embattled walls, ascending the slope of the hill. It is now useless as
a fortress, but is applied to other more characteristic and equally
important Turkish purposes. In the wall which fronts the Bosphorus,
there is a low doorway concealed behind a large platanus: this is the
postern of death. The fortress had for many years been converted into
a prison, and may well bear the inscription which Dante read on the
infernal portals,
“Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate.”
No prisoner is ever known to repass the gate of death; hence the Turks
call their dismal fortress, the “towers of oblivion,” adopting the
appellation given to them under the despotism of the Greek empire, when
the castles were named “Lethé,” and for a similar reason.
During the struggles of the present sultan with the janissaries, it
was his constant practice to have his opponents secretly arrested,
and conveyed to this place. Every morning some Oda missed their old
officers. They had been conveyed to this place after it was dark,
entered the low doorway, and were seen no more. During this period,
some Franks, who had taken a caïque to Buyukderé, where they were
detained longer than they intended, were returning late. Boats are
not permitted to pass the fortresses after sunset, and the signal-gun
is fired: so they had to make their way secretly along, under cover
of the shore. When arrived near the castles, they saw a large caïque
advancing from Constantinople, and, to avoid detection, remained close
under a rock, not far from the fatal gate. The strange boat approached,
and landed just before it. Two distinguished-looking men, wrapped up
in their pelisses, disembarked; they were held up by the arm on each
side. One of them passed on in silence; the other sighed heavily as he
approached, turned round, and seemed to cast a lingering look upon the
world he was about to leave for ever. He then stooped his head, and
disappeared, with his more impassive companion, under the fatal arch;
the gate, groaning on its rusty hinges, closed behind them. The caïque
returned immediately to Constantinople. The Franks then slipped past,
and arrived without being stopped. The next morning it was known that
two Binbashis, or colonels, who had great influence on their respective
Odas, and strongly opposed the nizam geddite, were missing. They never
re-appeared.
The navigation of the Bosphorus is the most lovely that ever invited a
sail. Its length, in all its windings, is fifteen miles; and when the
caïque glides down with the current, there is something exquisitely
beautiful and grateful to the senses in every thing around. Nothing
can exceed, in picturesque scenery, the whole coast on each side.
It affords a continued succession of romantic wooded promontories,
projecting into the stream, and presenting, at every winding of the
strait, new and diversified objects. As you pass each headland, some
placid bay opens to your view, in whose bosom a shaded village reposes.
These are so numerous, that twenty-six occur from the Euxine to the
Propontis; and in one line of coast there is a continuity of houses
for six miles. From the centre of each village an enormous platanus
generally rears its lofty head, and expands its wide extent of foliage:
round its gigantic stem the houses are clustered, over which it forms a
vast canopy, so that large villages are often covered with the shade of
a single tree.
[Illustration: T. Allom. J. C. Bentley.
THE GREAT CEMETERY OF SCUTARI.]
Among the first objects that present themselves to a stranger entering
Turkey, are the groves of cypress extending in dark masses along the
shores. These are the last resting-places of the Turks; and their sad
and solemn shade, far more gloomy than any which Christian usage has
adopted, informs the traveller that he is now among a grave and serious
people. The Turks permit the Jews, Armenians, Greeks, and Franks to
plant their cemeteries with other trees, but reserve the cypress
exclusively to themselves.
The cypress has, from early ages, been a funereal tree; the ancient
Greeks and Romans so considered it; and the Turks, when they entered
Europe, adopted it. Its solemn shade casting a dim religious light
over the tombs it covers−-its aromatic resin exuding from the bark,
and correcting by its powerful odour the cadaverous smell exhaled
from dissolving mortality−-and, above all, its evergreen and unfading
foliage, exhibiting an emblem of the immortal part, when the body below
has mouldered into dust and perished,−-have all recommended it to the
Mussulman, and made it the object of his peculiar care.
It is an Oriental practice, to plant a tree at the birth, and another
at the death, of any member of a family. When one, therefore, is
deposited in the earth, the surviving relatives place a cypress at the
foot, while a stone marks the head of the grave; and the pious son,
whose birth his father had commemorated by a platanus, is now seen
carefully watering the young tree which is to preserve the undying
recollection of his parent. Thus it is that the cemetery extends by
constant renovation. Whether it is that the soil is naturally congenial
to these trees, or that it is enriched by the use to which it is
applied, it is certain the cypress attains to majesty and beauty in
these cemeteries, which are seen nowhere else; their stems measuring
an immense circumference, and their pointed summits seeming to pierce
the clouds, exhibit them as magnificent specimens of vegetable life.
Sometimes they assume a different form, and the branches, shooting out
horizontally, extend a lateral shade. These varieties have been by
travellers mistaken for pines, which the Turks never admit into their
cemeteries.
But of all “the cities of the dead” in the Turkish empire, that of
Scutari in Asia, at the mouth of the Bosphorus, is perhaps the most
striking and extensive. It stretches up an inclined plain, clothing
it with its dark foliage, like a vast pall thrown over the departed.
It extends for more than three miles, and, like a large forest, is
pierced by various avenues, leading to different places. Such is its
size, that it is said the area it encloses would supply the city with
corn, and the stones which mark its graves would rebuild the walls.
Among the causes assigned for this increase, one is, that two persons
are never buried in the same spot, so the graves are constantly
expanding on every side; another, a prepossession unalterably fixed in
the mind of a Turk: he considers himself a stranger and sojourner in
Europe, and the Moslem of Constantinople turns his last lingering look
to this Asiatic cemetery, where his remains will not be disturbed, when
the Giaour regains possession of his European city; an event which he
is firmly persuaded will sometime come to pass. Thus the dying Turk
feels a yearning for his native soil; like Joseph in the land of Egypt,
he exacts a promise from his people that “they would carry his bones
hence,” and, like Jacob, says, “bury me in my grave which I have in the
land of Canaan.”
Among the objects which distinguish a Turkish necropolis, is the
stone placed to mark the grave. The island of Marmora, contiguous to
the city, affords an inexhaustible supply of marble at a cheap rate,
so that the humblest head-stones are of this valuable material. They
are shaped into rude representations of the human form, surmounted
by a head covered with a turban, the fashion of which indicates the
rank and quality of the person: on the bust of the pillar is an
Arabic inscription, containing the name of the deceased, without any
enumeration of his virtues: the Turks never indulge in such panegyrics:
the letters are in high relief, generally gilded with such skill, that
they remain a long time as perfect and beautiful as embossed gold. The
stones which designate the graves of women have no such distinction:
they are marked with a lotus leaf, and surmounted with a knob like
a nail, and this is said to be an intimation of the disbelief in
the immortality of a female’s soul, as connected with their want of
intellect.
Notwithstanding the doubt thrown upon the subject, the living female
supposes that, in this life at least, she is permitted to hold
communication with those who have passed to another, and render such
service as may please them. In our illustration, a woman is represented
enveloped in her yasmak and feridgē, performing this duty. On the
grave is usually a trough or cavity, for the reception of plants or
flowers, offerings of pious affection to the dead. Sometimes lattices
of gilt wire form aviaries over the grave of a beloved person. Flowers
and birds are among the elegant and innocent enjoyments of a Turk; and
the amiable superstition of the survivor hopes to gratify her departed
friend by the odour of one and the song of the other, even in his grave.
In the distance is a Turkish funeral, winding its ways through the
solitude of this cypress forest. It is a group of men, for such
processions are rarely attended by women, except those hired to lament
the dead: as it is a belief that the body is sentient after death, and
suffers torment till committed to the repose of the tomb, funerals are
generally hurried, and sometimes with indecent haste: so, in this as in
other things, the Turk is entirely opposed to European habits; the only
hurry in which he is ever seen, is when going to his grave.
[Illustration: T. Allom. E. Challis.
THE CISTERN OF BIN-BIR-DEREK.
CALLED, THE THOUSAND AND ONE PILLARS.]
The shores of the Black Sea, among the forest-covered ramifications of
the great Balkan, is a region of constant showers and copious streams,
filling, naturally, small reservoirs in the mountains. Wherever such
rills poured down, and became confluent, they were stopped by a
mound thrown across the valley, and in this way formed into various
triangular lakes at an elevation above the summit-level of the city.
These reservoirs, called _Hydralea_, were highly prized by the Greek
emperors. The embankments were faced with marble, adorned with
sculpture, and dignified by the name of the sovereign who formed them.
They were deemed so sacred, and of such vital importance to the city,
that severe edicts were enacted to preserve them; some regulating the
planting of trees, some the abstraction of water, and one exacting a
penalty of an ounce of gold for every ounce of the crystal fluid. As
water is more precious to the Turks than it was to the Greeks, they
watch these reservoirs with even more anxiety and vigilant precaution.
They call them _Bendts_, and have increased the number left by the
Roman emperors. One of the largest and most magnificent is called
_Valadi_ Bendt, from the mother of the present sovereign, at whose
expense it was erected.
From these reservoirs the water is conducted by pipes, formed of
cylindrical tiles jointed together, and so conveyed to the city
a distance of about fifteen miles. The ravines, that break the
intervening country, are crossed by aqueducts, some of vast dimensions,
striding the valleys, and towering above the forests. They are
whitewashed at stated intervals, and form striking objects in distant
prospects, strongly relieved by the dark woods above which they rise.
One of them terminates the view up the great valley of Buyukderé, and
seems, to mariners passing on the Bosphorus, like the battlements of a
large city, on the distant horizon.
Besides these, there are others of more peculiar structure. They are
insulated hydraulic pillars, called _Souterrais_, standing in long
rows, like slender square castles or watch-towers. The water ascends
one side of each, is received into a small square reservoir on the
summit, and from thence descends the other. It climbs the next in
a similar manner; and by this contrivance, for which the Turks are
indebted to the Arabs, the vast expense of aqueducts is saved, and the
water conveyed by many channels over various hills and valleys, in
continued and never-ceasing streams, to its magnificent reservoirs in
the city.
When the water arrived here, it had the same irregularity of surface
to oppose, its seven hills to surmount, and seven valleys between
them to cross. This was effected by a second series of aqueducts,
which are described by the Byzantine historians with all the inflated
language of astonishment. They are represented as “subterranean rivers”
conducted through the air over the city, while the people gaze in
wonder from below. Of these, but one remains to attest what they were.
This is the aqueduct of Valens, stretching from hill to hill, and
seen in almost every direction. Its erection was the completion of a
singular prophecy: On the ramparts of Chalcedon was found a stone with
an occult inscription, implying that “the walls of the city should
bring water to Constantinople.” To extend these walls across the sea,
seemed altogether an impossibility, and the oracular announcement was
despised. But Chalcedon having incurred the resentment of the emperor,
its walls were pulled down, the stones conveyed to Constantinople for
building, and, among other erections formed of them, was the aqueduct
of Valens, thereby accomplishing the oracle.
By means of this aqueduct, the waters were deposited in various
cisterns; some open, and some covered, so that the whole city
was excavated into exposed or subterranean reservoirs. One great
inconvenience attended those that were exposed. The city and vicinity
of Constantinople abounded in storks; they were supposed to convey
serpents, and drop them in the water, by which it was poisoned,
and rendered fatal to those who drank it. The celebrated impostor
Apollonius of Tyana, who was reputed to work such powerful miracles,
was applied to, by the reigning emperor, for a remedy. By his
directions, a pillar called Pelargonium was erected, on the summit of
which were three storks fronting each other; and by this talisman the
kindred birds were immediately expelled the city, and the salubrity of
the waters restored. To commemorate the event, the following epigram
was inscribed on the base of the pillar.
On sculptur’d column stands the mystic charm,
And guards the fainting citizens from harm.
Far fly the storks, to seek the distant wood;
And snakes no longer taint the wholesome flood.
These cisterns were afterwards filled up with earth, and are now
converted into gardens, where the storks, no longer the cause of evil,
are invited to return. The Turks evince a particular attachment for
them, and erect frame-work like cradles on the tops of their houses,
which the birds inhabit and breed in.
Of the covered cisterns, but two remain. One is called _Yéré Batan
Seraï_, or the “Subterranean palace,” and is still filled with water.
It resembles a vast subterranean lake, out of which issue rows of
336 marble pillars, of various orders of architecture, supporting
an arched roof. The memory of this magnificent watering-palace was
altogether lost; the streets passed over it, and the houses above were
supplied from it with water, while the inhabitants knew not whence it
came. After it had remained unknown to the Turks since the capture of
Constantinople, it was discovered by Gillius more than three hundred
years ago. A second time it fell into oblivion among this incurious
people, till it was searched for, and again found a few years since.
It was formerly in total darkness, but part of the wall has fallen
down, and sufficient light is admitted to examine it. A boat, or raft,
is moored to one of the pillars, in which strangers are permitted to
embark, and explore its dim recesses; and marvellous stories are told
by the Turks of the fatal end of those bold adventurers.
The second cistern is no longer employed as a reservoir for water.
It lies beneath an open area in the vicinity of the Atmeidan, and
is converted into a silk manufactory by a number of industrious
Jews and Armenians. The Turks have named this subterranean palace
_Bin-bir-derek_, in allusion to its supposed original number of
columns, 1001, although 212 are all that can now be distinguished.
Each column is said to consist of three shafts with their respective
capitals, but the lowest is, at present, buried beneath the material
of the flooring. The whole enclosed area occupies 20,000 square feet,
and is capable of containing 1,237,000 cubic feet of water, a quantity
sufficient to supply the population of Constantinople for fifteen days.
The pillars of this cistern are distinguished by monograms deeply cut
on the shafts and capitals, like hieroglyphics on an Egyptian obelisk,
and so obscure as equally to puzzle the learned. One of them consists
of the Greek initials for _Euge philoxene_, “Hail, thou strangers’
friend.” This cistern, under the Greek empire, was decreed to be public
for the use of all strangers, and was therefore called _philoxenos_.
[Illustration: T. Allom. H. Adlard.
THE SOLIMANIE, OR MOSQUE OF SULTAN SOLIMAN.
FROM THE OUTER COURT.]
The Franks have so changed the terms of the Turkish language, that they
are hardly to be recognized. _Moslem_, which signifies a “professor of
the true faith,” they have corrupted into _Mussulman_; _and Mesjid_,
the temple in which he worshipped, into _mosque!_
When the Turks appropriated to themselves the great Christian church
of Santa Sophia, they made it the model of all their future religious
edifices. The general outline is a Greek cross, enclosed in a
quadrangle. This is surmounted with a large dome in the centre, to
represent, as the modern Greeks say, the great wound in our Saviour’s
side; the four smaller domes at the angles, depicting the smaller
wounds in his hands and feet. This form the Turks usually observe,
without any reference to its origin; but they have added members
peculiar to themselves. They hold bells in abhorrence, and invite their
congregations to prayer by the human voice only. For this purpose
certain slender towers shoot up from the angles of the edifice,
where the _Muezzim_ ascends by interior stairs, and from a circular
gallery round the shaft calls together the faithful. These towers are
denominated _Menar_ or _Minareh_, an Arabic word which signifies a
“beacon or light-house” to guide the true believer. The Muezzim puts
his hands behind his ears, and from the hollow of his palms shouts out
his invitation, walking round and repeating to the four points of the
compass, “There is but one God, and Mohammed is his prophet:−-come to
prayers−-come to salvation.” This cry, called the _Ezan,_ is repeated
five times a day at regular intervals; and as it issues from every
minaret, and perhaps two thousand mouths at the same moment, it fills
all the air with a solemn and supernatural sound, and regulates all the
arrangements of the people, who have no public clocks to direct them.
Besides the common mosque of the city, there are thirteen eminently
distinguished. They are called _Djami Selatyn_, or “Imperial mosques,”
because they have been erected by some sultan as the highest act of
piety. They are always distinguished by their magnitude, magnificence,
and the number and beauty of their minarets. While the smaller mosques
have but one, they have never less than two, and generally four. But of
all these Djami, that erected by Soliman II. is the most splendid among
the mosques, as its founder was among the sultans. He was called “the
magnificent,” and his temple justifies the appellation. The Christian
church of Saint Euphemia, at Chalcedon, in which the grand council had
been held, was celebrated for its size and architectural ornaments.
It contained on that memorable occasion 630 bishops in its nave, and
was the most distinguished of Christian churches after Santa Sophia:
when that edifice was dedicated to the Prophet by his predecessor,
Soliman could not appropriate any of its parts to his new erection; so
he dilapidated the church of St. Euphemia for the purpose, and built
his mosque with its materials. It was commenced in 1550, and took five
years to build it.
It would be difficult to convey, by any description, a perfect idea of
a building so vast and complicated. A notice of its prominent features
must suffice. It is a quadrangle, 234 feet long, and 227 wide. The
great dome by which the edifice is surmounted, is flanked or supported
by two hemispheres, one on each side, and over each aisle are four
smaller ones. A broad flight of marble steps leads to the great door,
before which is a façade, which particularly distinguishes this temple.
It consists of six pillars of Egyptian porphyry, of immense size and
singular beauty. Attached to the edifice are four minarets in front
and rear, having galleries ornamented with tracery; and by a singular
irregularity, two, having but two galleries, are shorter than the
others which have three. Beside it are splendid mausolea, surmounted
with domes, under which repose the bodies of the founder and his
Sultana. At the head stands a knob covered with his turban, richly
ornamented with precious stones, and near it is suspended the Alcoran,
from which an Imaum reads a daily portion, for the consolation of him
whose ashes repose in the tomb, and who is supposed to hear it. Over
one of the gates is an inscription recording its erection. It states
that it was built by “the glorious Vicar of Allah, existing by the
authority of the mystic Koran, the tenth of the Ottoman emperors, for
the faithful people who served the Lord.” It concludes with a prayer,
“That the imperial race may never be interrupted on earth, and enjoy
eternal delights prepared in paradise.”
This mosque, like most others, is surrounded by two areas; one of
which, planted with trees, is a common thoroughfare usually filled with
groups of people. Here soldiers sometimes encamp, and men of war pitch
their tents within the precincts of the mussulman’s God of peace. Here,
also, small merchants expose their wares, and no one casts out those
who “buy and sell.” Here even a Giaour may pass unobstructed, and the
infidel hat be seen mixed with the sacred turban.
[Illustration: T. Allom. E. Goodall.
THE MOSQUE OF SULTAN ACHMET.]
The monarch who erected this mosque, ascended the throne in the year
1603, and at the age of fifteen. He was immediately afterwards seized
with the small-pox, and, in order that the janissaries might not avail
themselves of his illness, he caused his own brother to be strangled,
having first put out his eyes. His object was to deprive the turbulent
soldiers of every pretext for dethroning him, as they were disposed to
do, when there existed no another of the line of Mohammed to succeed
him. His next act was to build a mosque, as fratricide is no impediment
to Turkish piety; and it is remarkable, that in this mosque, two
centuries afterwards, was the utter extirpation of these janissaries
effected.
He was determined that it should exceed in beauty that of Santa Sophia,
or the great Solimanie, so he ordered that it should be distinguished
by six minarets. When this design was communicated to the Mufti, he
represented to the Sultan the impiety of such an act, as the mosque of
the Prophet at Mecca had but four, and no sacred edifice since built
had presumed to exceed that number. Achmet assured the Mufti that he
must be mistaken, and immediately summoned a Hadgee, who had just made
the pilgrimage to Mecca, into his presence, who affirmed that he had
himself seen and reckoned the six minarets; and, to satisfy entirely
the Mufti’s scruples, a caravan of pilgrims were directed to proceed to
the tomb and temple of the Prophet, and make their report. Meantime the
Sultan despatched a Tatar, who was to travel night and day, with orders
to the Sheik Islam, that two new minarets should be immediately added
to the temple; and when the slow caravan arrived, they found the number
to be what the Sultan had stated−-and reported accordingly. Achmet now
pushed on his building with indefatigable activity, and in order to
expedite it, he worked at it himself with his own hands, devoting one
hour every Friday after prayers to the employment, and then paid his
fellow-workmen, every man his wages, in order by his personal example
to stimulate their exertions.