The defences of Constantinople--Adrianople and its history--The
walls of Constantinople and their story--The Marble Tower--Yedi
Koulé and the Golden Gate--Tales of Theodosius and Maximus, St.
Ursula and the eleven thousand maidens--Emperor Heraclius--The
story of Basil the Macedonian--King Crum's appearance before the
Golden Gate--Michael Palæologus and Mary the Conductress--The Walls
of Theodosius--Refugees encamped outside the walls--The triumph of
Christianity.
In these days of effective long-range fire the defences of a capital
city lie well away from and command the approaches to it. Whereas
formerly hostile forces surged up against stout towers and strong walls,
the enemy of to-day lets loud-voiced cannon speak from afar, hurling
destruction at what look like mounds, green hills, from a distance, but
when approached bristle with ordnance and small-arms. Far afield lie
fortresses, each encircled with smaller forts, and these are meant to
stay the tide of invasion. This was the mission of Adrianople and its
enceinte of forts, Adrianople, the City of Hadrian, famous in history,
for epoch-making events have taken place around it; the Goths here
vanquished Valens, and their impetuous onslaught broke the ranks of
Roman legions and filled the minds of those warriors with such dread of
the Teuton invader that years passed before they could be induced to
face the Goths again. It was Theodosius the Great who brought back their
courage to them. His skilful system of block-houses kept him informed of
the enemy's vagrant movements, and by so contriving that the Roman
legionaries met only numerically inferior bodies of barbarians, he
helped to revive the great traditions of Roman arms at least for a short
space of time.
Then again when Bulgarians came pouring down the Valley of the Maritza
towards Constantinople, the defenders of the Imperial City met them at
Adrianople; the armies of Byzant were beaten, the Emperor slain, and his
skull, encased in gold, served as a drinking-vessel to his vanquisher.
The hosts of Othman, having overrun the northern European provinces of
the Byzantine Empire, made for Adrianople, and the city became the
European capital of the Osmanli until Constantinople fell.
To-day the City of Hadrian, the "Sperr-fort" of Constantinople, is
surrounded by the enemies of the Porte, Bulgarians and Servians, and
thus one of the outlying defences of the capital no longer serves its
purpose, and the defence has been drawn in nearer to the lines of
Chatalja. Those lines now take the place as last defence of the walls
built on the landward side by Theodosius II, and improved and repaired
by his successors to the Imperial Purple. They stand to-day grey and
deserted, lichen-grown, clad in dark green folds of ivy, that
sympathetic friend of fallen fortresses, and listen to the sounds of
danger to the capital, while recalling days when they themselves held
out against all foes, though earthquakes shook their stout foundations,
and discord in the city seemed like to nullify their usefulness. A
strange and stirring history this of those landward walls of
Constantinople, and worthy of a moment's consideration in these days,
when the fate of yet another Empire, with its seat of government within
those walls, is trembling in the balance.
They stretch from the Sea of Marmora northward to the Golden Horn, do
those walls of Theodosius, their southern angle marked by a strong
tower, a marble tower, dipping its foundations deep into the pellucid
waters. I saw it first on a glorious summer day, the gleaming blocks of
marble of which it is built were reflected in the waters of the Sea of
Marmora, beyond blue sea, or above blue sky, and between the two,
floating like the Isles of the Blest on a magic sea, the Prince's
Islands, and behind them the blue hills of Asia Minor, their rugged
outlines softened by the heat-haze of a summer's day. Little white sails
gleamed on the flashing waters, sails filled by some idle zephyr which
carried small ships away, lazily, out into the southern seas. But, mind
you, this tower has not always lived in idleness, bathing its feet in
summer seas. Times were when the watchman up in this tower would see the
south alive with movement and the silver path on the sea overshadowed by
clouds of sail. Swiftly they came, those strange craft from out of the
south, bearing bronzed sons of Arabia to storm the City of Cæsar. Twice
they came, in 668 and again from 716-718, but their efforts were
unavailing, and the groves of cypress trees mark their last
resting-place.
The Marble Tower served its purpose well in those ancient days, over
which distance has cast its glamour. To-day the Marble Tower stands
silent, lifeless, by the side of a leaden sea; passing squalls hide the
view to southward and over the Islands towards the mountains of Asia
Minor, and a grey sky, heavy with rain, hangs like a pall over the City
and this corner of its ancient defences. The Marble Tower's part in
history is long since played out, and now it listens silently, helpless,
to the distant booming of cannon before which it would fall like those
castles of dreamland at cock-crow; ruined it stands mourning the ruin
which overtakes the kingdoms of this world.
A little further northward stands yet another memorable monument to
former greatness, Yedi Koulé and the "Golden Gate." Several ruined
towers raise their heads above the broken walls from among groups of
little wooden houses. They and the curtains which connect them once
formed a stronghold built by Mohammed II on the ruins of a former
castle. This was for a time the chief garrison of the Janissaries, and a
state prison wherein the Sultans were wont to incarcerate the
ambassadors of those foreign Powers with which they chanced to be at
war, a playful habit which has been discontinued since Turkey asserted
her claim to be considered a civilized nation. The Janissaries also kept
their own prisoners here, generally dethroned Sultans, whom they killed
here at their leisure and free from outside interference.
A strong fortress stood here, raised by a strong man, Theodosius, in the
young days of ancient Byzantium. It was built on to by successive
Emperors, and became one of the most important centres of the City on
memorable occasions, for this stronghold became known as the "Golden
Gate," the Porta Aurea, and its towering walls looked down upon great
historic happenings. Without on the plain dense hosts would form into
ordered procession and follow their Emperor in his triumphal entry
through the gates. Under a heavy sky, festooned with sombre ivy,
crumbling in its last stage of decay, the Golden Gate with difficulty
recalls the glories that have passed beneath it. The Golden Gate had
three archways, of which the central one was wider and loftier than the
others, like those to be seen in the Roman Forum. These were dedicated
to Severus and Constantine, and were closed by gilded gates taken from
Mompseueste and placed here by Nicephorus Phocas after his victories in
Cilicia. The gate is said to owe its origin to Theodosius the Great, who
built it to commemorate his victory over Maximus. Though I thoroughly
appreciate Theodosius and subscribe to all his claims to greatness, I
have ever been sorry for Maximus. After all, it seems, he did not really
wish to rebel against Gratian and assume the Imperial Purple. Rather was
he urged to it by popular opinion, the politicians of Britain having
decided that he should, and the youth of Britain flocked to his
standards, so Maximus was bound to move. It was a big move, too, and
successful at first, for his rapid progress alarmed Gratian, who fled
from Paris, his army of Gaul having gone over to Maximus. The campaign
was like the migration of a nation, 30,000 fighting men and 100,000
others, and of these numbers settled in Brittany, where their
descendants live to this day. To make things pleasanter, a great number
of ladies set out from Britain with the intention of joining the men
when the fighting was over. St. Ursula took charge of this column,
11,000 noble, 60,000 plebeian maidens, destined as brides for the
settlers, but they lost their way, and when at last they got to Cologne
they met the Huns and were all slaughtered. For this St. Ursula was
canonized, as is only right and proper, and a beautiful window in
Cologne Cathedral sets forth the whole story, giving portraits of the
ladies, so that in face of evidence as conclusive as that of our
half-penny illustrated dailies there is no more room for doubt. Maximus
came up against Theodosius in the end, and that was the end of him.
Nearly three centuries later Heraclius, the Emperor, entered the Golden
Gate in triumph after his victory over the Persians, and again a century
later Constantine Copronymus followed through these golden arches after
defeating the Bulgarians. They came in one long stream of conquerors in
those earlier centuries of the Byzantine Emperors, names now forgotten
or but dimly remembered; then awoke the "Daughter of the Arches," as
Echo was poetically called, as one hero after another was acclaimed by
a vainglorious mob: Theophilus, in the middle of the ninth century, he
routed the Arabs. Basil I, the Macedonian--a strange story his. It was
in the middle of the ninth century that a young, strong, and active, but
weary and travel-stained man came over the heights beyond the Golden
Gate. He entered by a side entrance close to, or part of, the Golden
Gate at sunset, and being a stranger in the City with no friends to go
to, he lay down to sleep on the steps of the Monastery of St. Diomed,
which stood near the Golden Gate. A kindly monk extended the hospitality
of the monastery to him, and the brothers helped him to find suitable
employment. His good fortune led him to a cousin, in whose train Basil
went to the Peloponese. Here he became acquainted with a wealthy widow,
Danielis, who adopted him as her son, and helped by her wealth and by
his own merits, Basil rose to high honour, and finally stepped from the
body of the Emperor, killed by himself, to the steps of the throne.
Years after his first entrance into Constantinople Basil I, founder of
the Macedonian dynasty, moved in under the arches of the Golden Gate in
triumph.
Another Basil, second of that name, rode in at the Golden Gate after his
victory over the Bulgarians. The slaughter he inflicted on them gained
him the appellation "Bulgaroktonos"; the memory of the cruelty he
practised on his Bulgarian captives lives still in the minds of their
descendants, those men whose big guns were battering at the outer
defences of Constantinople, those men who would that their sovereign
should enter the City as conqueror.
The Bulgarians found the road to Constantinople soon after their
appearance in Eastern Europe. Clouds of dust heralded the coming of
Crum, their King, with a large host amid flocks of sheep and goats. They
pitched their leather tents on the slopes outside the Golden Gate and
laid siege to that stronghold, but all their efforts were unavailing,
even the human sacrifices offered by their King to his strange gods
failed of effect, and a receding cloud of dust told the watchman on the
Golden Gate that his savage enemy had withdrawn.
Another figure in the glittering pageant that passed through the Golden
Gate in triumph was John Zimisces, the Armenian, of whose rise to power
over the corpse of his imperial master, aided by his mistress the
Empress, the walls of the Palace of Hormisdas were silent witnesses.
The last of all the Emperors to enter triumphantly by the Golden Gate
was Michael Palæologus, in August, 1261. The Latin Emperors had held
Constantinople for some time when Michael came with an army to claim his
rightful inheritance, and Baldwin, last of the Latins, fled at his
approach. The Golden Gate was thrown open, the Emperor dismounted, and
on foot meekly followed the miraculous image of Mary the Conductress
into the City as far as the Cathedral of St. Sophia. Michael
re-established the dynasty of the Palæologi on the throne of
Constantine, and they held it for two short centuries. The next
conqueror to enter the City of Constantine was Mohammed II, and he rode
over the heaped corpses of Janissaries and of Byzantine princes and
their mercenaries, in over the breech made by his engines of war, and
with him came the spirit of another age and race which yet holds
possession, while those distant guns thundered at the lines of Chatalja,
threatening to close yet another epoch in the long, tense history of
Constantinople, Stamboul, Tsarigrad, the Castle of Cæsar.
[Illustration: The Walls of Theodosius
Outside these walls refugees from Thrace and Macedonia settled on their
way back to Asia Minor. They camped among the graves of fallen warriors
of their faith, and cut down for firewood the centuries-old cypress
trees.]
The walls built by Theodosius begin after Yedi Koulé Kapousi, the Gate
of the Seven Towers, and extend northwards until they reach the high
ground overlooking the Valley of the Lycus, when they turn off slightly
to the north-east. Constantine the Great had built walls around his
City, but it outgrew them, and so to Theodosius II, who reigned from
408-450, fell the task of extending the limits of the Castle of Cæsar.
Historians of the time draw a pleasant picture of the scene when these
walls were erected. All citizens were called upon to assist, political
factions dropped their differences, and so there arose the defences of
the City. Misfortune visited them shortly after their completion, when
an earthquake overthrew a great portion of the work, including
fifty-seven towers. It came at an inopportune moment too, for Attila,
the "Scourge of God," as he was pleased to call himself, was at large,
had already inflicted three defeats on the armies of the Eastern Empire,
had ravaged Macedonia and Thrace with fire and sword, and was moving
down upon Constantinople. Even to-day, after the passing of eleven
centuries, these walls of Theodosius present an imposing front, in some
places almost untouched by the hand of time; how much more formidable
must they have appeared to those assailants whose bones are guarded by
the tapering cypress trees a stone's throw away from the fosse. There
were in all one hundred and ninety-two towers. Visitors to
Constantinople should view these walls of Theodosius from near Top
Kapousi. A long line of walls extends away to the south, first the inner
wall, standing on a broad terrace raised somewhat above the outer wall.
This terrace is about fifty feet broad, and here was the main defence of
the City--for in former days these walls were of enormous strength
compared to any engines of offence that could be brought against them--a
chain of towers linked together by stout walls known as curtains to the
expert. These towers, most of which are square, stand about one hundred
and seventy feet apart, and rose, when in their completed state, to a
height of sixty feet, standing out some twenty feet from the curtain.
Each tower contained, as a rule, two chambers, and was built of
carefully cut stone and vaulted with brick inside. The outer wall
contained a number of vaulted chambers which offered shelter to the
troops engaged in the defence, and there are loopholes through which
their fire was directed. This wall had numbers of little towers,
alternately round and square, and was about ten feet high, sufficient to
afford protection to bodies of troops moving from one place to another
along the terrace. There was also a deep moat which could be flooded; it
is now serving the peaceful purpose of market-garden.
[Illustration: THE SEA-WALLS OF CONSTANTINOPLE
Above them rises the dome of Little St. Sophia, behind which again looms
the mighty Mosque of Achmet.]
On a fine day the view over the walls away to the Sea of Marmora is
wonderfully beautiful--but this is winter, and grey clouds keep out the
sunshine needed to draw out the many beauties of the scene. The road, at
no time really entitled to be called so, is now a quagmire with rocks in
it, yet traffic of a kind is passing--lumbering carts drawn by
water-buffaloes pitch and roll in the sea of mud, and clinging to them
are refugees from Thrace and Macedonia who have fled from their homes
before the invader. They camp about in the neighbourhood outside the
walls of Theodosius, not knowing what to do nor whither to guide their
weary steps, these refugees from the storm that tore down the Valley of
the Maritza, when Tsar Ferdinand led his armies over the border, and
Serbs crossed the mountain-passes to meet their old enemy, ay, and to
triumph over him. Flotsam and jetsam, thrown up by the tide of war on
the strip of land still held by Turkey in Europe, these refugees would
be without hope of any better fate were it not for the efforts of
Christian men and women in Constantinople, to whom Christian men and
women have sent from distant countries large sums to help the awful
distress caused by this last crusade. Up to the present £28,000 has
come from Great Britain alone. I do not know how much other countries
have contributed. And this has been done for a people who have been ever
ready to obey their rulers in carrying out the Oriental methods of
solving racial problems by massacre, who are only prevented from
applying the same principle to their benefactors by the inexpediency of
doing so with the Golden Horn full of European warships. Islam justifies
the murder of unbelievers--the followers of that creed are not so much
to blame, least of all the ignorant peasant taken from his home to fight
for he knows not what, driven from his possessions by a foreign invader.
Christianity is again triumphant--where this Moslem country has proved
itself unequal to any emergency, incapable of elementary organization,
leaving its sick and the wounded of the battlefields to die and rot in
the courtyards of mosques, yes, even in the open streets, Christian men
and women have organized relief, and theirs is the only work which in
any way can claim to have helped the sufferers in those awful last weeks
of the "Passing of Ottoman Power in Europe." One lady is now in hospital
there in Constantinople--she was brought in sick from the strain of
overwork and the horrors she had witnessed in a little town near by.
Outside her door, on the pavements, in the road lay men, Turkey's famous
fighting men, starved, wounded, dying of neglect and disease. So for
over a fortnight that Christian woman toiled among them; the nights she
spent in making soup for them, the day was taken up in distributing it.
It was no nice clean hospital work, dead and dying were piled upon each
other in unmitigated misery, in incredible filth--those who have been
there and seen say that they have been down, deep down, into Hell. Yet
even there the light penetrated, brought by a Christian woman following
the precepts of her Master.
Since then the Christian medical organizations, under the Red Crescent,
forsooth, lest Islam should feel itself slighted in its character of a
creed of mercy and loving-kindness, have taken matters in hand, and
order and cleanliness are conquering over ignorance and bringing light
to Gehenna. There is yet a vast amount to be done, but it is being done,
not only by those professionally qualified to undertake such duties, but
by every lady in Galata and Pera, at least I think I may safely say so,
as I know not one among my many acquaintances here who is not in some
way engaged in the work of mercy. Not only ladies, but men, busy men,
are helping--officers from the warships in harbour, sent to prevent a
general massacre of Christians, business men, hard-worked officials, all
find time to spare in visiting the hospitals and helping wherever
opportunity offers. They do not expect gratitude, nor do they find much,
I fancy, for East is East and West is West, and to me the Oriental mind
is inscrutable still, though I have lived in the East and travelled in
it.
There are strange times these days in Constantinople, with the fate of
an Empire in the balance. At first sight the traveller might notice
little change or little difference from the sights and sounds of normal
times. People went about their business much as usual--the Stock
Exchange had much the same "allure" as ever, and the smells it harboured
have not changed, only intensified perhaps, under the pressure of the
lowering heavens. The narrow streets were thronged by the same crowds
composed of many races; "hamals" carried astounding weights and packages
of strange, outlandish shape, regardless of any other foot-passengers;
men of leisure sat under the soaked awnings of the little cafés in
Stamboul by the shore of the Golden Horn, or looked dull-eyed out of the
plate-glass windows of Tokatlians', according to their taste, their
nationality, their social standing; and a general air of indifference
seemed to mark the people of the town, the Turks in particular. But
there were military patrols in the street, and when you looked closer
into matters you found many evidences of change. The Red Cross and Red
Crescent flew over many buildings in Stamboul, Galata, and Pera,
Christian civilization was working for the good of Christianity's
bitterest opponents, and in the mosques of Islam, where in the dim
religious light you used to see a pious follower of the Prophet
performing his solemn devotions, or a "hodja" studying reverently the
Prophet's Book of the Law, where no sound was heard, you now heard the
groans of wounded soldiers; for these temples, raised by conquerors of a
warrior caste and creed, now harboured all the misery caused by a war
ill-planned, ill-managed, and inglorious.