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THE
WALLS OF CONSTANTINOPLE
[Illustration: frontispiece, Constantinople from the Sea of Marmora]
THE WALLS OF
CONSTANTINOPLE
BY
CAPTAIN B. GRANVILLE BAKER
[Illustration: colophon]
LONDON: JOHN MILNE
1910
PREFACE
Romance and the history of walled cities are inseparable. Who has not
felt this to be so at the sight of hoary ruins lichen-clad and
ivy-mantled, that proudly rear their battered crests despite the ravages
of time and man's destructive instincts. It is within walled cities that
the life of civilized man began: the walls guarded him against barbarian
foes, behind their shelter he found the security necessary to his
cultural development, in their defence he showed his finest qualities.
And such a city--and such a history is that of Ancient Byzantium, the
City of Constantine, the Castle of Cæsar.
What wonder then that man should endeavour to express by pen and pencil
his sense of the greatness and beauty, the Romance of a Walled City such
as Constantinople. The more so that a movement is on foot to remove
these ancient landmarks of the history of Europe and Asia.
True there are other works on this same subject, works by men deeply
learned in the history of this fair city, works that bid fair to
outlive the city walls if the fell intent of destroying them is carried
into execution, and from these men and their works I derived inspiration
and information, and so wish to chronicle my gratitude to them--Sir
Edwin Pears and Professor van Millingen of Robert College,
Constantinople. There are many others too in Constantinople to whom my
thanks are due--His Majesty's Vice-Consul, my host, his colleagues, now
my friends, and many others too numerous to mention. They all have
helped me in this work, and I am grateful for the opportunity offered me
of here recording my thankfulness for their kind offices.
B. GRANVILLE BAKER.
NOTE.--As I have taken the historical events recorded in this book not
in chronological order, but as they occurred to me on a tour round the
walls of Constantinople, I have appended a brief chronological table,
for the guidance of my readers and for the elucidation of this work.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I CONSTANTINOPLE 13
II THE APPROACH TO THE CITY BY THE BOSPHORUS 28
III SERAGLIO POINT 54
IV SERAGLIO POINT (_continued_) 84
V THE WALLS BY THE SEA OF MARMORA 101
VI THE GOLDEN GATE 124
VII THE GOLDEN GATE (_continued_) 147
VIII THE WALLS OF THEODOSIUS TO THE GATE OF ST. ROMANUS 172
IX THE VALLEY OF THE LYCUS 198
X FROM THE GATE OF EDIRNÉ TO THE GOLDEN HORN 225
ENVOI 252
APPENDIX 255
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
CONSTANTINOPLE FROM THE SEA OF MARMORA _Frontispiece_
_Facing page_
GENOESE CASTLE AT ENTRANCE TO BOSPHORUS FROM THE BLACK SEA 31
ANATOLI HISSAR, OR THE CASTLE OF ASIA 39
ROUMELI HISSAR, OR THE CASTLE OF EUROPE 43
THE TOWER OF GALATA 51
THE LANDWARD WALLS OF THE SERAGLIO 58
THE PALACE OF HORMISDAS, OR JUSTINIAN 101
THE SEA-WALL 117
THE MARBLE TOWER 122
POSTERN WITH INSCRIPTIONS OF BASIL II AND CONSTANTINE IX 124
THE GOLDEN GATE FROM SOUTH-WEST 126
THE APPROACH TO THE GOLDEN GATE FROM NORTH-WEST 146
YEDI KOULÉ KAPOUSSI, OR GATE OF THE SEVEN TOWERS 170
PART OF TURKISH FORTRESS OF YEDI KOULÉ 172
THEODOSIAN WALL AND APPROACH TO BELGRADE KAPOUSSI,
SECOND MILITARY STATE 183
THEODOSIAN WALL--A BROKEN TOWER, OUTSIDE 188
THEODOSIAN WALL--A BROKEN TOWER, INSIDE 190
GATE OF RHEGIUM, OR YEDI MEVLEVI HANEH 193
TOP KAPOUSSI, GATE OF ST. ROMANUS 194
THIRD MILITARY GATE 196
THE VALLEY OF THE LYCUS, LOOKING NORTH 199
THE VALLEY OF THE LYCUS FROM INSIDE THE WALLS 201
THE VALLEY OF THE LYCUS, SHOWING WHERE THE LAST EMPEROR FELL 224
THE PALACE OF THE PORPHYROGENITUS FROM THE FOSSE 226
THE PALACE OF THE PORPHYROGENITUS FROM WITHIN THE WALLS 228
TOWER OF MANUEL COMNENUS 232
GATE OF THE BOOTMAKERS, OR THE CROOKED GATE 241
WALL OF PALÆOLOGIAN REPAIR 244
TOWERS OF ISAAC ANGELUS AND ANEMAS 246
OLD HOUSE IN THE PHANAR 249
THE
WALLS OF CONSTANTINOPLE
CHAPTER I
CONSTANTINOPLE
Byzas the seafarer stood in the sacred copse, the copse of fir-trees
dedicated to his father Poseidon. His soul was filled with awe, for he
was listening for an answer to his prayer; he had prayed for help and
guidance in his next venture out upon the seas, and had brought rich
gifts with him.
Hush! the faint murmuring of the evening breeze--a sound--a whisper
only--it is the voice of the Oracle: "Build your city opposite the City
of the Blind, for there you shall prosper." The voice died away in the
stillness of evening. Gently, with reverence, Byzas placed his offerings
upon the ground, turned and went his way without looking behind him.
Before the dawn arose, Byzas had joined his comrades. "To sea," he
cried, "for the Oracle has spoken thus: 'Go to the Country of the
Blind--there build you a city opposite their own--you shall prosper.'"
Silently the stout vessel that carried Byzas and his fortunes stood out
to sea as the rosy dawn touched the high peaks of the Peloponnese and
tinted with pale carmine and gold the unruffled water of the Ægean. And
ever bearing to the north, to that unknown region, with Byzas at the
helm, the ship held on. They sounded here and there, and asked of those
they met, "Is this the Country of the Blind?" Their question met with
little sympathy; the answers are nowhere recorded. After many vain
inquiries the adventurous crew drew out into the Sea of Marmora. Towards
evening they sighted land.
No doubt Byzas was drawn towards the Prince's Islands 'twixt him and
Asia as he sailed northward up the quiet inland sea. But sternly he
resisted the temptation of these lovely isles, and held on his way. His
long craft pulled nearer in towards the narrow mouth, and through the
twilight a great city loomed up before him on his right--the city of
Chalcedon, better known by its modern name of Kadekeuy. Now in the days
of Byzas suspicious-looking craft of no ostensible occupation were not
encouraged, piracy was too common and, indeed, considered one of the few
occupations fit for a gentleman--night was falling; so we imagine Byzas
putting in to the spit of land that projects boldly into the sea as if
to meet the Asiatic shore and offer stepping-stones for any migrant
Titan that might pass that way. Rounding the point, he saw before him a
broad waterway winding inland till lost to sight behind the tree-clad
heights to northward. So Byzas steered towards this fairway, holding to
the southern bank, and then, some little distance from the point, his
comrades lowered the broad sails, dropped anchor and awaited the light
of day. Only when it dawned were they conscious that they had reached
their goal, the country mentioned by the whispering Oracle.
A fair sight that, by the first rays of the rising sun: the east aglow
with many colours, repeated in the waters of the winding bay, henceforth
to be known as the Golden Horn; first touches of pink in the small
clouds over the rose-tipped mountain of the East; and, swimming in a
silvery haze, the islands they had passed.
Then the keenest and most fleet-footed of the crew betook themselves
ashore. They searched diligently everywhere, and brought back word that
all day long never a man had they seen of whom they could inquire, "Is
this the Country of the Blind?" So Byzas spoke: "This is the Country of
the Blind, for those are blind who could pass by this most favoured
spot, and build their city on the other side."
So Byzas settled here and built a city and prospered--the Oracle had
spoken truly.
All this happened many centuries ago, when the world, at least the
Western World was young, and Rome--Imperial Rome, the eternal city, was
still wrapped in the legendary mysteries of her birth.
And so arose Constantinople,--a city known by many names, the one
familiar to the majority of those of Western race is that of the City of
Constantine, Constantinople, familiar but with subconscious charm of
strange remoteness: the Slavs still talk of Tsarigrad, the Castle of
Cæsar; to the Turk this is Stamboul, a corruption of [Greek: eis tên
Polin]--the phrase they must have so often heard on the lips of the
vanquished Greeks, but through all ages this is Byzantium in romance.
The first thing a man does when he comes into any kind of property, is
to safeguard it somehow. If this property be land, however acquired, the
natural thing is to build a wall around it, and this no doubt Byzas did
too. But of his walls nothing is left--the city grew and prospered, the
Oracle said it would, so the matter was in a sense already settled, and
new walls were thrown out further until Imperial Byzantium, like
Imperial Rome, stood on seven hills.
Behind these walls a busy populace increased the wealth and importance
of the place, and others who wanted wealth and importance flocked in
here for it. Byzant became a thoroughfare to all those of the West who
did business with the East, but was chary of being too much of a
thoroughfare for those who came from the East. For these latter had the
habit of coming in swarms and armed, otherwise empty-handed, but with a
sincere wish not to return in that condition. Against such as these the
walls were built, strong and cunningly planned. And so ancient Byzant
grew into the mart for those who traded from the West along the coasts
of the Mediterranean, away through Dardanelles and Bosphorus to the
Black Sea, to Trebizond, where the old Greek tongue yet lingers in its
purest form, the Crimea--even distant Persia. So also Byzant became the
bulwark that met, and broke, successive storm-waves of Asiatic attack,
until in due season a strong Asiatic race forced its way in, and has
stayed there, and still holds its hard-won stronghold.
It was this position that made Constantine, the man of genius, transfer
the capital of his empire from Rome to Byzant, after defeating his rival
Licinius at Chrysopolis (Scutari) opposite the mouth of the Golden Horn,
and henceforth to make the city known as his--Constantinople, the Castle
of Cæsar. This alone would justify his claim to be called Great, and, as
Dean Stanley remarked, of all the events of Constantine's life, this
choice is the most convincing and enduring proof of his real genius.
It is to be doubted whether any city walls have such a stirring history
to relate as those of Constantinople, except perhaps the walls of Rome.
Of former, older fortifications traces have been found, and they reach
back to very ancient history.
Echoes come to us from those dim ages of history, shadowy forms of
warriors, seafarers, priests and sages pass by in pageant, with here and
there the bearer of some great name in bolder outline. Somebody has said
that the East is noteworthy as the grave of monarchs and reputations. Of
no spot is this truer than it is of Stamboul.
Chroseos, king of Persia, emerges from the gloom, and with him hordes of
warriors trained to ride, to shoot, to speak the truth. He is seen for a
brief space encamped before the walls to bring its citizens to
submission: he fades away with his phantom host. Then comes one better
known, and he stands out in bold relief, the light of history gives him
more definite outline,--Pausanias. He drove the Persians from the city
after defeating them in the field. His handiwork, 'tis said, can still
be traced in some gigantic blocks that went to fortify yet more the
walls that Byzas built. He was recalled in disgrace: well for him had he
never come. It needed but a little of the splendour and luxury of an
oriental court to corrode the old iron of the Spartan character. For him
the watery soup and black bread of the Eurotos valley could never have
quite the same flavour afterwards. He left the city a discredited
politician of more than doubtful loyalty to the land that reared him and
the great confederacy which had set him at its head.
Then follows an everchanging array of warriors of many nations, many
races. Seven times did the fierce sons of Arabia, fired by their
new-found faith, lay siege to old Byzantium, and seven times their
impetuous valour broke against these walls in vain. Albari, Bulgarians,
Sclavi, Russians, vainly spent their strength in trying to force an
entrance into the Castle of the Cæsars. Great bloodshed or great
treachery could alone serve as the key to what latter-day poets call
"the Gate of Happiness." Crusaders too, men of the same faith, besieged
the city, and after one short period of success, they too vanished, to
leave the imperial city standing as before; to leave her, perhaps, a
little wickeder, perhaps a little more luxurious, but still as perennial
and unchanging as she is to-day.
Then came another, stronger race out of the East. They laid their plans
cunningly and boldly executed them, they hovered for years over the city
and around it, and for years their efforts proved abortive, until the
time had come when this bulwark of Europe, that had for centuries hurled
back the waves of warriors that dashed themselves against its ramparts,
had fulfilled its mission. Vain it was to cry for help to the Christ
whom they had persistently dishonoured, and to whom their very
existence, corrupt and luxurious, was a standing insult. No, they in
their turn were compelled to make way for the stern realities and honest
animalism over which the Crescent cast its protecting shadow. Then did
the conqueror Mohammed enter into possession, he and his people; here
they settled after centuries of storm and stress, and here they are
still, and they too are prospering--as said the Oracle in those dim
distant ages before the Greek seafarers landed here.
Meantime, behind those sheltering walls, Europe was working out its
destiny.
The Western Empire centred in Imperial Rome succumbed before the on-rush
of barbarians from the north, those warriors from primæval forests,
blue-eyed and strong, whose very aspect reduced the stout Roman
legionaries to tears of terror and despair, with fair hair floating in
the breeze as their long boats (sea-serpents they called them) bore them
from shore to shore, or as astride of their shaggy horses they crossed
the frontiers guarded by Roman legions, and conquered as they went. Then
these took root, the Langobards in northern Italy, Goths in the Iberian
Peninsula, Saxons and Angles in Britain, and, by degrees, became
conscious of political existence.
Some vanished before the fury of the Arab as did the Goths in Spain,
while others grew and prospered like the Franks. Races emerged from
darkness to add to the confusion of Europe's seething mass of humanity.
Christianity shed its light upon them, and by degrees order appeared, to
make way again from time to time to wild disorder.
And all the time the walls of Constantine's proud city prevented the
irruption of any Eastern foes whose advent would have made confusion
worse confounded.
So on the eastern frontier of the eastern empire a wonderful revival of
the power of Persia was held in check by those who held the fort of
Constantine, and a vigorous attempt to regain the possessions of
Hellas-hated Xerxes was frustrated.
Transient states arose and vanished--the republic of Rome, the exarchate
of Ravenna, mythical Celtic kingdoms like Armorica and Cornwall, and the
Vandal kingdom of Africa. Thereupon appeared the more lasting dominions
of the Moors at Cordova and Granada, and of the Normans in France and
Sicily, and the enduring Power of the Papal See.
Slowly, uncertainly, under the shelter of the walls of Constantinople,
Europe drew the first rough outline of her present political aspect, and
began to emerge from barbarism.
Ambitions and strange freaks of fanaticism flared up among young nations
and died away. Among the former the revival of the Roman Empire by
Germanic monarchs lingered longest. Conceived by Charlemagne with the
aid of the Roman pontiff and his own paladins, this dream lived on for
many centuries, caused endless bloodshed and such cruel deeds as the
murder of that hapless Conradin, the last of the Hohenstauffens, a race
of rulers that had given rise to many legends and heroic lays. Then the
Crusaders with all their fruitless sufferings, their lavish shedding of
blood and treasure, and the masses of private iniquity which they died
trusting to expiate by public sacrifice.
And yet Constantinople held the eastern foe at bay. The tradition of
Rome's all-conquering legions lingered yet, and old Byzantium boasted of
a standing army, highly trained and disciplined through all these
centuries--those stormy times for Europe, when every man's hand was
against his neighbours. Then bands of armed men roamed over Europe,
following this leader or the other, each bent only on his own
advancement.
Little by little degeneration set in within and without the walls of
Constantinople. One fair province after another was regained by those
barbarians from whom they had been conquered, and the mighty Eastern
Empire fell to pieces. The spirit of the people was no longer bent on
upholding the traditions of the past, or, mayhap, lived too much in
those traditions.
So when the nations had begun to settle, the day of Constantine's city
was over and its task accomplished. The eastern foeman achieved the
oft-attempted end, and possessed himself of those ramparts which so long
had kept him at bay, and established a new empire in place of the
vanished power of Roman tradition. There is yet another aspect to the
history of Constantinople. It was here that its second founder embraced
Christianity. St. Sophia and St. Irene still stand as monuments to mark
that happening, albeit the crescent, not the cross, now glitters from
their pinnacles; although portly, bearded Imams now take the place of
the long-haired Greek priests, and the high altars have been turned
awry, so that the faithful may know that their gaze is fixed direct
towards Mecca.
Here much of St. Chrysostom's life and energy was spent; here, since the
schism with the Church of Rome, has been the Seat of the Patriarch, head
and high priest of the Greek Church.
Rulers, dynasties, even governing races have replaced each other, yet
here the Patriarchate still maintains the dignity of the great Church it
represents. For the strong man who vanquished this proud city did not
seek to turn his new subjects to his faith, but rather gave them full
liberty to follow their own. And this has been the policy of his
successors; thus it is that a Greek patriarch, Joachim, third of that
name, this day watches over the interests of his flock. Adherents to
every creed, save that of the Armenians, have enjoyed complete religious
freedom, and Jews who were hounded out of Catholic Spain took refuge
under the Chalif of Islam.
The same policy is continued by those clear-headed men who have but
recently revived the Empire of the East, and trust in time to give it a
government conceived on modern lines. Romance! Are not the pages of
history, even the most recent, made glorious by it? So who will deny the
attribute of romance to the story of a walled city?
Think of the enterprise, the ingenuity, the steadfast endeavour that led
to the encircling of ever-increasing areas within the embrace of those
stout walls; of the life of the people who pressed onward out of
paganism to Christianity, from despotism to constitutional
government.--Romance!
In younger days wars were waged because some fair lady had been carried
off, some rich jewel stolen, and in order that black insults might be
wiped out. We live nowadays beneath a more sombre sky. From isolated
incidents our motives have crystallized into definite principles, and it
needs the delicate eye of the artist to see any of the old lustre in our
honest if humdrum efforts to defend them.
Constantinople--the name conjures up dreams of Eastern colour, Eastern
sights, and Eastern smells: visions of Turks in baggy breeches and
jaunty fez; visions of bearded elders in flowing robes and turbans,
white, green or multi-coloured according to the wearer's calling,
descent, or personal taste, for only he who is learned in the Koran may
wear white. Those who claim descent from the Prophet bind their fez with
green, and divers colours are worn more by Ottoman subjects from over
the water. Then you dream of stalwart sunburnt Turkish soldiery whose
bearing speaks of Koran-bred discipline and stubborn fighting, and a
fanaticism which takes the place of imagination. Gorgeous cavasses,
frock-coated followers of Islam with unshaven jowls and green
umbrellas, smart Bedouins and copper-coloured eunuchs from Abyssinia,
immaculately-attired dragomans, veiled ladies, more mysterious even than
their Western sisters--in fact, splendour, squalor, light and life, and
all as picturesque and romantic as dreams can be. This is the vision,
and the reality to whosoever is fortunate enough to see Constantinople
is its fulfilment. All but the dragomans, perhaps, for you may pass one
by and not know he is that wonderful omniscient being--a dragoman. He
will hide his greatness under a straw hat, maybe, he may even affect an
air of Western hustle.
But every other effect makes up for any disappointment one may
experience over dragomans. In a golden haze kaleidoscopic changes, every
type of face a study, every street corner its own distinctive character,
even the spick and span liners that lie along the quays, or have their
station in the fairway of the Golden Horn, seem to adopt a catchet other
than their register provides for them. Over all, the domes of many
mosques with their attendant minarets, from which the call to prayer
goes forth, they point the way to the goal of all good Moslems, and few
there are who allow this world's cares to interfere with their
devotions. Later in the day these mosques, silhouetted in the gold of a
Stamboul sunset along with the other tall columns "qui s'accusent"
against the sky, go to form, as Browning (who had never seen them)
suggests, a sort of giant scrip of ornamental Turkish handwriting.
So, having followed this sketch of Constantinople's history from Byzas
to these days, in which an almost bloodless revolution has been
accomplished, let us approach the city, and mark the bulwarks that are
left, and hear what those massive towers and battlements have to tell
us.