Scenes in Konia.
Kpproach to Konia---Tomb of Hazret Mevlana--Lodgings in a Khan--An
American Luxury--A Night-Scene in Ramazan--Prayers in the
Mosque--Remains of the Ancient City--View from the Mosque--The
Interior--A Leaning Minaret--The Diverting History of the Muleteers.
"But they shook off the dust on their feet, and came unto
Iconium."--Acts, xiii. 51.
Konia (Ancient Iconium), _June_ 27, 1852.
The view of Konia from the plain is not striking until one has approached
within a mile of the suburbs, when the group of mosques, with their heavy
central domes lifted on clusters of smaller ones, and their tall, light,
glittering minarets, rising above the foliage of the gardens, against the
background of airy hills, has a very pleasing effect. We approached
through a long line of dirty suburbs, which looked still more forlorn on
account of the Ramazan. Some Turkish officials, in shabby Frank dresses,
followed us to satisfy their curiosity by talking with our _Katurjees_, or
muleteers. Outside the city walls, we passed some very large barracks for
cavalry, built by Ibrahim Pasha. On the plain north-east of the city, the
battle between him and the forces of the Sultan, resulting in the defeat
of the latter, was fought.
We next came upon two magnificent mosques, built of white limestone, with
a multitude of leaden domes and lofty minarets, adorned with galleries
rich in arabesque ornaments. Attached to one of them is the tomb, of
Hazret Mevlana, the founder of the sect of Mevlevi Dervishes, which is
reputed one of the most sacred places in the East. The tomb is surmounted
by a dome, upon which stands a tall cylindrical tower, reeded, with
channels between each projection, and terminating in a long, tapering
cone. This tower is made of glazed tiles, of the most brilliant sea-blue
color, and sparkles in the sun like a vast pillar of icy spar in some
Polar grotto. It is a most striking and fantastic object, surrounded by a
cluster of minarets and several cypress-trees, amid which it seems placed
as the central ornament and crown of the group.
The aspect of the city was so filthy and uninviting that we preferred
pitching our tent; but it was impossible to find a place without going
back upon the plain; so we turned into the bazaar, and asked the way to a
khan. There was a tolerable crowd in the street, although many of the
shops were shut. The first khan we visited was too filthy to enter; but
the second, though most unpromising in appearance, turned out to be better
than it looked. The _oda-bashi_ (master of the rooms) thoroughly swept and
sprinkled the narrow little chamber he gave us, laid clean mats upon the
floor, and, when our carpets and beds were placed within, its walls of mud
looked somewhat comfortable. Its single window, with an iron grating in
lieu of glass, looked upon an oblong court, on the second story,
surrounded by the rooms of Armenian merchants. The main court (the gate of
which is always closed at sunset) is two stories in height, with a rough
wooden balcony running around it, and a well of muddy water in the centre.
The oda-bashi lent us a Turkish table and supplied us with dinner from
his own kitchen; kibabs, stewed beans, and cucumber salad. Mr. H. and I,
forgetting the Ramazan, went out to hunt for an iced sherbet; but all the
coffee-shops were closed until sunset. The people stared at our Egyptian
costumes, and a fellow in official dress demanded my _teskeré_. Soon after
we returned, François appeared with a splendid lump of ice in a basin and
some lemons. The ice, so the _khangee_ said, is taken from a lake among
the mountains, which in winter freezes to the thickness of a foot. Behind
the lake is a natural cavern, which the people fill with ice, and then
close up. At this season they take it out, day by day, and bring it down
to the city. It is very pure and thick, and justifies the Turkish proverb
in regard to Konia, which is celebrated for three excellent things:
"_dooz, booz, küz_"--salt, ice, and girls.
Soon after sunset, a cannon announced the close of the fast. We waited an
hour or two longer, to allow the people time to eat, and then sallied out
into the streets. Every minaret in the city blazed with a crown of lighted
lamps around its upper gallery, while the long shafts below, and the
tapering cones above, topped with brazen crescents, shone fair in the
moonlight. It was a strange, brilliant spectacle. In the square before the
principal mosque we found a crowd of persons frolicking around the
fountain, in the light of a number of torches on poles planted in the
ground. Mats were spread on the stones, and rows of Turks of all classes
sat thereon, smoking their pipes. Large earthen water-jars stood here and
there, and the people drank so often and so long that they seemed
determined to provide against the morrow. The boys were having their
amusement in wrestling, shouting and firing off squibs, which they threw
into the crowd. We kicked off our slippers, sat down among the Turks,
smoked a narghileh, drank a cup of coffee and an iced sherbet of raisin
juice, and so enjoyed the Ramazan as well as the best of them.
Numbers of True Believers were drinking and washing themselves at the
picturesque fountain, and just as we rose to depart, the voice of a
boy-muezzin, on one of the tallest minarets, sent down a musical call to
prayer. Immediately the boys left off their sports and started on a run
for the great mosque, and the grave, gray-bearded Turks got up from the
mats, shoved on their slippers, and marched after them. We followed,
getting a glimpse of the illuminated interior of the building, as we
passed; but the oda-bashi conducted us still further, to a smaller though
more beautiful mosque, surrounded with a garden-court. It was a truly
magical picture. We entered the gate, and passed on by a marble pavement,
under trees and arbors of vines that almost shut out the moonlight, to a
paved space, in the centre whereof was a beautiful fountain, in the purest
Saracenic style. Its heavy, projecting cornices and tall pyramidal roof
rested on a circle of elegant arches, surrounding a marble structure,
whence the water gushed forth in a dozen sparkling streams. On three sides
it was inclosed by the moonlit trees and arbors; on the fourth by the
outer corridor of the mosque, the door of entrance being exactly opposite.
Large numbers of persons were washing their hands and feet at the
fountain, after which they entered and knelt on the floor. We stood
unobserved in the corridor, and looked in on the splendidly illuminated
interior and the crowd at prayer, all bending their bodies to the earth at
regular intervals and murmuring the name of Allah. They resembled a
plain, of reeds bending before the gusts of wind which precede a storm.
When all had entered and were united in solemn prayer, we returned,
passing the grand mosque. I stole up to the door, lifted the heavy carpet
that hung before it, and looked in. There was a Mevlevi Dervish standing
in the entrance, but his eyes were lifted in heavenly abstraction, and he
did not see me. The interior was brilliantly lit by white and colored
lamps, suspended from the walls and the great central dome. It was an
imposing structure, simple in form, yet grand from its dimensions. The
floor was covered with kneeling figures, and a deep voice, coming from the
other end of the mosque, was uttering pious phrases in a kind of chant. I
satisfied my curiosity quickly, and we then returned to the khan.
Yesterday afternoon I made a more thorough examination of the city.
Passing through the bazaars, I reached the Serai, or Pasha's Palace, which
stands on the site of that of the Sultans of Iconium. It is a long, wooden
building, with no pretensions to architectural beauty. Near it there is a
large and ancient mosque, with a minaret of singular elegance. It is about
120 feet high, with two hanging galleries; the whole built of blue and red
bricks, the latter projecting so as to form quaint patterns or designs.
Several ancient buildings near this mosque are surmounted with pyramidal
towers, resembling Pagodas of India. Following the long, crooked lanes
between mud buildings, we passed these curious structures and reached the
ancient wall of the city. In one of the streets lay a marble lion, badly
executed, and apparently of the time of the Lower Empire. In the wall were
inserted many similar figures, with fragments of friezes and cornices.
This is the work of the Seljook Kings, who, in building the wall, took
great pains to exhibit the fragments of the ancient city. The number of
altars they have preserved is quite remarkable. On the square towers are
sunken tablets, containing long Arabic inscriptions.
The high walls of a ruined building in the southern part of the city
attracted us, and on going thither we found it to be an ancient mosque,
standing on an eminence formed apparently of the debris of other
buildings. Part of the wall was also ancient, and in some places showed
the marks of an earthquake. A long flight of steps led up to the door of
the mosque, and as we ascended we were rewarded by the most charming view
of the city and the grand plain. Konia lay at our feet--a wide, straggling
array of low mud dwellings, dotted all over with patches of garden
verdure, while its three superb mosques, with the many smaller tombs and
places of worship, appeared like buildings left from some former and more
magnificent capital. Outside of this circle ran a belt of garden land,
adorned with groves and long lines of fruit trees; still further, the
plain, a sea of faded green, flecked with the softest cloud-shadows, and
beyond all, the beautiful outlines and dreamy tints of the different
mountain chains. It was in every respect a lovely landscape, and the city
is unworthy such surroundings. The sky, which in this region is of a pale,
soft, delicious blue, was dotted with scattered fleeces of white clouds,
and there was an exquisite play of light and shade over the hills.
There were half a dozen men and boys about the door, amusing themselves
with bursting percussion caps on the stone. They addressed us as
"_hadji_!" (pilgrims), begging for more caps. I told them I was not a
Turk, but an Arab, which they believed at once, and requested me to enter
the mosque. The interior had a remarkably fine effect. It was a maze of
arches, supported by columns of polished black marble, forty in number. In
form it was nearly square, and covered with a flat, wooden roof. The floor
was covered with a carpet, whereon several persons were lying at full
length, while an old man, seated in one of the most remote corners, was
reading in a loud, solemn voice. It is a peculiar structure, which I
should be glad to examine more in detail.
Not far from this eminence is a remarkable leaning minaret, more than a
hundred feet in height, while in diameter it cannot be more than fifteen
feet. In design it is light and elegant, and the effect is not injured by
its deviation from the perpendicular, which I should judge to be about six
feet. From the mosque we walked over the mounds of old Iconium to the
eastern wall, passing another mosque, wholly in ruin, but which must have
once been more splendid than any now standing. The portal is the richest
specimen of Saracenic sculpture I have ever seen: a very labyrinth of
intricate ornaments. The artist must have seen the great portal of the
Temple of the Sun at Baalbec. The minarets have tumbled down, the roof has
fallen in, but the walls are still covered with white and blue tiles, of
the finest workmanship, resembling a mosaic of ivory and lapis lazuli.
Some of the chambers seem to be inhabited, for two old men with white
beards lay in the shade, and were not a little startled by our sudden
appearance.
We returned to the great mosque, which we had visited on the evening of
our arrival, and listened for some time to the voice of a mollah who was
preaching an afternoon sermon to a small and hungry congregation. We then
entered the court before the tomb of Hazret Mevlana. It was apparently
forbidden ground to Christians, but as the Dervishes did not seem to
suspect us we walked about boldly, and were about to enter, when an
indiscretion of my companion frustrated our plans. Forgetting his assumed
character, he went to the fountain and drank, although it was no later
than the _asser_, or afternoon prayer. The Dervishes were shocked and
scandalized by this violation of the fast, in the very court-yard of their
holiest mosque, and we judged it best to retire by degrees. We sent this
morning to request an interview with the Pasha, but he had gone to pass
the day in a country palace, about three hours distant. It is a still,
hot, bright afternoon, and the silence of the famished populace disposes
us to repose. Our view is bounded by the mud walls of the khan, and I
already long for the freedom of the great Karamanian Plain. Here, in the
heart of Asia Minor, all life seems to stagnate. There is sleep
everywhere, and I feel that a wide barrier separates me from the living
world.
We have been detained here a whole day, through a chain of accidents, all
resulting from the rascality of our muleteers on leaving Aleppo. The lame
horse they palmed upon us was unable to go further, so we obliged them to
buy another animal, which they succeeded in getting for 350 piastres. We
advanced the money, although they were still in our debt, hoping to work
our way through with the new horse, and thus avoid the risk of loss or
delay. But this morning at sunrise Hadji Youssuf comes with a woeful face
to say that the new horse has been stolen in the night, and we, who are
ready to start, must sit down and wait till he is recovered. I suspected
another trick, but when, after the lapse of three hours, François found
the hadji sitting on the ground, weeping, and Achmet beating his breast,
it seemed probable that the story was true. All search for the horse being
vain, François went with them to the shekh of the horses, who promised, in
case it should hereafter be found, to place it in the general pen, where
they would be sure to get it on their return. The man who sold them the
horse offered them another for the lame one and 150 piastres, and there
was no other alternative but to accept it. But _we_ must advance the 150
piastres, and so, in mid-journey, we have already paid them to the end,
with the risk of their horses breaking down, or they, horses and all,
absconding from us. But the knavish varlets are hardly bold enough for
such a climax of villany.