Mysteries Unveiled: Coded Postcards from the Levant at the Turn of the Century
By fadi maassarani
While browsing through an album of old franked postcards from Beirut, the philatelist’s eye may sometimes pause on a strange message. Not a simple greeting. Not a mundane travel description. But a series of seemingly innocuous words—sometimes a grid, sometimes a nonsensical poem—and yet, behind these apparently ordinary lines, lies a code.
Postcard 1 – Sent from Beirut 1909
My research has clearly allowed me to identify stenography, and more specifically Duployé stenography, a system widely used in France from the 19th century onwards.
Literal Transcription: “My dear papa, I am writing you these lines from Beirut. The weather is very beautiful, the sky is blue. I visited the port and the streets. We ate at a small restaurant near the seaside. The people are kind and the city is very lively. I think of you every day and hope to see you again soon. A thousand kisses, your daughter who loves you.”
This is a touching letter from a daughter to her father from Beirut, describing her travel impressions—the beautiful weather, her visits to the port and streets, a meal at a seaside restaurant, and her feelings for her family.
What is Duployé Stenography?
- Invented by Émile Duployé in 1860.
- Used to write quickly by hand with simplified symbols representing sounds (phonemes) rather than letters.
- It is written phonetically (for example, “beaucoup” becomes something like “bo-ku”).
- The system is based on lines, loops, hooks, and dots.
Postcard 2 – Sent from Beirut in 1905
This postcard features an encrypted text mixing letters (lowercase/uppercase) and mathematical signs (+, -, =, /, x, etc.)
Thanks to artificial intelligence and much patience, the coding key was identified:
The key was relatively simple:
- X → E (systematic substitution)
- S → A (frequently)
- L → I (in certain cases)
- Consonants remain largely unchanged
- Mathematical symbols serve as spaces/punctuation
Message Transcription: “My dear Maria, I receive your letter and I see with pleasure that you are well, as is the whole family. Here everything is going well too.
Business is proceeding satisfactorily. Papa is still working in his trade and mama takes care of the house. My brother continues his studies.
I hope you receive my letters regularly and that you often give me news of yourself.
The political situation remains tense but we continue our normal life. Relations with Constantinople are always difficult.
I intend to come see you soon if circumstances permit. In the meantime, I embrace you affectionately as well as all our friends.
Your devoted,”
The message reveals: A typical family correspondence of the era, but coded because of Ottoman censorship. The sender gives family news, mentions the tense political situation (“relations with Constantinople are difficult”), and expresses his intention to visit Maria. Our additional research suggests that the sender might be from the Bsous region of Lebanon, an area known for its silkworm farms (magnaneries). This hypothesis, while not definitively established, is based on several convergent clues related to the economic context and address mentioned in the correspondence.
This type of code was very common in 1908 in the Ottoman Empire, allowing families to communicate freely while avoiding postal censorship, particularly active during this period of political tensions that preceded World War I.
Two remarkable documents that testify to the ingenuity of civilian populations in preserving their epistolary privacy!
Why, at the beginning of the 20th century, were civilians writing coded messages… in plain sight, on the back of a postcard?
The Postcard Paradox: Assumed Visibility, Hidden Secret
At the time, sealed letters were of course available—and more discreet. So why expose oneself further with a postcard? This is the paradox. Sending an encrypted message on a card visible to all was precisely to diminish suspicion. A postcard attracts attention… but not necessarily mistrust. Like a chameleon, the coded message hides in plain sight within a mundane, familiar, innocent medium.
In these times of dying empires, political surveillance, and censorship, particularly in the Ottoman Empire, a postcard bearing innocuous prose did not arouse the same controls as a sealed letter. The postal services themselves—sometimes mixed, sometimes diplomatic—let these light correspondences pass much more easily.
In Ottoman space, this strategy could also serve to circumvent a postal system deemed intrusive. From Istanbul, Sultan Abdul Hamid II had established a communications surveillance apparatus known as Yıldız—a political police active even in major provincial cities. This climate encouraged certain subjects to be cautious… including in their family exchanges.
Who Codes? Who Reads?
Contrary to what one might believe, it was not necessary to be a mathematical genius or a seasoned spy to use simple codes. Many messages were based on artisanal systems: a predefined reading grid, letter-number correspondence, or language games based on diagonal readings. These practices circulated in certain merchant families, Armenian, Greek, or Levantine diasporas, who were accustomed to communicating across borders, under the sometimes suspicious eye of authorities.
Stenography, although taught in certain commercial or secretarial schools from the late 19th century, remained marginal in Ottoman space—and not very useful for private messages. It was not so much the technique that mattered, but the ingenuity of the subterfuge. One could, for example, write: “I visited the bazaar this morning, it was very hot, and I bought three lemons”—which could mean, for the recipient, “the package has left.”
This culture of coded cunning therefore did not arise from a secret elite, but from a popular and discreet practice, transmitted within family or community circles. It relied on shared intimacy between sender and reader, more than on complex cryptographic tools.
A Postcard, a Double Journey
These coded cards from the Levant thus tell a double journey: that of the postal object, and that of the hidden message. They bear witness to an era of tensions, instabilities, but also of immense popular creativity. They remind us that philately is not only the study of stamps, but also of what carries them: the card, the letter, the intention.
And for us, collectors and enthusiasts, they are an unprecedented playground: because sometimes, behind an apparently mundane card, lies perhaps… a secret still undeciphered.
Fadi Maassarani
