IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF THE CRUSADERS
_Nations melt_
_From power’s high pinnacle, when they have felt_
_The sunshine for a while, and downward go_
_Like lauwine loosened from the mountain’s belt._
BYRON “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage,” Canto IV, 12.
Aside from the interest which attaches to it as the north-western
terminus of the Bagdad Railway, Konia, the ancient Iconium, like so
many other places in Anatolia, is extremely rich in legendary and
historic lore. According to a local myth it was the first spot to
emerge from the waters of the Deluge. It is mentioned in the legend
of Perseus and the Gorgons. A local legend has it that the name was
derived from the Greek word _eikon_--figure or image--referring to
the mud figures, which, when breathed upon by the wind, were converted
into living men and women. This is evidently a variant of the old myth
of Deucalion and Pyrrha. It was doubtless this pride in their great
antiquity and a belief that Phrygian was the primitive language of our
race that led the inhabitants of Iconium to claim a Phrygian origin.
That Phrygian was really the oldest language they had no doubt. For,
it was averred, the Egyptian King, Psametik, had conclusively proved
this by showing that “infants brought up out of hearing of human speech
spoke the Phrygian language.”
The Ten Thousand Greeks, in the army of Cyrus, halted here on their
famous expedition to southern Mesopotamia. Cicero reviewed his troops
here when he was proconsul of Cilicia. It was one of the important
missionary centers of the early evangelizing activity of St. Paul. It
was to this city that, accompanied by Barnabas, he directed his steps
after he had been expelled by the Jews from Antioch.
In Roman times Iconium stood at the intersection of several important
highways and was designated by Pliny _urbs celeberrima_--a most
celebrated city. According to a venerable tradition, Iconium had for
its first bishop Sosipatros, one of the seventy-two disciples, who was
succeeded in the episcopal chair by Terentius, likewise one of this
chosen body of disciples. Equally noteworthy is the fact that Iconium
was the birthplace of St. Thecla, who is said to have been converted
to Christianity by the Apostle St. Paul. She is the heroine of the
_Acta Pauli et Theclæ_. From the earliest ages of the Church
she was greatly venerated in Asia Minor, where she was known as the
“Apostle and Proto-martyr among Women.” In the Greek Church her feast
is celebrated on the twenty-fourth of September under the title of
“Proto-martyr among Women and the Equal of the Apostles.”
And here, according to a venerable tradition on which oriental
geographers set much store, is the tomb of “Plato the Divine,” who,
under the name of Eflat, is revered by the local population as a
thaumaturgus. The origin of this singular tradition in this part of
Anatolia--so distant from the real burying place of the immortal
philosopher--is one of the curiosities of Ottoman folklore.[178]
During two centuries--from 1099 to 1307--Iconium was the capital of
the Seljuk Sultans of Rum[179] and is still regarded as one of the
holy places of Islam. Many of its sultans were patrons of art and
literature, and, during the zenith of its splendor, this Seljukian
metropolis could boast of nearly as many colleges and students as
Bagdad--the far-famed capital of the Abbasside Caliphate.
Its present chiefest title to fame is the tomb of the noted
Jelal-ed-din-Rumi, usually known as Mevlana. He was famed for knowledge
and wisdom and was the founder of the Dancing Dervishes and the author
of the “Mesnevi,” a celebrated poem in Persian verse, in which is
instilled the Sufi system of pantheism. His successors, as heads of the
Dancing Dervishes, have their residence in Iconium and theirs is the
right and the privilege to gird each Ottoman Sultan, on his accession
to the throne, with the historic sword of Osman. This imposing
function, which is performed in the Mosque of Eyub in Stamboul, has
been likened to the coronation by the Pope of the Holy Roman Emperor.
By those who know them best the better class of Dancing, or, more
properly, the Whirling Dervishes, are described as being a very
tolerant and large-minded people. Thus it is said that “in the
dangerous period in the winter of 1895–1896, when religious and
national feeling ran high in Turkey, it was mainly owing to the
Mevlevis that the softas of Konia were prevented from attacking the
Christian population of the town.”[180]
But the orthodox Moslems, as represented by the softas and mollahs,
do not regard with sympathy the peculiar ceremonial practices of the
various orders of dervishes, especially their use of incense, music,
and lighted candles in public worship. To the strict followers of
the Koran the characteristic forms of worship of the Mevlevis and
Rufais, more commonly known as the Dancing and Howling Dervishes,
are as distasteful as are the ritualistic services of certain modern
Anglicans to the conservative members of the Church of England. As
to the esoteric doctrines of the dervishes, especially those based
on the _Mesnevi_, they are declared by the doctors of Islam
to be quite irreconcilable with both the Koran and the Hadith--the
accepted traditions of Mohammedanism. It must be said that the bizarre
performances of the Dancing and Howling Dervishes--performances which
are resorted to as a means of detaching the minds of the devotees from
all things earthly and attaining a state of spiritual ecstasy--are
to the casual spectator but little different in kind from certain
revivals of our southern negroes. The solemn dervishes, however,
exhibit far more dignity and reverence in their devotions than do the
excitable and noisy Africans in their camp-meetings and revivalistic
gatherings.
Surrounded by a barren and desolate country, Konia, when seen from
afar, looks like an oasis in the desert. It is situated on an elevated
plateau well-watered by mountain streams and blessed with a salubrious
climate. It was these attractive features that led the Seljukian Turks
to choose it for their capital. Its luxuriant gardens and orchards have
long been famous and add much to the city’s picturesqueness--especially
when viewed from a distance. For when one enters the old Seljukian
capital there is little to attract attention except a few mosques. Of
the old Greek city practically nothing remains aside from the fragments
of friezes, cornices, bas-reliefs, and ancient inscriptions which are
found in the walls which surround the erstwhile Seljukian capital.
Here, as in so many other places in Anatolia, the Turks, when requiring
material for their mosques and palaces, converted the imposing temples
of the Greeks, Romans, and Byzantines into quarries for stone, and
lime. As in Nicæa, a great part of the space within the walls of Konia
is covered with crumbling ruins overgrown with weeds and bushes. The
poet must have had such a scene in his mind’s eye when he penned the
lines:
_There a temple in ruin stands_
_Fashioned by long-forgotten hands;_
_Two or three columns and many a stone,_
_Marble and granite with grass overgrown_
_Out upon time! It will leave no more_
_Of the things to come than the things before._
Modern Konia, a good part of which lies outside of the walls of the
Seljuk capital of the thirteenth century, is composed of one-story
buildings, constructed chiefly of wood and sun-dried bricks. But amid
all the squalor and decay that distinguishes this historic city there
are several mosques and medresses--colleges--which will well repay
careful inspection.
Among the buildings deserving particular attention is the splendid
tekke of the Dancing Dervishes, in which is the tomb of Hazret Mevlana,
the founder of this peculiar order. It is popularly known as the “Blue
Mosque” from the exquisite sapphire and turquoise blue tiles which
until recently covered the cupola that rises above the great turbeh of
the founder. There is nothing in Brusa, Stamboul, or Cairo that can
surpass its rich and delicate traceries and arabesques, its profusion
of jeweled lamps, its wealth, precious tapestries, wondrous faïence,
its magic glories of color from the looms and kilns of Persia and
India. But over and above all this wealth of ornamentation there is a
religious atmosphere that does not exist in the ordinary mosque. For
the dervishes, unlike the orthodox Moslems, make a special appeal to
the emotions of their followers, and hence their widespread influence
and popularity throughout the Mohammedan world.
There is, however, no attempt made here to affect the emotions through
any of the plastic or pictorial arts. In this respect the Blue Mosque,
like every other mosque in Islam, is absolutely devoid of paintings and
statues. The reason is that Moslem law proscribes all representations
of the human form, either in painting or statuary, as impious, because
they are regarded “as encouragements to idolatry and as profanations of
God’s chief handiwork.”[181]
According to one of the traditional sayings of Mohammed, “Whoever
draws a picture will at the day of resurrection be punished by being
ordered to blow a spirit into it; and this he can never do; and so he
will be punished as long as God wills.” Nor does the Prophet leave any
doubt as to the nature of the punishment, for he declares explicitly,
“Every painter is in hell-fire.” In another saying, however, he greatly
modifies this pitiless statement and tells the painter, “If you must
make pictures, make them of trees and of things without souls.” It is
because of this concession to artists that one may frequently see in
Mohammedan houses pictures of flowers and trees and even of landscapes,
provided there be in them no delineation of “the human form divine.”
But in the homes of the strict adherents of Moslemism all images are
rigorously tabooed, for, according to another saying of the Prophet,
“Angels do not enter into the house in which is a dog, nor into that in
which are pictures.”[182]
Konia is now a flourishing city of about sixty thousand souls. Most
of its inhabitants, like those of Brusa, are pure Turks, who rigidly
adhere not only to the religion but also to the manners and customs
of their fathers. There is here, however, a goodly number of Greeks,
Armenians, and Germans, besides whom there is also, among the employees
of the Bagdad Railway, a sprinkling of Swiss, French, and Italians.
Among the various institutions we visited, none gave us more agreeable
surprise than those established here some decades ago by the Priests
and Sisters of the Assumption from France, which are in a very
prosperous condition. The Sisters have a school and dispensary, and
their devoted care of the poor and sick has made them greatly beloved
by all classes, irrespective of creed. Nowhere is the zeal of the
ardent French nun seen to better advantage than in foreign missions,
where her enthusiasm, notwithstanding the great difficulties she
frequently encounters, never abates and where she exhibits a happiness
that communicates itself to all who come in contact with her.
Nowhere in Anatolia, except probably in Brusa, has one a better
opportunity to study the manners and customs and simple pastimes of the
genuine Turk than in Konia. Theaters and operas, as we know them, they
have not. From all social assemblages, like those in the western world,
which are frequented by men and women alike, they are debarred by a
custom that is more binding than the laws of the Medes and Persians.
But notwithstanding the total absence of all the entertainments that
contribute so much to the pleasure of the people of Europe and America,
the Anatolian has a way of spending his leisure hours that quite
satisfies him. His amusements are simple indeed, but with them he is
content.
Most of these center in the coffeehouse, which, to a great extent,
takes the place of the restaurant in France and the club in the United
States. Like the club and restaurant the Turkish coffeehouse
_Is the resort of public men; the haunt_
_Of wealthy idlers and the trysting-place_
_Of such as have no home to indicate--_
_A place where each may come and go at will,_
_Think his own thoughts, pursue his own affairs,_
_Or fling his ore of feeling and of sense_
_Into the common crucible._
Unlike the club and restaurant, the coffeehouse serves no food or
alcoholic liquors of any kind. Aside from the people who congregate
there, and it is usually well-patronized, its attractions are as
limited as they are simple. In the less pretentious places these are
confined to coffee, tobacco, and, occasionally, the _Medak_, or
story-teller. In the more sumptuous places of the larger cities there
is also music, but it is generally of a very inferior quality, for
the instruments employed are for the most part limited to a drum, a
tambourine, and two or three rude guitars.
In Anatolia, as in all Moslem countries, the _Medak_ is a most
popular character. Not infrequently his ability is so marked that he
attains the rank of a personage, and his services on festive occasions
are in great demand and for them he is liberally remunerated. The
admirable manner in which he can, unaided, fill the rôle of entire
casts of the most diverse characters, his marvelous versatility
in personating the people of different nations, and in imitating
the tones, phraseologies, and even the facial expression of the
multitudinous races of the Turkish empire are really astonishing
and are to his audience a source of unending delight. Not a few of
the Medaks, in addition to histrionic talent that would do honor to
the best European stage, have a gift of expression and a facility
of invention that make them the rivals of the most eminent Italian
_improvisatori_. With such entertainers the Turks can readily
forego our more elaborate forms of amusement, even if they were
available.[183]
* * * * *
But the stories and drolleries of the Medak--although always a
perennial source of pleasure--are not the chief attractions of the
coffeehouse. These are partly supplied, as Lowell so playfully puts it,
by
_The kind nymph to Bacchus born_
_By Morpheus’ daughter, she that seems_
_Gifted on her natal morn_
_By him with fire, by her with dreams--_
_Nicotia, dearer to the Muse_
_Than all the grapes’ bewildering juice._
Although the use of tobacco was long forbidden in the Mohammedan
world[184] and although its lawfulness is still disputed by a large
number of Moslems, especially the Wahabis, the “scented weed” is now
used almost universally from Morocco to Delhi and from Stamboul to
Mecca. It is, however, well for the Moslems of to-day that tobacco and
coffee were unknown in the time of Mohammed, as he would most likely
have put them under the same ban as intoxicating liquors and games of
chance.
Nothing more perfectly harmonizes with the temperament of the
Oriental than the smoking habit, and it is doubtless this practice
that contributes not a little to that remarkable patience and that
wonderful repose which so distinguishes the Turk and the Arab from the
nervous and overwrought American or European. An Oriental reclining
on his cushioned divan with his bubbling narghile supplied with the
rose-scented tobacco from Shiraz or Salonica is a matchless picture
of contentment, and nothing that the hurry-scurry West can offer will
excite his envy or disturb his peaceful reverie.
The invariable accompaniment of the narghile or chibouk with their
aromatic and sedative narcotic is the zarf, with its small cup of
foaming black coffee made from the prized Mocha berries of Arabic
Felix.[185] Only in the East is this grateful and refreshing beverage
properly prepared.[186] Let those who doubt this statement read of its
virtues as celebrated by the Arabic poet, Abd-el-Kader Anazari Djezeri
Hanbali. Only those will find his eulogy a wild extravagance who have
never experienced the revivifying effects of the dark ambrosia that so
gladdens the Bedouin’s tent and the pasha’s palace.
O Coffee! thou dispellest the cares of the great; thou bringest
back those who wander from the paths of knowledge. Coffee is the
beverage of the people of God and the cordial of His servants
who thirst for wisdom. When coffee is infused into the bowl
it exhales the odor of musk and is of the color of ink. The
truth is not known except to the wise who drink it from the
foaming coffeecup. God has deprived fools of coffee, who, with
invincible obstinacy condemn it as injurious.
Coffee is our gold and in the place of its libations we are
in the enjoyment of the best and noblest society. Coffee
is as innocent a drink as the purest milk from which it is
distinguished only by its color. Tarry with thy coffee in the
place of its preparation and the good God will hover over thee
and participate in His feast. There the graces of the salon, the
luxury of life, the society of friends, all furnish a picture of
the abode of happiness.
Every care vanishes when the cup-bearer presents the delicious
chalice. It will circulate freely through thy veins and will not
rankle there. If thou doubtest this, contemplate the youth and
beauty of those who drink it. Grief cannot exist where it grows;
sorrow humbles itself in obedience before its powers.
Coffee is the drink of God’s people; in it is health. Let this
be the answer to those who doubt its qualities. In it we will
drown our adversities and in its fire consume our sorrows.
Whoever has once seen the blissful chalice will scorn the
wine-cup. Glorious drink! Thy color is the seal of purity and
reason proclaims it genuine. Drink with confidence and regard
not the prattle of fools who condemn without foundation.[187]
So much for the oriental coffeehouse and the pleasure and surcease
of care and sorrow which it offers its listless, dream-loving
habitués. What are the amusements of the women of the Orient? Let the
distinguished English writer, Julia Pardoe, whose knowledge of Turkish
life and manners was not surpassed even by that of the well-informed
Lady Mary Wortley Montague, give a reply to this interesting but
ill-understood question. In the quotation given she is writing about
the women of Constantinople, but what she says of them can, _ceteris
paribus_, be asserted of their sisters in other parts of the Ottoman
Empire:
It is a great fallacy [she declares] to imagine that Turkish
females are like birds in a cage or captives in a cell;--far
from it; there is not a public festival, be it Turk, Frank,
Armenian or Greek, where they are not to be seen in numbers
sitting upon their carpets or in their carriages, surrounded by
slaves and attendants, eager and delighted spectators of the
revel. Then they have their gilded and glittering caiques on the
Bosphorus, where, protected by their veils, their ample mantles
and their negro guard, they spend long hours in passing from
house to house, visiting their acquaintances and gathering and
dispensing the gossip of the city.
All this may and indeed must appear startling to persons who
have accustomed themselves to believe that Turkish wives were
morally manacled slaves. There are, probably, no women so little
trammelled in the world; so free to come and go unquestioned,
provided that they are suitably attended, while it is equally
certain that they enjoy this privilege like innocent and happy
children, making their pleasures of the flowers and the sunshine
and revelling, like the birds and bees in the summer brightness,
profiting by the enjoyment of the passing hour and reckless or
thoughtless of the future.[188]
Since these lines were written, the liberty of the Turkish woman has
been greatly extended, as have also her opportunities of obtaining a
higher education, which were so long denied her.
From the foregoing it seems that the peoples of the Orient--both men
and women--get quite as much pleasure out of life--in their own way,
of course--as do our luxury-loving people of the Occident at the
expenditure of far greater effort and wealth. But in this, as in other
things--every one to his taste. _De gustibus non est disputandum._
But much as one may be interested in the mosques and medresses and the
customs of the people of Konia, the traveler of a practical turn of
mind will find more to engage his attention in the splendid barrage
which was constructed about a decade ago, some twenty odd miles to the
south-east of the city, for the irrigation of the broad plain of Konia.
It is the work of a German company, which, by utilizing the waters of
two neighboring lakes--the Beushehr and the Sogla Geul--has enabled
its enterprising managers to irrigate nearly a hundred and fifty
thousand acres of valuable land which would otherwise remain arid and
unproductive. It is notable as being the first undertaking of the kind
in Asia Minor, and has already been of untold value to the inhabitants
of Konia Plain. The success of this important work is sure to lead to
the construction of similar reservoirs in other parts of Anatolia,
with the happy result that many broad stretches of this long-neglected
and deserted country will eventually be restored to their former
fertility and populousness.
Time was, as history informs me, when Asia Minor, which has long been
presented in many parts by pictures of utter barrenness and desolation,
was one of the most fertile and productive and flourishing in the
world. It was from this land, as DeCandolle[189] has shown, that Europe
received many of its most important fruits and cereals, as well as many
of its most valuable shrubs and trees. From Asia Minor came the peach,
the plum, the cherry, and the apricot, the quince and the mulberry, and
probably also the apple and the olive. From it also came wheat, barley,
oats and lucerne and numerous other useful cultivated plants. It was
doubtless for these reasons that an old legend located in this region
the cradle of our race.
Before leaving Konia it may be noted that it was on the route of
the Crusades led by Godfrey de Bouillon and Frederic Barbarossa.
Godfrey’s forces found the city abandoned by the enemy, but the army of
Barbarossa was forced to take the city by storm and compel the Sultan
to sue for peace.
After leaving the old Seljukian capital we found little worthy of note
until we reached the famous chain of the Taurus Mountains. For a great
part of the distance our train passed over a level plain, sparsely
populated. Here and there were small villages with mud-built houses
surrounded by diminutive tracts of land under cultivation, not unlike
those that are everywhere visible in northern Mexico.
What impressed us here, as in other parts of Anatolia, was the paucity
of its inhabitants and their total failure to utilize the marvelous
natural resources of the country. Although the area of Asia Minor is
equal to that of France, its population is but one-fifth of that of
the French Republic. And yet the natural resources of the country are
enormous, and if properly conserved would suffice to support several
times its present population. Rich in valuable minerals of all kinds,
its untold treasures of ore are left unmined. Its flora, too, is as
varied as it is valuable. The oak, for instance, counts more varieties
here than in any other part of the world. Fifty-two species occur
in Anatolia, twenty-six of which are not known to exist elsewhere.
But in this part of the world, forestry is an unknown science. Worse
still. Not only is arboriculture practically unknown, but thousands
of valuable trees are every year wantonly destroyed. If the water,
mineral, and forest resources were properly conserved and developed,
Asia Minor would again be as it was in the long ago--one of the most
populous and flourishing regions of the globe.
No country perhaps has seen such a succession of prosperous
states and had such a host of historical reminiscences, under
such distinct eras and such various distributions of territory.
It is memorable in the beginning of history for its barbarian
kings and nobles whose names stand as commonplaces and proverbs
of wealth and luxury. The magnificence of Pelops imparts lustre
even to the brilliant dreams of the mythologist. The name of
Crœsus, King of Lydia ... goes as a proverb for his enormous
riches. Midas, King of Phrygia, had such abundance of the
precious metals that he was said by the poets to have the power
of turning whatever he touched into gold. The tomb of Mausolus,
King of Caria, was one of the seven wonders of the world.[190]
But as it is now, this country, once so famed for its wealth and its
splendid cities, for its “powerful and opulent kingdoms, Greek or
Barbarian, of Pontus and Bithynia and Pergamus--Pergamus[191] with its
two hundred thousand choice volumes”--is so poor and neglected that
its people frequently suffer from famine and from all the miseries
consequent on improvidence and failure to utilize the vast treasures
within their reach. It is to be hoped that the advent of the railroad
and the introduction of irrigation and the promised establishment of
an efficient forestry will ere long materially improve the present
sad economic condition of the country, and that fair Anatolia will
once more be covered, as of yore, with flourishing marts of commerce
and magnificent cities where there are now crumbling columns of Greek
temples and scattered fragments of Roman palaces and amphitheaters--a
veritable “sepulchre of the past.”
The plain which we now traversed was for a considerable distance
gravelly land, alternately marshy and dry and not infrequently very
saline. Rocks of a volcanic character were often visible. There
were little evidences of life except here and there long droves of
heavily burdened donkeys and camels and occasional flocks and herds of
wandering Turkomans.
Trains of camels in the deserts of Asia and Africa have always had a
peculiar fascination for me. Like the llama trains of the Peruvian and
Bolivian Andes they seem to be specially adapted to their environment
and to the work which they are called upon to perform. Before the
invention of the steam engine both, in their sphere, were all but
indispensable--the sure-footed llama on dizzy mountain heights, the
thirst-resisting camel in torrid, interminable deserts. Even since the
appearance of the locomotive these useful animals are apparently as
much in demand as ever. For, in addition to transporting merchandise,
as formerly, where railroads do not exist, they are still in constant
use in delivering goods to such roads as are already in operation.
In the region of which I am now speaking, one, at times, sees only
three or four camels at most; at others there are a hundred or more,
all loaded to the limit of endurance. But whenever they appear in the
gray, barren, undulating plain, they, with their drivers, at once
give life and color to the landscape which is else but a dull study
in monochrome. Their leader is usually a dirty, unkempt, diminutive
donkey--in marked contrast to the stately animals that submissively
follow him--which is frequently bestridden by a somnolent Turk wearing
a faded old fez and voluminous red trousers, with his legs reaching
almost to the ground. As the caravan gradually approaches one hears the
jingling of the bells of the light-stepping donkey and the clanging of
the larger bells of the heavy, lurching camel. But we also presently
discover that both donkey and camels are decked with gaudy trappings
adorned with beads and cowrie shells. These, however, are not solely
for ornament, as one might suppose, but rather to avert the evil eye
which, in the Near East, is even more dreaded than it is in any part of
southern Italy.
How the camel carries one back to patriarchal times, to times even when
the domesticated horse was known only in warfare! As a long line of
betasselled camels came near our train one day, they seemed by their
sneers and the lofty manner in which they held up their heads to be
conscious of their ancient lineage and to resent the trespassing by the
Bagdad Railway on what was long their exclusive domain. But to judge by
the general appearance of the country--the old patched tents, the reed
huts, the hovels of unbaked mud, the peculiar garb of the people, the
primitive methods of agriculture, the simple manners and customs of
the people--this part of Anatolia, notwithstanding the advent of the
iron horse, is in almost the same condition as it was when Joseph and
his brethren tended their father’s flocks in the land of Canaan.
If this part of Asia Minor was as arid and desolate in the days of
Godfrey de Bouillon and Barbarossa--and we have no reason to believe it
was materially different--we can easily realize what must have been the
trials and sufferings of the Crusaders during their long march through
“burning Phrygia” and inhospitable Lycaonia. Their route was through a
dry, sterile, and salty desert, a land of tribulation and horror.[192]
It was then, no wonder that, in view of the perils and sufferings
entailed by an inland expedition, the later Crusaders preferred to make
the journey from Europe to the Holy Land by sea.
Terror [writes Michaud] opened to the pilgrims all the passages
of Mount Taurus. Throughout their triumphant march the
Christians had nothing to dread but famine, the heat of the
climate and the badness of the roads. They had particularly much
to suffer in crossing a mountain situated between Coxon and
Marash which their historians denominate, “The Mountain of the
Devil.”[193]
So great, indeed, were the toils and dangers and disasters experienced
by the Crusaders before they reached the Holy City of Jerusalem,
that the brilliant French historian is moved to declare, “If great
national remembrances inspire us with the same enthusiasm, if we
entertain as strong a respect for the memory of our ancestors, the
Conquest of the Holy Land must be for us as glorious and memorable an
epoch as the war of Troy was for the people of Greece.”[194] Again
he avers, “When comparing these two memorable wars and the poetical
masterpieces that have celebrated them, we cannot but think the subject
of the _Jerusalem Delivered_ is more wonderful than that of the
_Iliad_.”[195]
There are several passes through the Taurus, but by far the most
important of them is the famous one long known as the _Pylæ
Ciliciæ_, or Cilician Gates.[196] From time immemorial this
celebrated pass has been the gateway between Syria and Asia Minor,
between southwestern Asia and southeastern Europe. Assyrians, Hittites,
Persians, Egyptians, Greeks, Romans, Byzantines, Saracens, Crusaders
passed through them. Asurbanipal, Cyrus the Great, and Sapor I led
their armies through their narrow defiles. Cyrus the Younger and
Xenophon pushed their way through them on their way to fateful Cunaxa.
Alexander, Cicero, Harun-al-Rashid led their armies through this narrow
passage. It was also traversed by St. Paul, by hosts of the Crusaders
and by pilgrims innumerable from the earliest ages of the Church.
On our way across the Taurus we followed in the footsteps of Alexander
and the Crusaders as far as the Vale of Bozanti. Here the Bagdad
Railway diverges slightly eastward from the old military and trade
route which passes through the Cilician Gates. As we preferred to
follow the old historic route to passing through nearly eleven miles
of railway tunnels, we left the train at Bozanti Khan and proceeded by
carriage through the Cilician Gates to Tarsus.
We were well repaid for so doing, for we had, in consequence, one of
the most delightful mountain drives in the world. On each side of the
road were towering heights clothed with forests of pine and other
evergreens, while rising far above these was the sky-piercing summit
of Bulgar Dagh covered with a mantle of snow of dazzling whiteness.
Further on our way
_The pass expands_
_Its strong jaws, the abrupt mountain breaks,_
_And seems with its accumulated crags,_
_To overhang the world._
And, as if to give life and variety to the majestic scene, we saw
circling the fantastic peaks and hovering above the beetling crags in
quest of prey, a number of great bare-necked vultures, which seemed to
be fully as large as the lammergeier of the Alps and no mean rivals of
the condor of the Andes.
The narrow gorge known as the Cilician Gates answers perfectly to
Cicero’s appellation of Pylæ-Tauri, gateway of the Taurus. And it
corresponds almost equally well with Xenophon’s description of it when
he declares it “but broad enough for a chariot to pass with great
difficulty.” On both sides of the mountain torrent which rushes along
the historic roadway are lofty and almost vertical precipices that
could easily be so fortified as to convert it into a Thermopylæ, where
a handful of men could hold a large army at bay. It was indeed by
fortressing this pass that Mehemet Ali was long able, in defiance of
the power of the Turkish Sultan, to retain control of Syria.
Shortly after emerging from the Pylæ Ciliciæ we catch our first view
of the famed Cilician Plain, the _Cilicia Campestris_, which
occupies so large a page in the history of this part of the world.
Through it we see coursing like silver bands the distant rivers of
familiar names--the Sarus, the Pyramus, and the Cydnus. The road in the
vicinity of the pass is fringed with forests of pine and plane trees,
under whose outstretched branches flows a leaping, laughing, tuneful
stream which is ever making the same gladsome music as it did when St.
Paul passed this way bearing the joyful tidings of the Gospel to the
receptive peoples of Asia Minor. But as we near the plain we note a
marked change in climate. Vegetation is not only more luxuriant but is
almost semi-tropical in character. The road is bordered with laurel,
bay, cedar, evergreen oak, wild fig, and wild olive. There are thickets
of myrtle and oleander draped with wild vines and creepers, which
greatly enhance the picturesqueness of the enchanting scene.
It was along this road, embowered in all the verdure and bloom of a
semi-tropical climate, that the weary and footsore Crusaders passed
after their long and toilsome march through the burning desert of
Phrygia. Now that they had crossed the formidable Taurus, the greatest
barrier athwart their long line of march, and were at last about to
tread the sacred soil of the Holy Land, we can easily imagine the joy
with which they chanted their favorite hymns, the enthusiasm with which
they filled the air with their war cry, _Dieu le veult_. Clad in
polished armor, shining brightly in the Syrian sun, and exultantly
marching under their great banners, they form a magnificent pageant,
worthy of the chivalry of the Ages of Faith and of the noble cause in
which they have magnanimously pledged fortune and life. And as the
Christian host moves onward towards its goal, “one pictures, above
the lines of steel, the English leopards, the lilies of France, the
great sable eagle of the Empire and then the other coats of the great
houses of Europe--chevrons and fesses and pales”--ever triumphantly
approaching the Holy City until at last they are privileged to “plant
above the Holy Sepulchre the banner with the five potent crosses,
argent and or, unearthly, wonderful as should be the arms of the
heavenly Jerusalem.”
Still following in the footsteps of the Crusaders we finally, after
the most delightful of drives, arrived at the old city of Tarsus, the
birthplace of St. Paul the Apostle. This was the first city in which
Baldwin and Bohemond and the Tancred the Brave flew their colors after
crossing the Taurus. We had followed in their footsteps a great part of
the way from the legend-wrapped Bosphorus to the romantic Cydnus--the
Cydnus in which Alexander so imprudently bathed, where Cleopatra met
Anthony and where legend long had it that Barbarossa lost his life. But
the truth of history bids us declare that this great German hero--in
whose footsteps we had so closely followed from his embarkation on the
far-off Danube--perished not in the waters of the Cydnus but in those
of the Calycadnus, several score miles to the northwest of the more
famed Cilician stream. It was then in the Calycadnus--the modern Gieuk
Gu--that “perished the noblest type of German kingship, the Kaiser
Redbeard, of whom history and legend have so much to tell.” The spot
where he met his fate was fabled to have been indicated long ages
before by a rock near the river’s source, which was said to bear the
portentous words _Hic hominum maximus peribit_--here shall perish
the greatest of men.
But although history had declared that the heroic _Römischer
Kaiser_ was no more, his admiring subjects knew better. Like
Charlemagne, Desmond of Kilmallock, Sebastian I of Brazil, Napoleon
Bonaparte, and other worthies,[197] he still lives, but has retired
into strict seclusion till, in the fulness of time, “he shall come
again full twice as fair and rule over his people.” According to one
legend the monarch is fast asleep in the castle of Bordenstein, or
in the vaults of the old palace of Kaiserslautern. But according to
another legend, he is held by enchanted slumber under the Kyffhauser
mountain. All, however, agree that he sits
_Taciturn, sombre, sedate and grave_,
before a stone table “through which his fiery-red beard has grown
nearly to the floor, or around which it has coiled itself nearly three
times.” Here, like King Arthur, of whom it is written, “_Arturus rex
quondam rexque futurus_,” he rests until
_In some dark day when Germany_
_Hath need of warriors such as he,_
_A voice to tell of her distress_
_Shall pierce the mountain’s deep recess--_
_Shall ring through the dim vaults and scare_
_The spectral ravens round his chair,_
_And from his trance the sleeper wake._
_The solid mountain shall dispart,_
_The granite slab in splinters start,_
_(Responsive to those accents weird)_
_And loose the Kaiser’s shaggy beard._
_Through all the startled air shall rise_
_The old Teutonic battle cries;_
_The horns of war that once could stir_
_The wild blood of the Berserker,_
_Shall fling their blare abroad, and then_
_The champion of his own Almain,_
_Shall Barbarossa come again._