The French Mandate Through the Lens of Luigi Stironi

Text by Norbert Schiller
Photographs by Luigi Stironi, Norbert Schiller Collection

Two years before the Armistice of Mudros on 30 October 1918, which effectively ended Ottoman participation in the First World War, France, Britain and Russia had already begun dividing the Ottoman Empire through the secret Sykes–Picot Agreement. It was a clear sign that the three powers were positioning themselves early to secure their share of the postwar spoils.

Under the agreement, France was granted control over Greater Syria, including Lebanon; Britain took Transjordan, Mesopotamia, and Kuwait, while Russia took control of eastern Turkey, Armenia and parts of the southern Caucasus. In 1922, the League of Nations formally awarded Britain the Mandate for Palestine, in part to implement the 1917 Balfour Declaration, which supported the establishment of a national home for the Jewish people in Palestine.

The partition of the Ottoman Empire was never part of the promises made to Sharif Hussein ibn Ali, ruler of Mecca, when he joined forces with the British in 1916 to launch the Arab Revolt against Ottoman rule. By cutting key supply lines and helping capture vast territories, Arab forces played a significant role in weakening the Ottoman army and forcing its retreat.

In the end, however, Arab participation largely served the imperial ambitions of France and Britain. Rather than gaining the independent Arab state many had hoped for, the region was divided between colonial powers, leaving Arab aspirations sidelined.

Luigi Stironi’s story in Syria appears to have begun shortly after the establishment of the French Mandate in 1920 and continued into the 1930s. Little is known about when Stironi came to Syria or the circumstances that brought him there. What is clear is that he maintained a close working relationship with the French administration, as he was present at numerous official functions and was granted near carte blanche access to work alongside French military forces during their operations. He also documented Syria’s rich antiquity while accompanying French troops on their various missions.

Luigi Stironi was not among the great artistic photographers of his era. What sets him apart was not technical brilliance but his role as one of the few photographers to document the French presence in the Levant during a pivotal historical period. Stironi was, above all, a documentarian—far more concerned with capturing events as they unfolded than with achieving photographic perfection. His images may lack the artistry of more celebrated contemporaries, but they possess something equally valuable: a historical authenticity that offers a rare visual glimpse into the social realities of the French Mandate in Greater Syria. Through his lens, we are given not a sanitized vision, but an unvarnished record of a significant chapter in Middle Eastern history.

A few months after the San Remo Conference, in April 1920, when France’s mandate over Greater Syria was officially recognized, French forces were once again engaged in conflict—this time against Arab fighters loyal to Faisal I of Syria and whose government refused to accept French rule. France did not accept the newly appointed King’s proclamation and sent troops from the coast into the interior. Following the Syrian defeat at the Battle of Maysalun in the anti-Lebanon mountains on 24 July 1920, Faisal I was exiled to England, though he would later be installed by the British as ruler of Iraq. With his removal, the French consolidated control over Syrian territory.

While smaller clashes occurred throughout French-controlled Syria during the early 1920s, the next defining phase of the conflict began in the summer of 1925. The French suffered a series of defeats, the most significant being the Battle of al-Mazraa (2–3 August 1925), which ended in a humiliating retreat. Approximately 600 French and colonial troops were killed, while hundreds more were wounded or captured. The victory at al-Mazraa by a well-armed and highly organized Druze and Bedouin force dramatically shifted the momentum of the conflict. Rebel activity surged across the country, including in Damascus, where insurgents increasingly infiltrated the city and challenged French authority. The defeat was not only a major military setback but also a severe blow to French prestige throughout Syria.

In an effort to regain the initiative and reassert control, the French dismissed General Jean-Mathieu Michard, the commander on the ground, and replaced him with General Maurice Gamelin. Gamelin immediately strengthened French forces with additional troops and equipment. The first major success came on 17 September 1925 with a decisive victory at the Battle of Al-Musayfirah (Messifré). Shortly before dawn, approximately 3,000 Druze fighters attacked positions held by the French Foreign Legion. After hours of intense fighting, including hand-to-hand combat, the French gained the upper hand with the support of armored vehicles and aerial bombardment. By the end of the battle, an estimated 500 rebels had been killed, compared with 47 French soldiers.

From the research I have conducted, I believe it was not until the Battle of Al-Musayfirah (Messifré) that Luigi Stironi began photographing the aftermath of French military engagements with the rebel forces. One of the greatest challenges in studying Stironi’s work is determining when and where many of his photographs were taken. Apart from his official copyright stamp—which does not appear on every print—he provided virtually no identifying information, leaving purchasers of his postcards free to add their own handwritten captions. As a result, many of the captions found on surviving examples are of questionable accuracy.

There are numerous photographs depicting dead rebels with no identifiable landmarks that might help establish their location. One example is an image in my collection that I have also encountered on several historical websites. The photograph shows the bodies of numerous rebel fighters scattered across a barren plain and was clearly taken shortly after a battle.

What makes the image particularly problematic is that each version carries a different handwritten caption, most likely added by tourists who purchased the postcards. The first reads, “Combat de Homs 9.10.25.” (Battle of Homs 9.10.25), although no such battle took place. The second, despite being an identical photograph, is captioned “Quneitra, cadavres après la bataille” (“Quneitra, corpses after the battle”). Quneitra is located in the Golan Heights and nowhere near the city of Homs. A third version, which I believe to be the most accurate in terms of location, though not necessarily date, reads “Champ de bataille de Suaida, le 22, 24, 25 juin 1925” (“Battlefield of Suwayda, June 22, 24, 25, 1925”).

Such discrepancies make it extremely difficult to verify the accuracy of captions and, by extension, the historical context of many of Stironi’s photographs. As a result, I have had to approach both the captions and the attributed locations of his images with a considerable degree of caution.

After conducting extensive research, including consulting a website dedicated to the French Foreign Legion, I learned that the photograph in question showing dead rebels scattered across an open plain was in fact taken in the aftermath of the Battle of Al-Musayfirah (Messifré). The key clue was the presence of two low stone walls, barely visible in the background, which were identified as defensive positions occupied by Legion forces during the battle.

By far, Stironi’s most important work documents the aftermath of the French bombardment of Damascus between 18 and 20 October 1925. In an effort to crush the Great Syrian Revolt and reassert control over the country, French forces subjected Damascus to sustained artillery and aerial bombardment. Although many of Stironi’s postcards that survive today are of only modest photographic quality, they nevertheless provide a stark and invaluable visual record of the destruction inflicted upon Damascus.

Among the hardest-hit areas was the Sidi Amoud district within the old city, which was almost completely flattened and consumed by fire. Following its reconstruction, the neighborhood became known as Harika—Arabic for “The Fire”—a name it still bears today, and a lasting reminder of the devastation wrought by the bombardment.

Following the bombardment of Damascus, General Gamelin called for substantial reinforcements, including tanks and additional troops. By the spring of 1926, some 50,000 soldiers had been brought in from France’s North African colonies, particularly Morocco and Algeria, to ensure the success of a renewed offensive against the rebels.

Stironi also traveled extensively throughout Greater Syria, documenting many of its archaeological sites. In my collection are several of his photographs from places such as Bosra and Baalbek, but the site where he appears to have been most prolific was Palmyra. Some of his images focus solely on the ancient ruins, while others show French military personnel among the monuments.

In addition to documenting archaeological sites, the aftermath of battles, and the destruction of Damascus, Stironi also appears to have been present at many of the public executions carried out in Marjeh Square in the center of Damascus. During the Great Syrian Revolt (1925–1927), the French authorities used public hangings as a means of punishing rebels and deterring further resistance. Stironi photographed a number of these executions, creating a visual record of one of the most controversial aspects of French rule in Syria.

Like many of his other postcards, these photographs of public executions appear to have been particularly popular and were widely purchased by tourists and travelers visiting the region.

Finally, throughout the French Mandate, soldiers stationed in Greater Syria took it upon themselves to create their own photographic record of the region. In my archives, I have many such photographs, both as individual prints and in complete photo albums. Some were produced and printed in a highly professional manner, while others were printed in a much more rudimentary style, remarkably similar to the way Luigi Stironi produced his photographs.

This has led me to speculate that Stironi may have operated his own photographic studio, where he not only produced formal portraits of soldiers stationed throughout Greater Syria, but also offered developing and printing services for military personnel who took their own photographs during the Mandate period.

Much remains to be discovered about Luigi Stironi. We still do not know precisely when he arrived in Syria, when he departed, or whether he continued working as a photographer after leaving the country. I have encountered references suggesting that he remained in Syria until the outbreak of the Second World War, but so far, I have found no photographic evidence to support that claim.

Despite these unanswered questions, Stironi remains the photographer who most comprehensively documented the French Mandate in Syria, particularly the Great Syrian Revolt and the devastating bombardment of Damascus in 1925. His photographs constitute one of the most important visual records of this turbulent period and ensure that these events continue to be remembered and studied.