not approached by a chasm so singular and wild as that by Haidhos,
but the passage on the summit is of a much more grand and romantic
character. The distinct mountains rise into immense cones of splintered
schist or granite, indented into clefts and fissures. Sometimes
masses of rock rise perpendicularly beside the traveller, between
which the road passes, with sharp-pointed tops, of a pyramidal form,
and outline so regular, as to make it doubtful whether they are not
artificial constructions. The road runs between them, and they stand
like “mountain sentinels” placed to guard the pass. The delusion is
increased when he arrives in this wild and lofty region at the remains
of a great arch of Roman brick, which apparently was one of those
pylæ, or mountain-gates, raised, to guard against the incursions of
the barbarous hordes from Dalmatia, Dacia, and other places beyond
the mountains, who for centuries continued to press and harass the
declining Roman empire. Such is the use to which it is at present
applied. Here is stationed a Dervenni, or guard of Albanian soldiers,
which form part of the cordon of posts, planted in various parts of the
ramparts of the chain, when the Russians prepared to ascend and pass
it. The Turks, in several parts of their vast empire, both in Europe
and Asia, select those points for defence which the Greeks and Romans
also appear, by their remains, to have chosen, but they never think of
repairing the old gate, or strengthening the pass by new fortifications.
[Illustration: T. Allom. P. Lightfoot.
THE BABYSES, OR, SWEET WATERS OF EUROPE.]
Only two rivers flow within many leagues of the great city of
Constantinople; they rise at a short distance between it and the Black
sea, and wind their way along a valley at the head of the Golden Horn.
One of them was formerly called the Cydaris, and now the Bey Low; the
other the Babyses, now changed to the Kyatkana Low, or “Water of the
Paper Manufactory.” Where they fall into the harbour, the soil is
alluvial and marshy, and the quantity of slime collected there induced
the ancients to designate it “Marcidem Mare,” “the Putrid Sea.” The
French, however, called it, _les Eaux Doux_, because the water was not
salt; and the English now denominate it the “Sweet Waters.”
Notwithstanding that the waters are impure, and the high grounds around
sterile and denuded, the place possesses many attractions. Higher up
the stream, the valley improves, and circumstances have given the
locality much celebrity. The paper factory having fallen into ruins,
Sultan Selim built a kiosk in its place, in imitation of the palace of
Versailles. A mound has been thrown across the river, and the stream
detained, so as to form a large and tranquil sheet of water. On its
banks stands the kiosk, one side of which is supported by pillars
rising out of the water. It was once a favourite residence of Mahmoud
II., but a slave, to whom he was greatly attached, died here in the
prime of life; and her master having erected a tomb to her memory on
the bank, abandoned the place for many years. Time, however, has worn
out the impression, and it is again a favourite retreat. At the head
of the valley is the _Ocmeidan_, or “Place of the Arrow,” the royal
archery-ground; and marble pillars, erected at different distances,
attest the Sultan’s skill, and the almost incredible distance to
which he can send a shaft. On these occasions, he is attended by his
officers, and sometimes the females of his family, in arrhubas: the
valley is then shut up with guards, and no stranger permitted to
intrude: at other times, it is open to all classes, who come here to
rusticate, particularly Greeks, on Sundays and festivals.
There is one period, however, in which it is the thronged resort of
every person seeking amusement; and the Golden Horn is covered with
caïques from all parts of Pera and Constantinople. This occurs on
St. George’s day in the month of May, when the splendid stud of the
sultan is brought out from the stables of the seraglio, for the first
time in the season, to graze on the rich herbage of this place. The
horses are in the care of Bulgarians, and crowds of peasants accompany
their countrymen. They come down from the Balkan mountains at this
season of the year, to dress the vineyards about the city; and groups
of them, with their honest, good-natured faces, are seen everywhere
dancing through the streets. Their dress is a jacket of brown cloth,
caps of brown sheep-skin with the wool on, and sandals of raw hide,
drawn under the sole, and bound over the instep. But what particularly
distinguishes them is an enormous bagpipe. The minstrel draws after
him a crowd of his countrymen, capering through the streets of Pera
and Constantinople, on their way to the Sweet Waters, to amuse the
company assembled there. The banks at this season are covered with a
rich verdure, and enamelled with a profusion of flowers of all hues:
the very humidity of the soil confers a luxuriance on the sward which
is nowhere else to be seen. The soil round the city is a poor and
sterile gravel, and for nine months in the year presents a parched
and arid surface of irksome brown; it is only in the cool, humid
valleys, that a blade of verdure is to be seen. This spot, therefore,
is much frequented by the Franks; and there is no stranger on a visit
to the capital, who is not invited to see the Sweet Waters. The
Illustration represents one of these festive meetings. On the right
of the foreground is a group of Greek girls, dancing through the
graceful mazes of the romaika, their unveiled faces and necks, and
their neatly sandalled feet, forming a striking contrast to the yasmaks
and slippered-boots of other Oriental females of the capital. In the
background are companies engaged in various festivities, and embosomed
in the trees; behind is seen the sultan’s kiosk, with a never-failing
minaret peeping through the foliage.
[Illustration: T. Allom. W. H. Capone.
INTERIOR OF A TURKISH CAFFINET.
CONSTANTINOPLE.]
Many circumstances strike a stranger on entering Constantinople, and
many objects different from those to which he has been accustomed in
European Christian cities. Here are no straight spacious avenues,
thronged with foot-passengers on the wide flags, and with carriages
on the level centre; no names to the streets, to direct his way; no
advertisements on walls; no women behind counters; no public places,
for walking or amusement; no monuments displaying taste, or recording
great men or actions; no libraries or news-rooms; no club-houses; no
theatres, or public exhibitions; no hackney-coaches, cabs, omnibuses,
sedan-chairs, or equipages of any kind, either public or private; no
clocks on steeples or public buildings, indicating the hour of the
day, nor bells announcing festivals or public rejoicings; no lamps to
illume the city by night; no shops blazing with the glare of gas; no
companies flocking to or from balls; or parties or public assemblies,
of any kind, thronging the streets after night-fall, and making them as
popular as at noon-day. On the contrary, he gets entangled in crooked,
narrow, steep lanes, where the pavement is so imperfect that he is
every minute in danger of breaking his leg between the loose angular
stones. During the sunlight, the busy throng is nowhere to be seen but
in the bazaars, or the avenues leading to them; and every other place
seems totally deserted, except by dogs, who howl when he appears,
and attack him in whole packs. The only equipage he sees is the
sultan’s, going to some mosque on Friday, when the people congregate
in the street through which he passes. The only carriages are women’s
arrhubas, or kotches, which, generally speaking, cannot climb the
steep and narrow streets. When they do appear, they are conveying,
closely shut up, the harem of the sultan or some pasha, and then they
are accompanied by black eunuchs with drawn sabres. Their approach
is announced by the dead silence that suddenly pervades the busy din
of a crowded thoroughfare: the moving mass of the people is suddenly
arrested, and every man stands closely wrapped up in his beniche, with
his arms folded on his breast, and his head cast down and turned away.
The unfortunate person who neglects this, is liable to be cut down,
and forfeit his life upon the spot for his negligence. At sunset all
the shops are shut up, and their owners hurry to their respective
residences; and when the evening closes in, the streets are as dark
and as silent as the grave. If a Frank, following the usages of his
country, remain at the house of a friend beyond the limited hour, he
is liable to be arrested by the Coolah guard, unless he be attended
by some lights. He often lights himself. He goes into a Baccùe, or
huckster’s shop, while it is open, and purchases for a few paras a
circular fold of paper. This is a lantern compressed into a flat
surface, which may be elongated to the extent of half a yard. He draws
it out, places a light outside, attaches it to the end of his long
chibouk, and smoking in this way, with the light thrust out before him,
is protected, on returning home through the streets, at any hour of the
night.
The only places of public resort that seem in any way to remind
him of the social habits of a European city, are the taverns and
coffee-houses. Even these are distinguished by customs peculiarly
Oriental. The tavern is an open shop, where cooks are employed in
preparing different kinds of refreshment over small counters filled
with red-hot charcoal. Having passed these, he is shown into a dark
room behind, or above, through a narrow staircase. Here he sits down on
a tattered straw mat, and a joint stool is placed before him, on which
is laid a clumsy metal tray; presently an attendant comes with two
dishes, of coarse brown earthenware, one containing a mess of thick,
heavy, greasy pancake, made of flour, and the other a skewer of kabobs.
Kabobs are small pieces of mutton, about the size of penny pieces,
which they much resemble in shape and colour, roasted on an iron
needle, which is served up with them. There is no napkin, no knife,
fork, or spoon, no wine, beer, or spirits. The entertainment concludes
in about ten minutes with a glass of plain water, or, in extreme cases,
a cup of sherbet.
The caffinet, or coffee-house, is something more splendid, and the
Turk expends all his notions of finery and elegance on this, his
favourite place of indulgence. The edifice is generally decorated
in a very gorgeous manner, supported on pillars, and open in front.
It is surrounded on the inside by a raised platform, covered with
mats or cushions, on which the Turks sit cross-legged. On one side
are musicians, generally Greeks, with mandolins and tambourines,
accompanying singers, whose melody consists in vociferation; and the
loud and obstreperous concert forms a strong contrast to the stillness
and taciturnity of Turkish meetings. On the opposite side are men,
generally of a respectable class, some of whom are found here every
day, and all day long, dozing under the double influence of coffee
and tobacco. The coffee is served in very small cups, not larger than
egg-cups, grounds and all, without cream or sugar, and so black,
thick, and bitter, that it has been aptly compared to “stewed soot.”
Besides the ordinary chibouk for tobacco, there is another implement,
called narghillai, used for smoking in a caffinet, of a more elaborate
construction. It consists of a glass vase, filled with water, and often
scented with distilled rose or other flowers. This is surmounted with
a silver or brazen head, from which issues a long flexible tube; a
pipe-bowl is placed on the top, and so constructed that the smoke is
drawn, and comes bubbling up through the water, cool and fragrant to
the mouth. A peculiar kind of tobacco, grown at Shiraz in Persia, and
resembling small pieces of cut leather, is used with this instrument.
The pipe is lighted either by a fragment of ignited charcoal, or
amadhoo; this last is an inflammable spark prepared from decayed wood,
or a particular kind of fungus, and a Turk never goes without a portion
of it, with a flint and steel, in his tobacco-bag. In the centre of
the room is generally an artificial fountain, bubbling and playing in
summer, and round it vases of flowers, with piles of the sweet-scented
melons of Cassaba, to keep them cool, and add, by their odour, to the
fragrance of the flowers.
A frequent addition to the enjoyments of the caffinet, is the medac,
or story-teller. There are several of these public characters
at Constantinople, who, at festival seasons, are engaged by the
caffinet-ghees to entertain their guests. On these occasions, to
accommodate the increased company, stools are placed in semicircles in
the streets before the caffinet, and refreshment sent from the house. A
small platform is laid on the open window, so that the audience within
and without may hear and see. On this the story-teller mounts, and
continues his narrative sometimes till midnight. The excellence of some
of these men in their department, is surprising, and altogether out of
keeping with the dull and phlegmatic character of a Turk. In humour and
detail, they are equal to the best European actors; and sustain singly,
and without any aid, a whole drama of various characters. Their tact
is equally clever. When the attention of their audience is excited to
the highest degree at the approach of some interesting catastrophe, the
medac suddenly steps down from his platform, and going round with a
coffee-cup in his hand, the audience soon fill it with paras, to induce
him to resume his place; and then, and not till then, does he mount,
and go on with his story. One of these medacs, called Kiz Achmet, or
“Achmet the Maid,” was particularly famous. He has been engaged during
the Bairam at a salary of eight hundred piastres; and the sultan often
sent for him, to entertain the ladies of the harem, though his stories
on ordinary occasions were of a very coarse and indelicate character.
[Illustration: T. Allom. J. Sands.
THE VILLAGE OF BABEC,
ON THE BOSPHORUS.]
In a very deep recess, formed by the expansion of the Bosphorus,
immediately above the Buyuk Akendisi, or “Great Rapid,” and between it
and the Roumeli Hissar, or Castle of Europe, are the bay and village
of Babec. The latter extends along one side of it, having a level quay
in front, and generally exhibits a scene of busy population, with its
caïques and fishery. Beyond it rise the wooded hills which skirt the
shores of the Bosphorus. Here the steep ascent is clothed with a very
dense growth of trees, casting their dark shadows on the waters below,
which wash the margin of the deep recess of the bay, and give it a
peculiarly sequestered and solitary appearance. Here, in the darkest
shade, is seen a lonely kiosk, which strikes the traveller passing
in a caïque, as having something more than ordinary connected with
it. The kiosk is shut in with walls, the entrance entirely closed
up, and no human being is ever seen to enter or depart from it. The
jealous precaution usually visible about a Turkish house always has a
desolate and repulsive aspect; but this kiosk, it has been remarked,
has a solitude even more than Turkish, and, without the usual marks
of desertion, decay, and dilapidation, it looks as if abandoned by
inhabitants, or devoted to some secret or mysterious purpose. It
is the retreat of Turkish diplomacy−-the appointed spot for secret
negociations.
Mystery and deception, the wheels on which it usually moves, are here
practically exemplified. The bureaus of the Porte are appointed for the
transaction of ordinary business, but on extraordinary occasions it is
transferred to this place; and this solitary recess of the Bosphorus
is resorted to in order to prevent any possibility of the secret
transpiring. When it is necessary to meet a foreign minister, on any
affair of importance, he is directed to repair to this place. Hither
he comes in his caïque, divested of pomp or parade, and endeavouring
to pass without any notice. He climbs the rapid, and creeps along
the shore of this sequestered bay, to the mysterious kiosk, and is,
with due precaution, admitted. He finds, within, the reis effendi, or
minister for foreign affairs, who has approached by land with similar
precaution. The doors are closed, and the conference commences. When
the affair is arranged, the diplomatists separate, and the kiosk
is abandoned, and closed up till another mysterious affair renders
another mysterious conference at this place necessary. This attempt
at concealment is highly characteristic of the court and the people;
but it is altogether defeated. The prying jealousy of the ministers of
the European powers resident at Constantinople, is continually on the
alert: the chief dragoman of one mission makes a daily report to his
ambassador of what every other is doing, or about to do: he visits the
bureaus of the Porte, and worms out the most secret intentions; and
while the principals are shut up at Babec, as they suppose, unknown to
all the world, the tattling dragomans are every where disclosing the
subject they are discussing, and the conference at Babec is no more
secret than the news of a public coffee-house.
[Illustration: T. Allom. W. J. Cook.
THE RUINS OF EPHESUS.
THE CASTLE OF AIASALUK ON THE DISTANCE.
ASIA MINOR.]
This city is not only celebrated in profane history, which ascribes
its foundation to the Amazons, but is rendered interesting to mankind,
for being commemorated in the Sacred Scriptures by many important
recollections. When Christianity began to expand itself in Asia,
seven churches were founded, eminently distinguished among the early
Christians, as fountains, whence the light of the gospel should flow
upon a benighted world. The first and chief of these was the great
city of Ephesus. When St. John in his Apocalypse addresses these seven
churches, the first he named was that of Ephesus. To the professors
of Christianity there, he gives a high character, intimating the
reformation which the infant gospel had already effected among the
Gentiles. “I know thy works, and thy labour, and thy patience, and how
thou canst not bear those that are evil.” To this church, St. Paul
addressed his epistle when in bonds at Rome, to guard them against that
false doctrine that was even then beginning to taint the purity of the
gospel. This city he visited in his travels, and adds the testimony of
sacred history to that of profane, to the estimation in which the great
heathen temple was held; and from this city he took his final departure
at that affecting moment, when they kneeled down, and prayed on the
sea-shore, “and wept sore for the words which he spake−-that they
should see his face no more.” This city once had a bishop, the angel of
the church, Timothy, the beloved disciple of St. John; and tradition
reports that it was honoured with the last days of both these great
men, and of the Mother of our Lord.
The present state of this “light of Asia,” this “emporium of the
world,” forms a sad and striking contrast to its former splendour.
The traveller lands on a dismal swamp at the mouth of a river, choked
up with sand. Beside this is an extensive jungle of low bushes, the
retreat of wolves and jackals, and all the wild animals whose solitary
and predatory habits lead them to those haunts, which had once been,
but are no longer, the habitations of men. From thence he advances
up an extensive and fertile plain, through which the Caÿster winds,
exhibiting all the capabilities of culture and abundance, but now a
rank marsh, scattered over with muddy pools, the retreat of flocks
of aquatic fowls, among which are sometimes seen flights of swans,
indicating the permanent character of nature still remaining unchanged,
though the habits of man are altered. At some miles from the sea are
marble columns, supposed to have formed part of the quay when the river
was navigable, and Ephesus the great mart of Asia. Beyond, the plain is
skirted by a rising ground, on which appears a succession of ruins for
several miles, including a stadium in a more perfect state than the
rest; but by far the most interesting are the remains of the temple and
the amphitheatre.
On the side of the hill, and partly excavated from it, is a section
of a great amphitheatre: the seats have been destroyed or removed,
but part of the marble front, many bas-reliefs, and sculptured
fragments, attest its primitive splendour. This magnificent area for
representing the spectacles of the ancients, gives a high idea of the
wealth and population of the city to which it belonged, and the number
of spectators it was necessary to accommodate. Immediately below are
the supposed ruins of the Artemision, or Temple of Diana, of which
Ctesiphon was the chief architect; it was one of the seven wonders of
the world: it measured 425 feet in length, 200 in breadth; was adorned
with 127 columns, each the gift of a king; occupied 220 years in
building; and was eight times reduced to ruins. Its foundations were
laid in a swamp, as Pliny says, to guard against the effects of an
earthquake. To absorb the damp, wool and charcoal were interspersed,
and the arches form a subterranean labyrinth, in which the waters now
stagnate. The walls are formed of immense blocks of marble, the faces
of which are perforated with cavities; into these were sunk the shanks
of the brass and silver plates with which the temple was faced, but
they have been long since abstracted. In front are the remains of vast
porphyry pillars, which probably formed the portico of the temple. When
Constantine the Great issued his decree against heathen worship, this
the principal of its temples was finally destroyed, and some of its
pillars removed to Constantinople, to adorn the Christian church of the
“holy and eternal freedom of God.”--So celebrated was this magnificent
pile, that Herostratus, a philosopher, conceived the extraordinary idea
of rendering himself immortal by destroying it. He set it on fire on
the night Alexander the Great was born, when, as the mythologists say,
the goddess to whom it belonged was so engaged in one of her functions
at this important birth, that she neglected the care of her temple, and
the splendid fabric was burnt to the ground. To defeat the hopes of
this incendiary, a decree was issued, rendering it penal to pronounce
his name, but this only contributed to preserve it the more.
The vicinity of this ruin to the amphitheatre is an additional and
deeply interesting reason for supposing it to be what remains of the
ancient temple of Diana. Here was the place where St. Paul excited
the disturbance among the silver and brass smiths who worked for the
temple; and opposite was the great public resort, where the people were
assembling for the exhibition of spectacles, into which they rushed,
carrying with them Gaius and Aristarchus, Paul’s companions. Here they
had a full view of the magnificent front of the temple “which all Asia
worshipped,” and in their enthusiasm they cried out, “Great is Diana of
the Ephesians!”
Passing these ruins, the traveller arrives at Aiasaluk, situated on a
hill near the upper extremity of the valley. Beside it is the ancient
aqueduct which conveyed water to the great city; and near it a church,
supposed to be that of St. John, rebuilt by the emperor Justinian,
but now converted into a Turkish mosque. All that remains of the
habitations of the living is now contained in this Turkish village,
whose name still reminds him of its former Christian population.
Aiasaluk is a corruption of Ayas Theologos,[11] the name by which
the Greeks denominate St. John, to whom the neighbouring church was
dedicated.
Such is the brief account of the great and interesting city of Ephesus!
Its “candlestick has been removed,” as the prophet predicted. All that
remains of the Gentile population are, one hundred Turks, enclosed
within narrow limits on the summit of a hill; and its numerous
Christian congregation is reduced to two individuals, one a Greek
gardener, and the other the keeper of a coffee-house,--and these are
the representatives of the first great church of the Apocalypse!
The Illustration represents these objects. On the right, in front, are
the remains of the theatre, ascending the side of the hill; and before
it, extensive ruins are scattered over the surface. Other fragments
of edifices are strewed about, and beyond is the humid plain of the
Ca ster. In the back ground are the hills which terminate the plain;
and under them, on a lower eminence, the town of Aiasaluk, having below
all that remains of the church of St. John, and the aqueduct, built by
Herodes Atticus from the ruins of the great city.
[Illustration: T. Allom. J. Sands.
GREEK PRIEST’S HOUSE NEAR YENI KUEY.
ON THE BOSPHORUS.]