarchy, Hamete Musrif then drew up a complete plan of action for the projected uprising. His second letter, in particular, was devoted almost entirely to such practical considerations. It highlighted the tactical knowledge and strengths of the Valencian Moriscos, alluding to the key places at which to launch the offensive, the financing of the uprising, and, above all, the number of men and the stock of weapons available in the region of Valencia, but also in Aragon, Catalonia, and Castile. In stark contradiction to messianic rhetoric, in which the Moriscos were cast into an essentially passive role awaiting their savior, Hamete Musrif continuously insisted on the agency of the Morisco “nation.”
Highlighting his extensive knowledge of the local terrain, Hamete Musrif first posed as an advisor to French forces. According to him, Spanish defenses along the Valencian coast, built to alert against and hold off North African land raids, were weak and antiquated. This would enable French vessels to disembark safely at the Cape of Oropesa, in the north of the kingdom. Hamete Musrif took care to indicate that Oropesa stood opposite to the Columbretes archipelago, probably to help French forces navigate this unfamiliar environment.
In the remainder of the letter, Hamete Musrif did everything to minimize the projected French involvement. Boasting about the importance of the Morisco army that was ready to participate in the uprising, he greatly exaggerated the number of available fighting forces. In his first letter, for instance, Hamete Musrif estimated the number of Moriscos in the kingdom at 76,000 households, when the census carried out in 1609 by the Spanish authorities recorded only 32,000 households.28 Hamete Musrif also promised that huge numbers of Moriscos from other kingdoms, Castile and Aragon in particular, would join the uprising. He added that the Valencian Moriscos were fully capable of financing the insurrection themselves and even proposed to lend money to Henry IV: “for when the need comes, we will be able to produce 60 thousand men without depleting our households, and without any costs to the King that will support us. Rather, we will give him money if needed because we certainly do not need anything, save for weapons.”29
All in all, the Moriscos would only need a few French soldiers, cannons, and arquebuses to succeed in seizing Valencia. Indeed, since the decree (pragmática) issued by King Philip II in 1563, the Valencian Moriscos had been forbidden to bear arms and had had to surrender their weapons.30 While this decree was unevenly abided by in the kingdom, it probably reduced the number of weapons available to supporters of the uprising, hence the insistence on weapons in the letters. Thus, if Hamete Musrif punctuated his appeal to King Henry IV with messianic language, he also laid out a commensurate way of legitimizing the insurrection and a detailed military strategy, showing off his organizational skills and thorough knowledge of the Valencian terrain. Above all, he insisted on the agency and autonomy of the Morisco “nation” and its capacity to organize the uprising with little support from the French monarchy.
2
Hamete Musrif’s writings provide information on the rhetoric employed by Valencian Moriscos to convince Henry IV of the legitimacy and feasibility of their rebellion against King Philip III. Moving beyond diplomatic rhetoric, an extensive analysis of the letters also gives precious insights into how the Valencian group managed to set up a mixed diplomatic network between the Kingdom of Valencia and southern France. In a context of heightened distrust by the Spanish central and regional authorities toward recent converts, to which we shall come back below, choosing a trustworthy interlocutor was no easy task for the Moriscos involved in the uprising. One episode allows us to assess the delicate situation in which the group found itself: the minutes of an interview held in September 1582 between members of the King’s council, Diego Fernández de Cabrera y Bobadilla, Count of Chinchón, the secretary Mateo Vázquez, and Don Fadrique, Duke of Alba. The transcripts of this interview show that they planned to send undercover agents, wearing “Turkish garments” and speaking Arabic, to the Kingdom of Valencia to infiltrate local Morisco networks.31 In this context, it is clear that the instigators of the uprising might not have considered all Moriscos living in the kingdom (or people looking like Moriscos) to be trustworthy partners.
The record of previous Morisco attempts at insurrection in the Kingdom of Valencia was also telling. In 1570, in the midst of the War of the Alpujarras, which rocked the Kingdom of Granada, a group of Valencian Moriscos plotted to seize Ayora, a town located between Valencia and Albacete. After a few months of planning, the organizers were betrayed to Spanish authorities by local alfaquís. These were Moriscos who held important religious authority over their local communities, and were presumably anxious to preserve them from the bloodshed unfolding in the Alpujarras.32 A decade later, in January 1582, the Valencian Morisco Gil Pérez also informed the Valencian Inquisition of a vast Morisco plot to take the city with the help of the Ottomans, the North Africans, the French Huguenots, and the rebellious Portuguese who were resisting the recent union of the Spanish and Portuguese monarchies.33 For years afterward the Holy Office investigated, imprisoned, and tortured those denounced by Pérez, before releasing them all when it turned out that the plot
The construction of trust within intra- and extra-community networks has attracted the attention of specialists of early modern religious minorities and diasporas. Historians of intercultural trade, especially Francesca Trivellato and Sebouh Aslanian, have examined the establishment of commercial partnerships, both endogenous to the Jews of Livorno and to the Armenians of New Julfa, as well as between members and outsiders of these two groups.34 Granted, the existence of repeated interactions oriented toward the quest for financial profit within these mixed networks provides a framework for thinking about trust between individuals that can only uneasily be applied to the Valencian group, which was planning a one-off military operation. Nevertheless, as with Jewish or Armenian commercial enterprises, reputation and personal honor were critical criteria in how the Valencian Moriscos selected their interlocutors among the Moriscos of the kingdom.
In this perilous environment, where appearances might be deceitful, personal reputation was of prime importance in selecting trustworthy Moriscos across the region to participate in the uprising. In his second letter Hamete Musrif introduced himself as a member of the Mosarifes. The surname he adopted in both letters, Musrif, was also presumably a mark of membership in this group. Derived from the Arabic šharīf (noble, leader), this word certainly alluded to the honorable character of its bearer as a distinguished member of the Morisco “nation,” and to Hamete’s role as a leader and commander. Not only does the use of this Hispanicized Arabic word hint that Hamete Musrif (or his entourage) possessed some notions of Arabic, but it also demonstrates that Arabicized titles were deemed both vectors of prestige and suitable for communicating beyond the frontiers of the Kingdom of Valencia, even with a Christian king. Above all, the use of this term demonstrates that only those who held sufficient reputation and sway over the Moriscos of the kingdom were put in charge of the uprising.
Hamete Musrif’s insistence on the renown and importance of other participants comports with this idea. In his second letter he noted that all the Moriscos who took part in the project could be considered “the most important
All these localities shared similar characteristics. As mentioned by Hamete Musrif in his letter, most were located in particularly mountainous areas remote from the sea, with the exception of Gandía. Most were also important Morisco settlements. According to the fiscal census of 1602, the Morisco population of Segorbe, Hamete Musrif’s native town, consisted of 262 households. Xàtiva and Chelva numbered 130 and 169 Morisco households respectively.38 Besides, some of these localities were significant nodes of Morisco banditry (bandolerismo), which plagued the kingdom until the expulsion. Some of these villages served as a base for bandits, who had been particularly active in the kingdom toward the end of the sixteenth century. Benissanó, Chelva, Segorbe, Alberic, Bétera, and Benaguasil were regularly cited as the places of origin of Morisco robbers in contemporary trials and reports.39
In the absence of information regarding the reputation of non-Moriscos, other criteria governed the selection of reliable partners across the Pyrenees. Undoubtedly, religious affiliation played an important role in the trust that the leaders of the uprising placed in Jacques Nompar de Caumont. A fervent Huguenot and survivor of the Saint Barthélémy massacre (24 August 1572), this governor of Béarn and Navarre had supported Henry of Bourbon, the future Henry IV, during the French Wars of Religion. By the early seventeenth century he had become a trusted advisor to the French king. As hinted above, contacts between the Moriscos of Valencia and Caumont fell within a long tradition of Morisco-Protestant contacts. As Louis Cardaillac and Thomas Werner demonstrated, during the sixteenth century Moriscos and Huguenot polemicists maintained some intellectual connections, united in their opposition to Catholicism. Even if few attempts at full syncretism and doctrinal alliance can be charted, Moriscos did make use of Protestant writings to refute Catholic doctrine.42
In turn, dissident Moriscos, especially in the Kingdom of Aragon, saw the Béarn Huguenots as potential allies in escaping and opposing the Spanish monarchy.43 During the reign of King Philip II, Inquisitors expressed their worries over Morisco emigration to Béarn and their possible conversion to
However, the religious affinities of the Moriscos with French Protestants were not the sole factor in shaping the contours of the cross-regional network built by the Valencian group. First, a marginal note added to the first letter demonstrates that the leaders of the uprising benefited from the mediation of Morisco emigrants settled in southern France. In this note, the Morisco envoy who was carrying the letters informed Henry IV and his council that he had arrived in France and was now residing within the domains of a certain “Lord of the Hautière,” whom it is difficult to identify with certainty. This lord, he explained, knew the Moriscos in exile who resided in Toulouse and Marseille very well. Just as in the case of the Irish or the French in Spain, the intervention of settled individuals abroad seems to have helped structure and foster the diplomatic mediation conducted by the Valencian group beyond the Kingdom of Valencia.46
The Valencian Moriscos also relied on members of preestablished intelligence networks spanning the Pyrenees, which were presumably chosen for their knowledge of southern France and northern Spain. The two French agents involved in the project, Jean de Panissault and Pascal Saint-Estève, had particular expertise in negotiating and gathering intelligence across the blurred zone which separated the French from the Spanish monarchy. This was something which the Moriscos of the Kingdom of Valencia, who lived approximately 400 kilometers from the Pyrenees, desperately needed. Jean de Panissault originated in Gascony (in today’s southwestern France), which bordered the Kingdom of Aragon, while Saint-Estève was born in the town of Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port sometime between 1564 and 1566. Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port was
Saint-Estève’s linguistic abilities made him a partner of choice for the Moriscos of Valencia. As aforementioned, his command of Castilian and French seems to have been particularly good, since he is sometimes referred to as a notary in letters exchanged between the Spanish ambassador to France, Juan Bautista de Tassis, and King Philip III in early September 1602.47 In fact, one could hypothesize that Saint-Estève participated in the redaction of the letters sent to Henry IV and his council on behalf of Hamete Musrif. That Saint-Estève wrote the letters, under the Morisco’s dictation, may explain the few Gallicisms that punctuate the first letter.48 For instance, the expression used in the letter to mean “give a signal” (dar el mot) (l. 30) strikingly resembles the French expression se donner le mot. The form of other words in the letter, erroneous in Castilian, also resembles French: servitores (l. 3) (instead of servidores) resembling the French serviteur, secorro (l. 70) (instead of socorro) looking like the French secours, or batizar (l. 52) (instead of bautizar) mirroring the French baptiser.
In the absence of any correspondence in the archives exchanged between the Morisco leaders of the uprising, it is difficult to determine with accuracy the mechanisms that presided over the formation of the small network which supported the initiative. Yet Hamete Musrif’s letters demonstrate the importance of reputation and family prestige in the structuring of Morisco networks that supported the uprising across the Kingdom of Valencia. The fact that most French agents involved in the project were Protestants also testifies to the solidity of links between Moriscos and Huguenots in the early seventeenth century. In turn, the practical and linguistic expertise of specific French agents, like Pascal Saint-Estève, for negotiating across the Pyrenees was also critical. In any case, in choosing their interlocutors both inside and outside the Valencian Morisco population, the leaders of the uprising relied on preexisting networks of opposition to the Spanish monarchy, whether across the mountainous hinterland of the Kingdom of Valencia or in southern France.
3
In the summer of 1604 two representatives of the Valencian group, whose precise identity is difficult to ascertain, initiated their journey from Valencia to Pau accompanied by Pascal Saint-Estève. They presumably carried the letters addressed to Henry IV and his council by Hamete Musrif. The journey of several hundred kilometers was trying for the two delegates. In a letter dated 22 July 1604, Jacques Nompar de Caumont notified Henry IV that one of them had taken ill in the city of Teruel, about 140 kilometers north of Valencia.49 But the real difficulty of such a journey lay in the imperative need to evade the surveillance system set in place by the Spanish monarchy across the Kingdoms of Valencia and Aragon. In the Kingdom of Valencia, stringent limitations and scrutiny over Morisco mobility had been in place since the mid-sixteenth century to prevent revolts, banditry, flight, and contact with the North African Ottoman provinces.50 Closer to the Pyrenees and the border zone, the Spanish monarchy had established a wide-ranging system of espionage, relying on a web of professional spies.51 This need for secrecy and dissimulation had a direct impact on the material conditions of the group’s legation to Jacques Nompar de Caumont.
It is unlikely that Valencian Moriscos possessed any physical characteristics that would have rendered their travel incognito more difficult, in comparison to Old Christians’. As Bernard Vincent’s study of Morisco bodies shows, the alleged existence of physical characteristics that would have readily allowed Spanish agents to spot the two delegates is improbable. Indeed, Vincent’s examination of the census of Granadan Moriscos who were resettled in Cordoba after the War of the Alpujarras has established the absence of any apparent physical differences between Old Christians and Moriscos.52 This made dissimulation and passing much easier for Moriscos who were seeking to evade local authorities while on the move.
Pilgrim “costumes” were a popular choice for Moriscos travelling incognito, like our two delegates. The strategy of dressing as pilgrims was well known to some Moriscos, but also to Spanish authorities, at least since the middle of
The Valencian delegates seem to have opted for another disguise, however. In 1607, the Spanish agent Martín de Bustamante provided a description of the Valencian delegates, whom he had seen crossing the frontier, to the Spanish council of state. In his letter Bustamante claimed that they had evaded Spanish surveillance by dressing as itinerant merchants. More precisely, the delegates had crossed Aragon, through the valleys of Ossau, Aspe, Benasque, and Navarre, via the towns of Vera, Roncesvalles, and Ochagavía, disguised as book or trinket merchants.56 Passing as peddlers was a popular cover among spies who operated in the region. When he wrote the report, Bustamante himself was using his work as an itinerant book seller to disguise his intelligence activities in the service of the Spanish monarchy.
Besides, Morisco communities across the Peninsula maintained strong connections to itinerant merchants. Serafín de Tapia and Raphaël Carrasco, among others, have pointed out the high proportion of Moriscos working as arrieros (muleteers) and the use of these commercial networks to maintain contacts among various Morisco groups.57 The existence of these networks
The Valencian agents who travelled to Pau also received external help to reach French territory both secretly and safely. The French agent Pascal Saint-Estève, who appears both in the correspondence of Jacques Nompar de Caumont and in the Spanish chronicles of the event, was the main agent who supported the uprising project and accompanied the Valencian group in the negotiations.59 As mentioned above, this ambiguous character, sometimes accused of being a double agent by the French authorities, had a thorough knowledge of the border region, where he had been operating since at least 1592.60 Jacques Nompar de Caumont’s second envoy to Valencia, the Protestant knight (chevalier) Jean de Panissault, was also from Gascony, another border area. By getting involved in the Moriscos’ legation, it is very likely that they played a role in the delicate operation of crossing both the Valencian and Aragonese kingdoms to French territories.
While both Hamete Musrif’s appeal and the correspondence exchanged between Henry IV and Jacques Nompar de Caumont make no mention of third parties, the involvement of other Iberian minorities in the journey of the delegates cannot be ruled out. Martín de Bustamante’s report supports he thesis of a collusion between the Valencian Moriscos and Jewish Conversos who dwelt around the Franco-Spanish border zone. In his report, Bustamante warned Philip III against the nefarious projects “of a Valencian, a Gascon, and two Moriscos,” probably a confused description of Pascal Saint-Estève, Jean de Panissault, and the two Valencian agents. According to Bustamante, this heterogenous group was helped by “Portuguese” Conversos who had fled to France.61 While Bustamante may have invented a Morisco-Converso cooperation to add weight to his report, the hypothesis that Conversos helped Franco-Morisco negotiations is plausible. Throughout the sixteenth century, groups of exiled Spanish Conversos found refuge in the south of France, particularly in Bayonne.
An analysis of the Valencian Moriscos’ efforts to preserve the confidentiality and secrecy of their project during their journey also requires exploring the conditions under which the two letters sent by Hamete Musrif to Henry IV and his council were transported from the Kingdom of Valencia to Pau. As it appears from the letters’ layout, it was clearly not lost on their redactor that they could easily succumb to the dangers of a long clandestine journey. Not only could the letters be apprehended or destroyed, but malicious third parties could also alter their contents. To mitigate this risk, the redactor drew long continuous lines across both the top corners and at the bottom of the text, so that no further content could be added to the original letters (see Figure 4.1). Besides, the size of the letters might also hint at efforts made to preserve their confidential nature. Just like other secret correspondence stored in Jacques Nompar de Caumont’s personal archive, the two letters were folded into twelve sections, reducing their size to less than a dozen centimeters, easily concealed in an internal pocket or in the lining of a garment.63
Thus, the vigilance of Spanish authorities in the Valencian and Aragonese kingdoms compelled the Morisco delegates to travel discreetly and under disguise—which had a direct effect on the materiality of their communication with the French monarchy. Paradoxically, however, the same delegates also had to carry irrefutable proofs of their identity and their project, to ensure the success of their legation across the Pyrenees. As mentioned above, in a region where impostors and undercover Spanish agents, such as Bustamante, were widespread, Valencian Moriscos needed to accredit their legation and prove their good faith to Jacques Nompar de Caumont and Henry IV—neither of whom was entirely convinced of their good faith and credibility. Despite the various legations sent by Moriscos to France during the late sixteenth century, the Moriscos lacked a history of sustained diplomatic representation at the French court. This made Henry IV and French officials wary of their activities.
The need to provide strong credentials may explain why the letters sent by Hamete Musrif systematically bore a double signature. This signature was composed of two distinct elements: a written signature naming the sender (Hamete Musrif) and a symbol, which was not reproduced in the published French edition of the appeal. Measuring just a few centimeters, this symbol resembles two arrows linked together by a straight line (see Figure 4.3). In the absence of substantial research on the use of the epistolary genre by the Moriscos and the identification marks used by the Moriscos of the Kingdom of Valencia, it is difficult to propose a definitive interpretation of this sign. Nevertheless, in view of Hamete Musrif’s writings, it is likely that it served as an identification mark, similar to a seal, used by an influential Morisco family from Segorbe. In any case, the fact that it was added twice to the original first letter, and transcribed in seventeenth-century copies, testifies to the importance of this symbol as a mark of identification, in an environment where secrecy and dissimulation ruled. In other words, the items carried by the delegation both concealed (the disguises) and exposed (the letters) the Morisco delegates during their passage across the Kingdom of Valencia, Aragon, and southern France.
4 Conclusion
From the end of 1605, when the news of the execution of Saint-Estève and the Morisco leaders of the uprising finally reached Pau and Paris, no further plans to support a large-scale Morisco insurrection were seriously considered by the French authorities.65 The partial destruction of networks of Morisco resistance in Valencia, the reluctance of the French monarchy to embark on such a risky and hazardous undertaking, and finally the expulsion of the Moriscos, decreed in September 1609 in the Kingdom of Valencia, explain this slump in Franco-Morisco communication. Nevertheless, close ties between Moriscos and the French, especially in Languedoc and Provence, continued after 1609. Some of the networks formed before the expulsion were also exploited to guide
In many ways, the legation of the Moriscos of Valencia to France resembled the actions of other groups in the early modern period. Just like the Irish or the French in Spain, the Valencian Moriscos travelled abroad, sent letters to foreign monarchs, and built a mixed network in support of their initiative. However, their legation was also profoundly shaped by the specificities of the Morisco presence in the Valencian kingdom, be it in demographic, cultural, religious, or economic terms. While their networks drew on family prestige and some measure of transreligious solidarity, they relied on preestablished patterns of opposition to the Spanish monarchy, both in the Valencian region and in southern France. In turn, the practicalities of their legation were deeply affected by the surveillance put in place by Spanish authorities, which forced the Morisco envoys to draw on a culture of dissimulation that was already well in place across the Franco-Spanish border zone. Thus, while the Moriscos seem unlikely participants in European diplomacy in the seventeenth century, they did draw on local and regional practices, networks, and knowledge to forge a dialogue from one “nation” to another—across seemingly impenetrable political boundaries.
Acknowledgements
I owe special thanks to Giuseppe Marcocci, my supervisor at Oxford, without whom this research would have never seen the light. I am also very grateful to Lucile Boucher, Jocelyne Dakhlia, David do Paço, Margot Elmer, Clément Fabre, Natalia Muchnik, Natividad Planas, and Bernard Vincent for their comments on many earlier drafts, as well as to Mercedes García-Arenal and Gerard Wiegers for their thoughtful suggestions.
Archives Nationales de France (Pierrefitte-sur-Seine), 353AP/20, 16. First page of the first letter of Hamete Musrif to Henry IV and his council.
PHOTO: STRUILLOU
Archives Nationales de France (Pierrefitte-sur-Seine), 353AP/14. First page of the second letter of Hamete Musrif to Henry IV and his council
PHOTOGRAPH: STRUILLOU
Archives Nationales de France (Pierrefitte-sur-Seine), 353AP/20, 16 (detail). Hamete Musrif’s signature.
PHOTO: STRUILLOU
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Márquez Villanueva, Francisco. Moros, moriscos y turcos de Cervantes. Ensayos críticos. Barcelona: Bellaterra, 2010.
Márquez Villanueva, Francisco. El problema morisco, desde otras laderas. Madrid: Libertarias, 1991.
Monroe, James T. “A Curious Morisco Appeal to the Ottoman Empire.” Al-Andalus 31, no. 1 (1966): 281–303.
Olsthoorn, Johan. “Grotius and the Early Modern Tradition.” In The Cambridge Handbook of the Just War, edited by Larry May, 33–56. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018.
Pérez Tostado, Igor. Irish Influence at the Court of Spain in the Seventeenth Century. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2008.
Porcar, Pere Joan. Coses evengudes en la Ciutat y Regne de València. Dietari (1585–1629), edited by Josep Lozano. Valencia: Publicacions de la Universitat de València, 2012.
Rodríguez Mediano, Fernando. “Seeing Oneself through the Eyes of a Morisco: The European Translations of Miguel de Luna’s Historia Verdadera del Rey d. Rodrigo.” In Through Your Eyes: Religious Alterity and the Early Modern Western Imagination, 63–102. Leiden: Brill, 2021.
Santoni, Pierre. “Le Passage des morisques en Provence (1610–1613).” Provence Historique 46 (1996): 333–83.
Tapia, Serafín de. “Las redes comerciales de los moriscos de Castilla la Vieja. Un vehículo para sus ‘Complicidades’.” Studia Historica 11 (1993): 231–43.
Terrisse, Marc. “La diaspora morisque: une histoire globale méconnue.” Hommes & migrations 1315 (2016): 124–29.
Thomas, Werner. La represión del protestantismo en España, 1517–1648. Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2001.
Trivellato, Francesca. The Familiarity of Strangers: The Sephardic Diaspora, Livorno, and Cross-Cultural Trade in the Early Modern Period. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009.
Van Koningsveld, Pieter Sjoerd, and Gerard Wiegers. “An appeal of the Moriscos to the Mamluk Sultan and its counterpart to the Ottoman court: Textual analysis, context, and wider historical background.” Al-Qanṭara 20, no. 1 (1999): 161–89.
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Zayas, Rodrigo de. Les Morisques et le racisme d’État. Paris: Éditions de la Différence, 2017.
Henri Lapeyre, Géographie de l’Espagne morisque (Paris: SEVPEN, 1959), 100–03, 186–87, 208, 287.
Louis Cardaillac, “Le passage des morisques en Languedoc,” Annales du Midi 83, no. 103 (1971): 259–98; Pierre Santoni, “Le Passage des morisques en Provence (1610–1613),” Provence Historique 46 (1996): 333–83.
Youssef El Alaoui, “The Moriscos in France after the Expulsion: Notes for the History of a Minority,” in The Expulsion of the Moriscos from Spain: A Mediterranean Diaspora, ed. Mercedes García-Arenal and Gerard Wiegers (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 250.
El Alaoui, “The Moriscos in France,” 250.
Louis Cardaillac, Morisques et chrétiens: un affrontement polémique (Paris: Klincksieck, 1977), 139; Werner Thomas, La represión del protestantismo en España, 1517–1648 (Leuven: Leuven University Press, 2001), 106.
Alain Hugon, Au service du roi catholique: “honorables ambassadeurs” et “divins espions” (Madrid: Casa de Velazquez, 2004), 626.
Jaime Bleda, Corónica de los moros de España (Valencia: Felipe Mey, 1618), 929.
Cardaillac, Morisques et chrétiens, 138–40; Antonio Domínguez Ortiz and Bernard Vincent, Historia de los moriscos: vida y tragedia de una minoría (Madrid: Revista de Occidente, 1978), 173; Mayte Green-Mercado, “Morisco Prophecies at the French Court (1602–1607),” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 61, no. 1–2 (2018): 91–123; Mayte Green-Mercado, Visions of Deliverance: Moriscos and the Politics of Prophecy in the Early Modern Mediterranean (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2019), 214–36.
Gaspar Escolano, Década primera de la historia de la insigne y coronada ciudad y reyno de Valencia (Valencia: Pedro Patricio Mey, 1610), 1811–17; Damián Fonseca, Justa expulsión de los moriscos de España (Rome: Iacomo Mascardo, 1612), 146–49; Marcos de Guadalajara y Xavier, Prodición y destierro de los moriscos de Castilla (Pamplona: Nicolás de Assiayn, 1614), 5–6; Bleda, Corónica de los moros de España, 924–29; Pere Joan Porcar, Pere Joan Porcar: coses evengudes en la ciutat y regne de València. Dietari (1585–1629), ed. Josep Lozano (Valencia: Universidad de Valencia, 2012), 80; Luis Cabrera de Córdoba, Relaciones de las cosas sucedidas en la corte de España, desde 1599 hasta 1614 (Madrid: J. Martín Alegría, 1857), 240.
Archives Nationales de France (hereafter ANF), Pierrefitte-sur-Seine, 353AP/20, 14–16.
Jean de Caumont La Force, Mémoires Authentiques de Jacques-Nompar de Caumont, Duc de La Force et de ses deux fils (Éd. 1843) (Paris: Hachette, 2017), 341–45.
Christian Windler, “Afterword: From Social Status to Sovereignty—Practices of Foreign Relations from the Renaissance to the Sattelzeit,” in Practices of Diplomacy in the Early Modern World c. 1410–1800 (London: Routledge, 2017), 255.
Tijana Krstić, “Moriscos in Ottoman Galata, 1609–1620s,” in The Expulsion of the Moriscos from Spain: A Mediterranean Diaspora, ed. Mercedes García-Arenal and Gerard Wiegers (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 269–87; Krstić, “The Elusive Intermediaries: Moriscos in Ottoman and Western European Diplomatic Sources from Constantinople, 1560s–1630s,” Journal of Early Modern History 19, no. 2–3 (2015): 129–51.
Diana Carrió-Invernizzi, “A New Diplomatic History and the Networks of Spanish Diplomacy in the Baroque Era,” The International History Review 36, no. 4 (2013): 1–16.
Robert Descimon and José Javier Ruiz Ibáñez, Les Ligueurs de l’exil. Le Refuge catholique français après 1594 (Seyssel: Champ Vallon, 2005), 146.
Igor Pérez Tostado, Irish Influence at the Court of Spain in the Seventeenth Century (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2008).
ANF, 353AP/20, 16.
Cardaillac, Morisques et chrétiens, 49; Mercedes García-Arenal, Messianism and Puritanical Reform: Mahdīs of the Muslim West (Leiden: Brill, 2006); Mayte Green-Mercado, “The Mahdī in Valencia: Messianism, Apocalypticism and Morisco Rebellions in Late Sixteenth-Century Spain,” Medieval Encounters 19, no. 1–2 (2013): 193–220.
Caumont La Force, Mémoires Authentiques, 339–40.
On Miguel de Luna’s Historia Verdadera, see Luis Fernando Bernabé Pons’s introduction in Miguel de Luna, Historia verdadera del Rey don Rodrigo, ed. Luis Fernando Bernabé Pons (Granada: Universidad de Granada, 2001); Francisco Márquez Villanueva, El problema morisco, desde otras laderas (Madrid: Libertarias, 1991); Fernando Rodríguez Mediano, “Seeing Oneself through the Eyes of a Morisco: The European Translations of Miguel de Luna’s Historia Verdadera del Rey d. Rodrigo,” in Through Your Eyes: Religious Alterity and the Early Modern Western Imagination (Leiden: Brill, 2021), 63–102. As Bernabé Pons points out, the Historia Verdadera was referred to in subsequent appeals of the Moriscos to foreign powers, particularly to Constantinople in 1612.
ANF, 353AP/20, 16.
James T. Monroe, “A Curious Morisco Appeal to the Ottoman Empire,” Al-Andalus 31, no. 1 (1966): 281–303; Pieter Sjoerd Van Koningsveld and Gerard Wiegers, “An appeal of the Moriscos to the Mamluk sultan and its counterpart to the Ottoman court: Textual analysis, context, and wider historical background,” Al-Qanṭara 20, no. 1 (1999): 161–89.
Stephen Haliczer, Inquisition and Society in the Kingdom of Valencia, 1478–1834 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 265.
Tulio Halperín Donghi, Un conflicto nacional. Moriscos y cristianos viejos en Valencia (Valencia: PUV, 2008), 153.
Peter Haggenmacher, “Guerre Juste et guerre regulière dans la doctrine espagnole du XVIe siècle,” Revue Internationale de la Croix-Rouge 74, no. 797 (1992): 450–62; Johan Olsthoorn, “Grotius and the Early Modern Tradition,” in The Cambridge Handbook of the Just War, ed. Larry May (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018), 33–56.
Sebastián García Martínez, “Bandolerismo, piratería y control de moriscos en Valencia durante el reinado de Felipe II,” Estudis. Revista de Historia Moderna 1 (1972): 85–168, at 101.
ANF, 353AP/20, 14.
Lapeyre, Géographie de l’Espagne morisque, 30.
ANF, 353AP/20, 16.
García Martínez, “Bandolerismo, piratería y control,” 108.
Rodrigo de Zayas, Les Morisques et le racisme d’État (Paris: Éditions de la Différence, 2017), 283–85.
Jorge Antonio Catalá Sanz and Sergio Urzainqui Sánchez, La conjura morisca de 1570. La tentativa de alzamiento en Valencia (Valencia: Generalitat valenciana, 2009), 19.
Green-Mercado, Visions of Deliverance, 167.
Francesca Trivellato, The Familiarity of Strangers: The Sephardic Diaspora, Livorno, and Cross-Cultural Trade in the Early Modern Period (New Haven-London: Yale University Press, 2009); Sebouh David Aslanian, From the Indian Ocean to the Mediterranean: The Global Trade Networks of Armenian Merchants from New Julfa (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011).
ANF, 353AP/20, 14.
Halperín Donghi, Un conflicto nacional, 99; Raphaël Carrasco, Deportados en nombre de Dios. La expulsión de los moriscos, cuarto centenario de una ignominia (Barcelona: Ediciones Destino, 2009), 179.
This list differs from the list given by Jaime Bleda in his Corónica. According to Bleda, Moriscos who participated in the uprising originated mainly from Alacuàs, Betxí, Segorbe, Toga, and Alberic. See Bleda, Corónica de los Moros de España, 924–29.
Lapeyre, Géographie de l’Espagne morisque, 217–27.
Jorge Antonio Catalá Sanz and Sergio Urzainqui Sánchez, “Perfiles básicos del bandolerismo morisco valenciano: del desarme a la expulsión (1563–1609),” Revista de Historia Moderna. Anales de la Universidad de Alicante 27 (2009): 57–108, 66.
Catalá Sanz and Urzainqui Sánchez, La conjura morisca de 1570, 20.
Guadalajara y Xavier, Prodición y destierro, 5. Other later chronicles and the correspondence of Jacques Nompar de Caumont indicate, on the contrary, that it was Olivier Brachan (or Bracan), an English agent close to Saint-Estève, who denounced the Moriscos to the Spanish authorities. See in particular Hugon, Au service du roi catholique, 589.
Cardaillac, Morisques et chrétiens, 126; Thomas, La represión del protestantismo en España, 105.
Cardaillac, Morisques et chrétiens, 138.
Cardaillac, Morisques et chrétiens, 139.
Pascual de Gayangos, “Language and Literature of the Moriscos,” The British and Foreign Review 8 (1839): 63–95, at 81; Cardaillac, Morisques et chrétiens, 140.
ANF, 353AP/20, 16.
Archivo General de Simancas (hereafter AGS), Estado, Leg. 620, f. 184. Also cited in Hugon, Au service du roi catholique.
ANF, 353AP/20, 16.
Caumont La Force, Mémoires Authentiques, 375.
García Martínez, “Bandolerismo, piratería y control,” 117.
Alain Hugon, “Contrôle pyrénéen et maîtrise frontalière dans les conflits franco-hispaniques (1559–1659),” in Del tractat dels Pirineus (1659) a l’Europa del segle XXI, ed. O. Jané (Barcelona: Museu d’Història de Catalunya, 2010), 107.
Bernard Vincent, “Quel était l’aspect physique des Morisques?” in Morisques (1501–1614). Une histoire si familière (Mont-Saint-Aignan: Presses universitaires de Rouen et du Havre, 2017), 223.
Gayangos, “Language and Literature of the Moriscos,” 81; Cardaillac, “Le passage des Morisques en Languedoc.”
Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quixote, trans. John Ormsby (Alicante: Biblioteca Virtual Miguel de Cervantes, 2002), Part 2, Chapter XLIV.
Bernabé Pons, “De los moriscos a Cervantes,” eHumanista/Cervantes 2 (2013): 156–82; Francisco Márquez Villanueva, Moros, moriscos y turcos de Cervantes. Ensayos críticos (Barcelona: Bellaterra, 2010), 244.
AGS, Estado Francia, Leg. 1608, B.90. On the contraband in prohibited books across the Pyrenean region, see Hugon, “Contrôle pyrénéen et maîtrise frontalière,” 103.
Serafín de Tapia, “Las redes comerciales de los moriscos de Castilla la Vieja: un vehículo para sus ‘Complicidades’,” Studia Historica 11 (1993): 231–43; Carrasco, Deportados en nombre de Dios, 110.
Zayas, Les Morisques et le racisme d’État, 421.
Bleda, Corónica de los Moros de España, 926.
Hugon, Au service du roi catholique, 626.
AGS, Estado Francia, Leg. 1608, B.90.
David Graizbord, Souls in Dispute: Converso Identities in Iberia and the Jewish Diaspora (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004), 66–67; David Graizbord, “Becoming Jewish in Early Modern France: Documents on Jewish Comunity-Building in Seventeenth-Century Bayonne and Peyrehorade,” Journal of Social History 40, no. 1 (2006): 147–80, at 159; Luis Bernabé Pons, “Notas sobre la cohesión de la comunidad morisca más allá de su expulsión de España,” Al-Qanṭara 29, no. 2 (2008): 307–32, at 310; Olivier Caporossi, “Le crime de monnaie des Morisques au début du XVIIe siècle,” Cahiers de La Méditerranée 79 (2009): 223–40.
James Daybell, The Material Letter in Early Modern England: Manuscript Letters and the Culture and Practices of Letter-Writing (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 170.
Caumont La Force, Mémoires Authentiques, 339.
See in particular ANF, 353AP/11.
Marc Terrisse, “La diaspora morisque : une histoire globale méconnue,” Hommes & migrations 1315 (2016): 124–29.