city afforded. It forms one side of the Atmeidan, and is separated only
by an open screen from this extensive area, one of the few open spaces
within the walls of Constantinople. From this it is seen to great
advantage on one side; while on the other, towering over the gardens of
the Seraglio, and surmounting the lofty hill on which it stands, it is
the most conspicuous object presented to a stranger approaching from
the Sea of Marmora, and gives the first and most favourable view of
those imperial edifices. The materials selected were of the most costly
kind, in so much, that it is affirmed that every stone in the edifice
cost three aspers. It stands in an open space, which forms round it an
extensive ambulatory, from the latter of which the edifice arises, and
is seen to more advantage than any other in the city.
The first objects that strike the spectator are the six beautiful
minarets, with their elegant and slender forms ascending to an immense
height, and seeming as it were to pierce the clouds with their
sharp-pointed cones. Round each run three capitals or galleries for the
Muezzim, highly ornamented in fretted arabesque. Above these appears
the majestic edifice swelling into domes and cupolas, and covered
with light tracery and fancy fretwork, forming a strong contrast
to the comparatively heavy, dark, and dismal dome of Santa Sophia,
which rises at no great distance beside. This juxtaposition strikes a
stranger. He sees with surprise that the genius of a dull and ignorant
Turk should produce an edifice so superior in beauty and elegance to
this chef-d’œuvre of Grecian art. Architects of that nation had been
employed in erecting the imperial mosque of Mohammed II. and Selim II.,
but this of Achmet is exclusively Turkish or Arabic architecture.
The summit of the edifice is distinguished by thirty cupolas, from
whence ascends the great dome, flanked by four semi-domes. The mosque
is entered by massive brazen gates, embossed in high relief, and
the interior presents a view of the dome supported by four gigantic
columns, fluted and filleted, round which are inscribed, in bands,
sentences from the Koran. The walls are richly painted in fresco
with more variety than regularity, and gilded tablets on them every
where display Arabic inscriptions. The light is admitted by windows
of stained glass, thickly studded in small compartments, which look
exceedingly rich, casting a soothing and a religious, but yet ample
light; for this mosque is distinguished above all others in this
respect, that by the construction and arrangement of the casements, the
interior is fully illuminated, which forms a strong contrast to the dim
and doubtful twilight admitted into most other religious edifices of
the East.
Between the pillars is a large circle of wire-suspended lamps, which
does not add to the general effect; globes of glass, ostrich eggs, and
other frivolous and mean ornaments, frequently deform the interior of
those noble buildings, and mark the genius of a Turk−-at once puerile
and magnificent. There is, in other respects, a noble simplicity, a
naked grandeur, well befitting a worship from which all idolatrous
representations are excluded. The interior of a mosque resembles
the nave and transept of St. Paul’s, with the exception of its
statues−-grand and noble by its vastness and vacuity.
The occasion chosen by the artist, in the illustration, exhibits a
display of the most important circumstance that has occurred since the
Osmanli established themselves in Europe. It was the moment when it
was to be decided, whether they should remain the rude and obstinate
barbarians that first crossed the Hellespont, or be illumined by
the lights and amalgamated with the nations of Europe, and when the
reforming Sultan, struggling for life and empire, was compelled to
have recourse to the last expedient left him. The janissaries having
the whole population of the city entangled in their connexion, and
enlisting all its prejudices on their side, were accumulating such a
vast force, as would soon bear down all opposition: but Mahmoud, at
once, determined on that course which could alone counteract their
influence. He ordered the _Sandjak sheriff_, or sacred standard of the
Prophet, to be taken from its repository in the imperial treasury.
This sacred object was only seen on the most solemn and important
occasions, and was now, for the first time for half a century,
exhibited, and brought with great pomp to the mosque of Achmet. When
this was rumoured abroad, there was no man who professed the true
faith, that dared to resist the call: thousands and tens of thousands
were seen rushing from all quarters to this temple; and when it was
filled by the multitude, the standard was displayed from the lofty
pulpit of the Imaum. On the steps stood the Sultan, exhorting the
people, by the faith they owed the Prophet, now to rally round the
sacred ensign. A deep murmur of assent, the strongest display of
Turkish feeling and determination, filled the lofty dome. They all fell
prostrate in confirmation of their resolve, and from that moment the
cause of the janissaries became desperate.
[Illustration: T. Allom. R. Sands.
TOPHANA−-ENTRANCE TO PERA.]
Tophana literally signifies, the place where cannon are deposited, and
here are the great foundry and arsenal where they are made and laid up.
This establishment is represented on the right of the illustration,
by an edifice with pointed windows, admitting light through a number
of apertures, and having its roof crowned with cupolas. In front is
a spacious quay, constructed along the Bosphorus, and always lined
with several ranges of ordnance, which are here scaled and proved, and
occasionally used on days of rejoicing, like those formerly on the
Tower-wharf at London. There is nothing, perhaps, in which a Turk more
delights, than in the discharge of a cannon. It is, therefore, the
sound that is heard every day, and almost all day long. It announces
the rising and setting of the sun; the birth of a child, and the death
of a traitor; the movement of the Sultan in all directions; the opening
and closing of the Ramazan and Bayram, and other religious periods.
In time of war, the arrival of noses and ears to be piled at the
gate of the seraglio, is proclaimed by these cannon; and on occasion
of any success, however trifling, the two peninsulas of Pera and
Constantinople are shaken to their centre by the explosions.
At the commencement of the Greek revolution, this wharf was nearly
fatal to Pera. One of those fires which so constantly devastate the
city, broke out here, and extended to Tophana. Towards midnight, the
city of Scutari was assailed by showers of balls, and it was instantly
rumoured that the fire was caused by the Greeks, who had seized on this
depôt, and were directing its cannon against different places. This
news was spread to Constantinople, and an immediate insurrection of the
janissaries took place. They rushed down to the water to the number of
10,000, and were about to seize the caïques, and pass over to assist
their countrymen. They had long waited for an opportunity or pretext
for plundering the Greeks; and had this body of exasperated, armed men
rushed into a town on fire at midnight, it is probable that not a Frank
or Greek would have been left alive in “infidel Pera.” Fortunately,
their aga had the water-gates closed in time, and he persuaded them to
wait till messengers were sent over to ascertain the fact. They found
that all the cannon on the wharf had been left loaded with ball, which
the Turks never thought of drawing, and when the fire reached them,
they discharged their balls of themselves, which passed across the
Bosphorus to Scutari on the other side.
Behind the Tophana is the _Eski Djami_, or old mosque, to distinguish
it from the _Yeni Djami_, or new one, lately erected by the present
Sultan in this district; and on the left, crowning the summit of the
hill, are the heights of Pera, covered with the residences of European
ministers and merchants; whose houses, the finest in the city, command
a magnificent view on all sides of the Bosphorus and Sea of Marmora.
These edifices are situated in a street ascending the spine of a ridge,
like the High-street of Edinburgh, and approached only by steep narrow
passages, like the Wynds of that town. They are so precipitous, that it
is necessary to form them into broad steps, to enable a passenger to
reach the top.
The Turks are not fond of multiplying names, so they often make one
serve for a whole district. Tophana, therefore, includes a large space,
altogether unconnected with the cannon foundry. At the base of Pera
hill is a low alluvial flat, once overflowed, perhaps, by the waters
of the Bosphorus. This has been enlarged by casting upon it all the
offals of the cities of Pera and Galata, so that it has encroached upon
the harbour. Here are heaps and hillocks of all manner of decaying
vegetable and animal substances, festering and dissolving, which
continually exhale a cadaverous odour. This attracts the foul animals
of the region; packs of savage dogs like wolves or jackals, flocks of
kites and vultures in their season, and at all times flights of gulls
and cormorants, who almost cover and conceal these heaps with their
multitudes, and deafen the ear with their howling and screaming. When
gorged with their foul meal, these harpies light upon the roofs of
the houses, where they exhibit a singular spectacle−-sleeping off the
effects of repletion, and waiting again to attack their prey. They
enjoy among the Turks such perfect security, that they often light on a
caïque, and dispute the possession of it with the passengers.
But what has rendered Tophana so distinguished is, that it is the great
point of embarkation, either for the Bosphorus or the Sea of Marmora.
In a country where there are no carriages, nor, properly speaking,
roads to run them upon, water is the great medium of conveyance.
This then is the resort of a continual moving mass, of all nations
and costumes. Along the shore, beside a modern slip and platform,
light caïques, and the heavier barges of the Princes’ Islands, are
in constant attendance. Above is a range of coffee-houses, where
the caïquegees sit over their coffee and chiboque till a passenger
appears, and they are invited to attend him. The characteristic
traits of the people are here strongly marked. The Greek, bustling
and shouting, almost forces you into his caïque; the Turk, grave and
decorous, seldom utters a word, but merely points to his boat just
covered with a rich and fresh carpet. A Hadgee, with a green turban,
grey beard, badge, and silver-headed baton, interposes, and lets you
choose for yourself, never giving a preference to his own countrymen.
Among the vessels seen here are those singular ships from the Black
Sea, before mentioned; their lofty prows and sterns, towering above
the water to an extraordinary height, reminding you of the extreme
antiquity of their shape, when
High on the stern the Thracian raised his strain,
And Argos saw her kindred trees
Descend from Pelion to the main.
The bold Argonauts brought the first model of a ship into those remote
waters, where it has ever since been preserved and imitated.
[Illustration: T. Allom. W. H. Capone.
“STATE PRISON OF “THE SEVEN TOWERS.”]
At the extremity of the land-wall of Constantinople, where it meets
the sea of Marmora, rises an enclosure flanked by battlemented towers.
It is the first object seen by Frank ships, and thus the stranger is
presented with a prospect that reminds him of the most striking and
singular usage of Turkish despotism. This enclosure, and the towers,
existed under the Greek empire, and were called “Heptapurgon,” from
the number of the castles included. They were first erected by Zeno,
and enclosed by the Comneni, and were employed as a prison for state
offenders. When the Turks took possession of the city, the Sultan
appropriated them as a secure place to deposit his plunder. They
afterwards reconverted them to their original purpose of a state
prison, and added a feature peculiarly their own. The character of an
ambassador, held sacred by all other nations, was here violated. The
first symptoms of a rupture between the Turks and a foreign state, was,
to seize the resident minister, and incarcerate him in this prison;
and the European states, instead of revolting against this barbarous
outrage on the laws of nations, quietly submitted to it, as they did
to the oppression of the Barbary pirates, because each rejoiced, and
felt itself elated, at the degradation of the other. Mr. Beaufeu, a
French minister, confined there, made his escape; and the Sultan was so
enraged, that he immediately caused the governor to be strangled in his
own prison. Since then, the Turks are not disposed to admit strangers,
lest they might discover the secrets of their prison-house. This
barbarous custom continued so late as the year 1784, when the Russian
envoy was sent there, as the first act of hostility. The lights and
usages of civilized Europe began immediately after to dawn on the East.
The just and amiable Selim discontinued the practice, and the present
Sultan has abolished it altogether. It was generally supposed the
custom would be renewed, and the Sultan would think himself justified
in imprisoning the ambassadors of all the powers leagued against him at
Navarino, in retaliation for that wanton and unprovoked attack; but he
suffered them quietly to depart, and set an example of moderation, and
scrupulous regard to the law of nations, which European states might do
well to imitate.
While used as this extraordinary prison, the strangest tales of mystery
were whispered about, and are still told to visitors. A cavity is
shown, called “the well of blood,” which imagination still pictures
as overflowing with human gore, and its stained and darkened sides
countenance the tradition. In another place is “the cavern of the
rock,” where confession was extorted from the unhappy prisoners. A
number of low arches are also pointed out, into which the wretched
victims were compelled to force themselves, too low to admit their
bodies through the aperture, and from whence they could not again
extract them−-and there they were left to perish with hunger. Places,
too, are still shown, where skulls were piled so high as to rise above
the surrounding walls.
The towers were originally seven in number, but are now reduced to
four. Three of them were thrown down by the great earthquake in
1786. They were never rebuilt by the Turks; yet they still call them
“yedde-kule,” or the seven towers. The buildings themselves are
exceedingly unsightly. They are octagonal with conical roofs. The most
conspicuous, represented in the illustration, was somewhat of a better
order. It is that in which the foreign ambassadors were confined, and
the apartments assigned to them were not very inconvenient.
Connected with this edifice was the celebrated “Chrysopule,” or golden
gate, so renowned for its splendour under the Greek empire. It opened
into the area, and was one of the entrances to the Seven Towers. It
was covered with some beautiful sculptures in basso-relievo, which
were considered chef-d’œuvres of art, and among them Venus holding her
torch over the sleeping Adonis, to examine his beauties. Its position
is on the right of the illustration. In the distance is the romantic
archipelago of the Princes’ Islands, on one side, and on the other, the
promontory of Scutari.
[Illustration: T. Allom. W. J. Cooke.
CONSTANTINOPLE END PETIT CHAMP DES MORTS.
FROM THE HEIGHTS OF PERA.]
It is remarked by travellers, that the Turks pay more attention to the
accommodation of the dead than of the living; and hence the number and
extent of the places they provide for their reception. Their city is
scarcely approached at any side but through receptacles for the dead.
Besides the vast cemetery at Scutari, there are several beyond the
walls of Constantinople; and two, of great extent, on the peninsula of
Pera. The first object of a Turk’s attention, in forming a cemetery,
is a beautiful site; hence they all occupy positions commanding the
best prospect, either of the Bosphorus or the Golden Horn. The isthmus
which connects Pera with the country, is entirely covered with tombs,
where Greeks, Armenians, Franks, and Turks repose in their respective
burying-grounds, which are but continuations one of the other. The Jews
alone preserve their exclusive character, and even in death will not
approximate to other people. Their grave-yard lies at Hasskui, at a
considerable distance. Overhanging the Bosphorus, on the isthmus, is
one great cemetery of the Turks, embosomed in cypress, which the rays
of the sun never penetrate, and resembling in every particular that
at Scutari. On the other side is a second, overhanging the harbour,
and, though called by the French _Petit Champ des Morts_, and by the
English, after them, the “Little Burying-ground,” is of immense extent,
covering an area nearly as great as either of the former. It is not,
however, distinguished by the same solemn characteristics. Lying
between the various suburbs of Pera, it is intersected by avenues,
which are constantly thronged by passengers like public streets; and
this moving picture of life abstracts much from the solemnity of death,
which the secluded solitude of others so strongly impresses. Here it
is, therefore, that Franks often witness the ceremonies of Turkish
funerals, without that intrusion so offensive to Turks in the less
public cemeteries.
Near the centre of the burial-ground is a small edifice, to which the
bodies are brought. Here ablution is performed, and all the decencies
of respect shown to the mortal remains, before they are consigned to
decay. From hence they are removed to the pit prepared for them: they
first burn incense round the spot, to keep off evil spirits; they leave
a small lock of hair on the scalp, and then sew up the body in a sack
of cloth just its length, and open at both ends. A Turk believes that
his corpse will be subject to a strict examination by two angels, to
ascertain his fitness for paradise, and the grave is constructed with
accommodation for the purpose. It is arched overhead, that the body
may have room to sit up; when the angels arrive, they seize him by
the lock of hair, and draw him through the open end of the sack. He
then sits between the examiners, and answers such questions as may be
propounded. The arch is frequently constructed with fragments of marble
pillars, but more usually with the planks of the coffin, which is taken
to pieces for the purpose. The attendants on the funeral quietly sit
round, often smoking their chibouques, and an Imaum sometimes reads a
passage from the Koran. The Turks are particularly anxious that the
tombs be not desecrated, or the posture of the bodies unsettled. They
imagine some part is to remain undecayed, as the nucleus of their
future resurrection. The particular member, called by them al-aïb, is
not yet ascertained by their theologians, and they are careful that no
part be disturbed. The general impression, however, is, that it is that
portion of the pelvis connected with the lower extremity of the spine;
so they are more careful of it after death, than of any other bone in
the body.
This cemetery is marked, like others, by an appearance of great
dilapidation. The marble head-stones are broken; and a negligence is
displayed about their preservation, which one is surprised to see in
the burying-place of an Osmanli. But this is the effect of design. When
the janissaries were extirpated, the vengeance of the Sultan pursued
them even to their tombs. Many of them were reported to be vampires,
their graves were opened, and their bodies pinned to the earth by
stakes, to prevent their rising to suck the blood of the faithful;
while all the emblems that appeared above ground, to designate them,
were destroyed. The stones that marked their graves were distinguished
by their turbans. Even these were decapitated, and the marble heads
cast about the ground, where they now lie.
The views from the different avenues leading through the cemetery, are
very beautiful, particularly the higher part, in so much so, that it
has become the great promenade of the Franks, who here assemble every
evening, to enjoy the air and prospect; and by a singular anomaly, the
cypress shades are converted into myrtle bowers, and gay groups of
laughing Franks desecrate the last resting-place of the solemn Turks.
The dogs, however, avenge this insult to the Moslem graves; there is no
place where these hateful animals give such annoyance. Crouched among
the decaying bodies, and attracted, perhaps, by the foul odour, they
rush furiously at the passing Frank who comes to disturb them. It seems
a strange contradiction in the Turks, that these carnivorous animals
should be permitted to burrow among the remains of the dead, which they
are so anxious to preserve, as the Oriental dogs have been, from the
earliest times, the last consummaters of human vengeance,−-as they are
now of human justice. The bodies of criminals are left weltering in the
streets, with a view that the dogs may tear them. Their howl at night,
issuing from the graves, adds much to the dismal solemnity of the field
of tombs.
The illustration presents a view of a fine fountain. It was surmounted
by a roof of correspondent beauty, but it fell a victim to the great
fire that ravaged Pera in the year 1823, and destroyed all the European
palaces, including the English. Near the fountain is a sacgee, or
water-man, with his leathern vessel, and beside it are women in the
common walking-dress of the country: this consists of a ferridgé and
yasmac; the first is a wide misshapen garment, that totally conceals
the form of the person; and the other is composed of two veils, drawn
over the upper and lower parts of the face, and meeting at the ears,
leaving open a small triangular space, through which the nose and eyes
protrude. In the perspective is, the city of Constantinople, displaying
its most conspicuous objects−-the Mosque of Solimanie, and the Aqueduct
of Valens. In the centre is the new bridge which the sultan has erected
across the harbour.
[Illustration: T. Allom. T. Barber.
GATE OF ENTRANCE TO THE RECEPTION ROOM OF THE SERAGLIO.]
This magnificent palace occupies the apex of the triangle on which the
city is built, including nearly the whole of ancient Byzantium. It was
appropriated, under the Greek empire, as a college for the numerous
priests of Santa Sophia, which is close beside it; but when Mahomet
converted that edifice into a mosque, the convent was fixed on as the
site of his own palace, and exceeds in beauty any other spot he could
have chosen, even in his recent conquest. He added new buildings,
and extended its area: his successors made further additions, and it
now includes a space four miles in circumference; washed on one side
by the sea of Marmora, and on the other by the Propontis, while the
rapid current of the Bosphorus sweeps round its walls with a pure
and limpid stream. It is filled with a gorgeous display of palaces,
baths, mosques, kiosks, gardens, and cypress groves, laid out by the
Greeks, and preserved by their Turkish successors. Here is also an
armoury, containing the various weapons used by the crusaders in their
attack on Constantinople; and the library of the Greek emperors, which
was supposed formerly to contain all the classical literature of the
ancient world, and many of the lost works of the classic writers,−-but
it has been explored by Franks, and whatever remains of classical
literature were once there, have now disappeared.