commercial advantages of its situation. In Turkish cities it is, as I
told you before, useless to expect handsome buildings or fine streets;
the extreme narrowness of the latter renders a good effect impossible.
In many places are to be found interesting remains of ancient works of
art, and yet, as regards number, the only marvel is that more are not
in existence, when we remember how many Constantine brought from Rome.
I do not intend to describe each of them separately, but I will touch
on a few. On the site of the ancient hippodrome are a pair of bronze
serpents,[118] which people go to see, and also a remarkable obelisk.
There are besides two famous pillars at Constantinople, which are
considered among the sights. One of them is opposite the caravanserai
where we were entertained, and the other is in the market-place which
the Turks call ‘Avret Bazaar,’ i.e. the female slave market. It is
engraven from top to bottom with the history of the expedition of
Arcadius, who built it, and by whose statue it was long surmounted. It
would be more correct to call it a spiral staircase than a column, for
there is inside it a set of steps, by ascending which one can reach the
top. I have a picture of it. On the other hand, the column[119] which
stands opposite the inn where it is usual for the imperial Ambassadors
to be lodged, is formed, with the exception of its base and capital,
of eight solid blocks of porphyry, united in such a way as to present
the appearance of a single block. Indeed, the popular belief is that
it is made out of one piece; for each separate joining is covered by
a band running right round the column, on which laurels are carved.
By this means the joinings are concealed from the eyes of those who
look at it from the ground. Having been shaken by several earthquakes,
and scorched by a fire in the neighbourhood, the column is splitting
in many places, and is here and there belted with iron to prevent its
coming to pieces. They say that it was at one time surmounted by a
statue of Apollo, afterwards by one of Constantine, and lastly by that
of Theodosius the elder, all of which were successively thrown down by
a gale or an earthquake.
The Greeks tell the following story about the obelisk in the
hippodrome, which I mentioned above. They say that it was torn from its
base, and lay on the ground for many years, and that in the time of the
later Emperors, an architect was found who undertook to replace it on
its pedestal. The contract being concluded, he set up a huge machine,
which was chiefly worked by ropes and pulleys; by this means he got
the huge stone into an upright position, and raised it within three
inches of the blocks, on which it had to be placed. The spectators
forthwith concluded that all the architect’s trouble, and the labour
he had bestowed on his machine, had been to no purpose, and that the
work would have to be begun afresh, at the cost of great toil and great
expense. But the architect was not in the least alarmed, and, profiting
by one of nature’s secrets, he ordered large supplies of water to be
brought. With this for several hours the machine was drenched. As the
ropes, by which the obelisk was suspended, got wet, they gradually
contracted, and of course became shorter, so that the obelisk was
raised higher and placed on the blocks, amid the cheers and admiration
of the crowd.[120]
I saw at Constantinople wild beasts of different kinds—lynxes, wild
cats, panthers, leopards, and lions, so subdued and tame that one of
them, when I was looking on, suffered its keeper to pull out of its
mouth a sheep that had that moment been thrown to it. The creature
remained quite quiet, though its jaws were but just stained with blood.
I saw also a young elephant which could dance and play ball most
cleverly. When you read this, I am sure you will not be able to
suppress a smile. ‘An elephant,’ you will say, ‘dancing and playing
ball!’ Well, why not? Is it more wonderful than the elephant which,
Seneca tells us, walked on the tight rope, or that one which Pliny
describes as a Greek scholar?
But I must make myself clear, lest you should think I am romancing, or
misunderstand me. When the elephant was told to dance, it hopped and
shuffled, swaying itself to and fro, as if it fain would dance a jig.
It played ball after the following fashion:—On the ball being thrown to
it, the elephant caught it cleverly, driving it back with his trunk, as
we do with the palm of the hand. If this is not enough in your eyes to
warrant the assertion that the animal danced and played ball, you must
go to some one who can make up a story with less scruple and more wit
than your humble servant.
Just before I reached Constantinople there was a camelopard (giraffe)
in the menagerie; but at the time of my visit it was dead and buried.
However, I had its bones dug up for the purpose of examining them. The
creature is much taller in front than behind, and on that account unfit
for carrying burdens or being ridden. It is called a camelopard because
its head and neck are like a camel’s, while its skin is spotted like a
pard (panther).
If I had not visited the Black Sea, when I had an opportunity of
sailing thither, I should have deserved to be blamed for my laziness,
since the ancients held it to be quite as great an exploit to have
visited the Black Sea, as to have sailed to Corinth. Well, we had a
delightful voyage, and I was allowed to enter some of the royal kiosks.
On the folding doors of one of these palaces I saw a picture of the
famous battle[121] between Selim and Ismael, King of the Persians,
executed in masterly style, in tesselated work. I saw also a great many
pleasure-grounds belonging to the Sultan, situated in the most charming
valleys. Their loveliness was almost entirely the work of nature; to
art they owed little or nothing. What a fairyland! What a landscape for
waking a poet’s fancy! What a retreat for a scholar to retire to! I do
declare that, as I said just now, these spots seem to grieve and ask
for Christian help and Christian care once more; and still truer are
these words of Constantinople, or rather of the whole of Greece. That
land was once most prosperous; today it is subject to an unnatural
bondage. It seems as if the country, which in ancient times discovered
the fine arts and every liberal science, were demanding back that
civilisation which it gave to us, and were adjuring us, by the claim
of a common faith, to be its champion against savage barbarism. But
it is all in vain. The princes of Christendom have other objects in
view; and, after all, the Greeks are not under heavier bondage to the
Turks, than we are to our own vices—luxury, intemperance, sloth, lust,
pride, ambition, avarice, hatred, envy, malice. By these our souls
are so weighed down and buried, that they cannot look up to heaven,
or entertain one glorious thought, or contemplate one noble deed. The
ties of a common faith, and the duty we owe our brethren ought to have
drawn us to their assistance, even though glory and honour had no charm
for our dull hearts; at any rate, self-interest, which is the first
thing men think of nowadays, should have made us anxious to rescue
lands so fair, with all their great resources and advantages, from the
hand of the barbarian, that we might hold them in his stead. At present
we are seeking across the wide seas the Indies[122] and Antipodes. And
why? It is because in those lands there are simple, guileless creatures
from whom rich booty may be torn without the cost of a single wound.
_For these expeditions religion supplies the pretext and gold the
motive._
This was not the fashion with our ancestors. They scorned to place
themselves on the level of a trader by seeking those lands where gold
was most plentiful, but deemed that land most desirable which gave them
the best opportunity of proving their valour and performing their duty.
They, too, had their toil; they, too, had their dangers; they, too, had
their distant expeditions; but honour was the prize they sought, not
profit. When they came home from their wars, they came home not richer
in _wealth_, but richer in _renown_.[123]
These words are for your private ear, for perhaps some may hold it
foul wrong for a man to suggest that the moral tone of the present day
leaves aught to be desired. However that may be, I see that the arrows
are being sharpened for our destruction; and I fear it will turn out
that if we _will_ not fight for glory, we shall be _compelled_ to fight
for existence.
I will now take you back to the sea which the ancients call Pontus
and the Turks call Caradenis, or the Black Sea. It pours through
a narrow outlet into the Thracian Bosphorus, down which it rolls,
beating against the curving headlands with many an eddy till it reaches
Constantinople after the space of one day. At this point it rushes into
the Sea of Marmora by a passage almost as narrow as that by which it
enters the Bosphorus. In the middle of the mouth next the Black Sea
is a rock with a column, on the base of which a Roman name is written
in Latin characters (‘Octavian,’ if I remember rightly); then on the
European shore is a lofty tower, which serves as a lighthouse to ships
by night. They call it Pharos.[124] Not far from it a brook flows
into the sea, from whose bed we gathered some pebbles almost equal to
the onyx and sardonyx; at any rate, when they are polished they are
nearly as brilliant. A few miles from the entrance I mentioned are
shown the straits across which Darius led his army in his expedition
against the Scythians of Europe; then half-way between the northern and
southern entrances to the Bosphorus stand two castles opposite each
other, one in Europe and the other in Asia. The latter was held by
the Turks a long time before the attack on Constantinople; the former
was built by Mahomet, and fortified with strong towers, a few years
before he stormed Constantinople. At present the Turks use it for the
incarceration of prisoners of rank. Not long ago, Lazarus, an
Albanian chief, made his escape from it. He was recaptured with the
Spaniards at Castel Nuovo,[125] and brought back to Constantinople. For
this offence he suffered the fearful punishment of impalement, but bore
his sufferings with wonderful composure.
And now, perhaps, you will want me to tell you something about the
floating islands, called the Cyanean[126] islands, or Symplegades. I
honestly confess that during the few hours I was there I was unable
to discover any Cyanean islands, though possibly they had floated off
somewhere else! If you are disposed to be curious on this head you will
before long have a more accurate account from P. Gilles,[127] whose
researches into all subjects of this kind are most precise; from me you
must not expect to hear of more than meets the traveller’s eye.
One matter it would be unpardonable to pass by in silence, viz. that
Polybius is utterly wrong in the conclusion which he deduces from
various arguments, that in process of time the Black Sea would be
so choked by the alluvial soil brought into it by the Danube, the
Dneiper, and other rivers, as to become unnavigable. He is utterly
wrong, I say, for there is not one atom more difficulty in sailing over
the Black Sea now than there was in his days.
This is one of those numerous instances in which time and experience
upset conclusions, which in theory seemed impregnable.
In former days everyone subscribed to the opinion that the lands under
the torrid zone were uninhabitable, and yet the accounts of men who
have visited those regions prove that they are for the most part quite
as thickly populated as other countries; nay more, they tell us that
at the very time when the sun is at its highest, and its rays fall
perpendicularly on the earth, the heat[128] is tempered by continuous
rains shading and cooling those lands.
When the Sultan had received the despatches announcing my arrival,
orders were sent to the Governor of Constantinople to convey us over
to Asia, and send us on to Amasia (or Amazeia, as it is spelt on
ancient coins). Accordingly, we made our preparations, our guides
were appointed, and on March 9 we crossed into Anatolia, as the Turks
now call Asia. On that day we did not get further than Scutari. This
village lies on the Asiatic shore opposite ancient Byzantium, on the
very ground, or possibly a little below, where the site of the famous
city of Chalcedon is supposed to be.
The Turks thought it quite sufficient progress for one day to get
horses, carriages, luggage, and suite across the straits; their
special reason for not going further on that day was, that, if they
had forgotten anything necessary for the journey, (a very ordinary
circumstance), they would not have far to send for it. Leaving Scutari
on the next day, we passed through fields full of lavender, and other
fragrant plants. Here we saw a great many big tortoises crawling about.
They were not afraid of us, and we should have caught and eaten them
with the greatest pleasure, had we not shrunk from hurting the feelings
of the Turks who accompanied us; for had they touched them, or so much
as seen them brought to our table, they would have held themselves to
be defiled, and would have required endless washings to remove their
imaginary pollution. You will remember my telling you of the extent
to which both Greeks and Turks carry their superstition in avoiding
contact with animals of this kind. Since no one, therefore, would
snare as vermin a creature so harmless, and no one will eat it, the
consequence is that tortoises swarm in these parts. I kept one which
had two heads for several days, and it would have lived longer had I
not neglected it.
That day we came to a village called Cartali. By the way, I shall
from this point be glad to give you the names of our halting-places.
The journey to Constantinople has been taken by many, but the road
to Amasia has, to the best of my knowledge, been traversed by no
European before us. From Cartali we came to Gebise, a town of Bithynia,
which they think was formerly Libyssa, famous as the burial-place of
Hannibal. From it there is a most lovely view over the sea and bay of
Ismid; I observed also some cypresses of extraordinary height and girth.
Our fourth stage from Constantinople brought us to Nicomedia (Ismid).
It is an ancient city of great renown; but we saw nothing in it worth
looking at except its ruins and rubbish, which contained, in the
remnants of column and architrave, all that is left of its ancient
grandeur. The citadel, which stands on a hill, is in a better state
of preservation. Shortly before our arrival, a long wall of white
marble had been discovered under the earth by some people who had been
digging, which, I am inclined to think, formed part of the ancient
palace of the kings of Bithynia.
After leaving Nicomedia, we crossed the range of Mount Olympus, and
arrived at the village of Kasockli; thence to Nicæa (Isnik), which
we did not reach till late in the evening. I heard not far from the
city loud shouting, and what seemed to be cries of mockery and insult
issuing from human lips. I asked what it was, suggesting that it might
proceed from some boatmen on the Lake of Isnik, which was not far
off, and that they were chaffing us for being so late on the road. They
told me that it was the howlings of certain wild beasts, which the
Turks call jackals. They are a species of wolf, not so large as the
common wolf, but larger than foxes, and quite a match for the former in
greed and gluttony. They hunt in packs, doing no harm to human beings
or cattle, and obtaining their food by thievery and cunning rather
than by force. Hence the Turks call sharpers and swindlers, especially
if they come from Asia, jackals. They enter the tents, and even the
houses, of the Turks at night, and devour any eatables they find;
indeed, if they can get nothing else, they gnaw any leathern article
they may chance upon, such as boots, leggings, belts, scabbards,
&c. They are very clever in this manner of stealing, except in one
particular, for, absurdly enough, they sometimes give evidence against
themselves. When in the very act of stealing, if one of the pack
outside happens to set up a howl, they answer the cry, quite forgetting
where they are. The sound awakes the inmates; they catch up their arms
and visit the thieves, whom they have taken red-handed, with condign
punishment.
We remained the following day at Nicæa, and I am inclined to think
that the building I slept in was the very one in which the Nicene
Council was formerly held. Nicæa lies on the shores of the Lake of
Isnik. The walls and gates of the town are in fairly good condition.
There are four gateways in all, and they can be seen from the centre
of the market-place. On each of them is an ancient inscription in
Latin, stating that the town had been restored by Antoninus. I do not
remember which Antoninus it was, but I am quite certain that it was an
Antoninus, who was Emperor. He also built some baths, the remains of
which are still in existence.
Whilst we were at Nicæa, some Turks, who were digging up stone from
the ruins for the construction of public buildings at Constantinople,
came across a statue of an armed soldier, of excellent workmanship,
and almost perfect. But with their hammers they soon reduced it to a
shapeless mass. On our expressing vexation at this act of theirs, the
workmen jeered at us, and asked us if we wanted, in accordance with our
customs, to worship the statue and pray to it.
From Nicæa (Isnik) we came to Jenysar (Yeni Shehr), next to Ackbyuck,
and thence to Bazargyck (Bazarjik), from which place we came to
Bosovick, or Cassumbasa, which lies in the gorge of the pass over Mount
Olympus. From Nicæa our road lay almost entirely along the slopes of
Mount Olympus, until we reached Bosovick.
Here we lodged in a Turkish hostel. Opposite stood a rock somewhat
higher than the building, in which was cut a square cistern of
considerable size, and from the bottom of it a pipe ran down to the
highway road. The ancient inhabitants used in winter to fill the
cistern with snow; as it melted, the iced water, trickling down to the
road through the pipe, refreshed the thirsty wayfarer.
The Turks consider public works of this kind the noblest sort of
almsgiving, inasmuch as they help not only everyone, but everyone
equally. Not far from this spot Otmanlik was pointed out to us on our
right—the retreat, as I imagine, of the famous Othman, founder of the
family which bears his name.
From this pass we descended into wide plains, where we spent our
first night under tents, on account of the heat. The place was called
Chiausada. Here we saw a subterranean house, which was lighted only
by an opening in the roof. We saw also the famous goats[129] from
whose fleece—or hair, if you like the word better—is woven the watered
stuff known as mohair. The hair of these goats is extremely fine and
marvellously flossy, hanging down to the very ground; the goatherds do
not shear it, but comb it off, and it is almost as beautiful as silk.
The goats are frequently washed in running water. Their food is the
scanty dry grass peculiar to these plains, and it is to this that the
fineness of their coats is chiefly owing; for it is an ascertained
fact, that when the goats are removed elsewhere, their wool does not
retain its silky character, but changes with the pasturage; indeed, the
whole animal degenerates to such an extent that one would scarcely
recognise the breed. These fleeces, after being spun into thread by
the women of the country, are taken to Angora,[130] a city of Galatia,
and there woven and dyed; further on I will give you a description of
the process. In this locality is also to be found that curious breed
of sheep with great fat tails; indeed, their flocks consist of little
else. The tails weigh from three or four to as much as eight or ten
pounds;[131] so big are the tails of some of the older sheep, that it
is necessary to furnish them with a carriage for their support, which
consists of a little board running on a pair of small wheels, so that
the sheep may drag that which it cannot carry. This, perhaps, you
will hardly believe, and yet I am telling you the truth. Now, while I
fully admit that there is a certain advantage in these tails from the
supply of fat which they yield, I must say I found the rest of the meat
tough and wanting in flavour, as compared with ordinary mutton. The
shepherds, who manage these flocks, never leave the pasture grounds
by night or day, carrying their wives and children about with them in
waggons, which they use as houses, except on certain occasions when
they pitch small tents. These men wander to great distances, choosing
plain, hillside, or valley, according to the season of the year and the
state of the pasturage.
I flatter myself that I discovered in this district some species
of birds which our countrymen have never seen, nor even heard of.
Amongst these is a kind of duck, which may fairly be classed among
horn-blowers, since its cry is exactly like the sound of a postman’s
horn. This bird, in spite of its inability to defend itself, is bold
and saucy. The Turks believe that it can frighten evil spirits away.
However that may be, it is so fond of its liberty that after being
kept a good three years in a farm-yard, if it gets the opportunity, it
prefers freedom and hunger to captivity and plenty, and flies off to
its old haunts by the river.
From Chiausada we came to Karaly, thence to Hazdengri, and so to
Mazzotthoy. We then crossed the river Sangarius (Sakariyeh) which rises
in Phrygia and flows into the Black Sea, to Mahathli, thence to Zugli,
Chilancyck, Jalanchich, Potughin, and so to Angora (Ancyra)—which the
Turks call Angur.
We remained one day at Angora. As the weather was hot we made but
short stages. Moreover, our Turks assured us that there was no need
for hurry, as the Persian Ambassador was still lingering on the road,
and the authorities wished us both to arrive at Amasia as nearly as
possible at the same time.
In none of the villages mentioned above did we see anything worth
notice, save that, among the Turkish burial places we sometimes lighted
on ancient columns, or blocks of fine marble, on which traces still
remained of Greek and Roman inscriptions, but so mutilated that they
could not be read. It was my amusement, on reaching our lodgings for
the night, to inquire for ancient inscriptions, or coins of Greece or
Rome, and, if these were not forthcoming, for rare plants.
It is a practice of the Turks to cover in the tombs of their friends
with huge stones, which they bring from a great distance. No earth
is thrown upon the graves, and but for these stones they would lie
open. They are intended to furnish the dead man with a convenient
seat when he pleads his case, as he will have to do—according to
their notion—with his evil angel as his accuser and examiner, and his
good angel as counsel for the defence. The object of placing a heavy
stone on the grave is to protect the body from dogs, wolves, and other
beasts; the most pertinacious of which is the hyena, a creature often
met with in these parts. It burrows its way into the graves, pulls
out the bodies, and carries them off to its den, the mouth of which
is marked by a huge heap of bones of men, horses, and other animals.
The hyena is a creature not quite so tall as a wolf, but quite as long
in body. Its skin resembles that of a wolf, except that the hair is
rougher, and it is also marked with large black spots; the head is
firmly attached to the backbone, without any joint between, so that
when it wants to look back it must turn right round. They say that it
has, in the place of teeth, one continuous bone.
The Turks, like the ancients, think that the hyena has great efficacy
in love charms, and though there were two hyenas at Constantinople
when I was there, the owners refused to sell them to me; assigning as
a reason that they were keeping them for the Sultana, i.e. the wife
of the Sultan—the popular belief being that she retains her husband’s
affection by means of philtres and sorceries. Belon,[132] I must tell
you, is wrong in thinking that the civet cat is the same as the hyena.
Now for one of the best jokes you ever heard in your life. I will tell
you the story just as I had it from the lips of the natives. They say
that the hyena, which they call Zirtlan, understands the language of
men (the ancients, by the way, said that it also imitated it), and that
it is therefore captured in the following way. The hunters go to its
den, which is not hard to find, being marked by a heap of bones, as
I mentioned before. One of them enters with a rope, one end of which
he leaves in the hands of his friends outside the cave. He creeps in,
saying, ‘Joctur, joctur ucala,’ that is, ‘I cannot find it; it is not
here.’ Meantime, imagining from what he says that its hiding-place is
not discovered, the beast remains perfectly still, until the hunter
has succeeded in attaching the rope to its leg, shouting out all the
time ‘that the hyena is not there.’ Then, with the same words, he goes
back, and as soon as he has got out of the den he shouts out at the
top of his voice that the hyena is inside; the creature, understanding
what he says, makes a rush to escape, but all in vain, the hunters hold
him fast by the rope round his leg. After this fashion they say it
is killed; or, if pains be taken, it may be captured alive; but this
is a difficult matter, for it is a fierce brute, and makes a stout
resistance. So much for the hyena.
We found, in some places, ancient coins in great abundance, especially
those of the later emperors, Constantinus, Constans, Justinus, Valens,
Valentinianus, Numerianus, Probus, Tacitus, &c. In many places the
Turks used them for the drachm and half-drachm weights. They call them
‘giaur manguri,’ or, ‘the infidel’s money.’