Turning Dervishes—Appearance of the Tekiè—The
Mausoleum—Duties of the Dervishes—Chapel of the Convent—The
Chief Priest—Dress of the Brotherhood—Melancholy
Music—Solemnity of the Service—Mistakes of a Modern
Traveller—Explanation of the Ceremony—The Prayer—The Kiss of
Peace—Appearance of the Chapel—Religious Tolerance of the
Turks—The French Renegade—Sketch of Halet Effendi, the
Founder of the Tekiè.
I paid two visits to the convent (if such, indeed, it may be termed) of
Turning, or, as they are commonly called in Europe, Dancing Dervishes,
which is situated opposite the Petit Champs des Morts, descending
towards Galata. The court of the Tekiè is entered by a handsomely
ornamented gate, and, having passed it, you have the cemetery of the
brethren on your left hand, and the gable of the main building on your
right. As you arrive in front of the convent, the court widens, and in
the midst stands a magnificent plane tree of great antiquity, carefully
railed in; while you have on one side the elegant mausoleum in which
repose the superiors of the order; and on the other the fountain of
white marble, roofed in like an oratory, and enclosed on all its six
sides from the weather, where the Dervishes perform their ablutions ere
they enter the chapel. The mausoleum is of the octagon form, the floor
being raised two steps in the centre, leaving a space all round, just
sufficiently wide for one person to pass along. The sarcophagi are
covered with plain clay-coloured cloth, and at the head of each tomb is
placed the _geulaf_, or Dervishes’ hat, encircled by a clear muslin
handkerchief, embroidered with tinted silks and gold thread. A large
gilt frame, enclosing the representation of a hat wrought in needlework,
and standing on a slab, on which is inscribed a sentence from the Koran,
rests against one of the sarcophagi, and huge wax-candles in plain
clay-coloured candlesticks are scattered among the tombs.
The Tekiè is a handsome building with projecting wings, in which the
community live very comfortably with their wives and children; and
whence, having performed their religious duties, they sally forth to
their several avocations in the city, and mingle with their fellow-men
upon equal terms. Unlike the monks of the church of Rome, the Dervishes
are forbidden to accumulate wealth in order to enrich either themselves
or their convent. The most simple fare, the least costly garments, serve
alike for their own use, and for that of their families: industry,
temperance, and devotion are their duties; and, as they are at liberty
to secede from their self-imposed obligations whenever they see fit to
do so, there is no lukewarmness among the community, who find time
throughout the whole year to devote many hours to God, even of their
most busy days; and, unlike their fellow-citizens, the other
Mussulmauns, they throw open the doors of their chapel to strangers,
only stipulating that gentlemen shall put off their shoes ere they
enter.
This chapel, which has been erroneously designated a “mosque,” is an
octagon building of moderate size, neatly painted in fresco. The centre
of the floor is railed off, and the enclosure is sacred to the
brotherhood; while the outer circle, covered with Indian matting, is
appropriated to visiters. A deep gallery runs round six sides of the
building, and beneath it, on your left hand as you enter, you remark the
lattices through which the Turkish women witness the service. A narrow
mat surrounds the circle within the railing, and upon this the brethren
kneel during the prayers; while the centre of the floor is so highly
polished by the perpetual friction that it resembles a mirror, and the
boards are united by nails with heads as large as a shilling, to prevent
accidents to the feet of the Dervishes during their evolutions. A bar of
iron descends octagonally from the centre of the domed roof, to which
transverse bars are attached, bearing a vast number of glass lamps of
different colours and sizes; and, against many of the pillars, of which
I counted four-and-twenty, supporting the dome, are hung frames, within
which are inscribed passages from the Prophets.
Above the seat of the superior, the name of the founder of the Tekiè is
written in gold on a black ground, in immense characters. This seat
consists of a small carpet, above which is spread a crimson rug, and on
this the worthy principal was squatted when we entered, in an ample
cloak of Spanish brown, with large hanging sleeves, and his geulaf, or
high hat of grey felt, encircled with a green shawl. I pitied him that
his back was turned towards the glorious Bosphorus, that was distinctly
seen through the four large windows at the extremity of the chapel,
flashing in the light, with the slender minarets and lordly mosques of
Stamboul gleaming out in the distance.
One by one, the Dervishes entered the chapel, bowing profoundly at the
little gate of the enclosure, took their places on the mat, and, bending
down, reverently kissed the ground; and then, folding their arms meekly
on their breasts, remained buried in prayer, with their eyes closed, and
their bodies swinging slowly to and fro. They were all enveloped in wide
cloaks of dark coloured cloth with pendent sleeves; and wore their
geulafs, which they retained during the whole of the service.
I confess that the impression produced on my mind by the idea of Dancing
Dervishes was the very reverse of solemn; and I was, in consequence,
quite unprepared for the effect that the exhibition of their religious
rites cannot fail to exert on all those who are not predetermined to
find food for mirth in every sectarian peculiarity. The deep stillness,
broken only by the breath of prayer, or the melancholy wailing of the
muffled instruments, which seemed to send forth their voice of sadness
from behind a cloud in subdued sorrowing, like the melodious plaint of
angels over fallen mortality—the concentrated and pious
self-forgetfulness of the community, who never once cast their eyes over
the crowds that thronged their chapel—the deep, rich chant of the
choral brethren—even the very contrast afforded by the light and
fairy-like temple in which they thus meekly ministered to their Maker,
with their own calm and inspired appearance, heightened the effect of
the scene; and tacitly rebuked the presumption and worldliness of spirit
that would have sought a jest in the very sanctuary of religion.
The service commenced with an extemporaneous prayer from the chief
priest, to which the attendant Dervishes listened with arms folded upon
their breasts, and their eyes fixed on the ground. At its conclusion,
all bowed their foreheads to the earth; and the orchestra struck into
one of those peculiarly wild and melancholy Turkish airs which are
unlike any other music that I ever heard. Instantly, the full voices of
the brethren joined in chorus, and the effect was thrilling: now the
sounds died away like the exhausted breath of a departing spirit, and
suddenly they swelled once more into a deep and powerful diapason that
seemed scarce earthly. A second stillness of about a minute succeeded,
when the low, solemn music was resumed, and the Dervishes, slowly rising
from the earth, followed their superior three times round the enclosure;
bowing down twice under the shadow of the name of their Founder,
suspended above the seat of the high priest. This reverence was
performed without removing their folded arms from their breasts—the
first time on the side by which they approached, and afterwards on that
opposite, which they gained by slowly revolving on the right foot, in
such a manner as to prevent their turning their backs towards the
inscription. The procession was closed by a second prostration, after
which, each Dervish having gained his place, cast off his cloak, and
such as had walked in woollen slippers withdrew them, and, passing
solemnly before the Chief Priest, they commenced their evolutions.
I am by no means prepared, nor even inclined, to attempt a Quixotic
defence of the very extraordinary and _bizarre_ ceremonial to which I
was next a witness; but I cannot, nevertheless, agree with a modern
traveller in describing it as “an absurdity.” That it does not accord
with our European ideas of consistent and worthy worship is not only
possible, but certain; yet I should imagine that no one could feel other
than respect for men of irreproachable character, serving God according
to their means of judgment.
The extraordinary ceremony which gives its name to the Dancing, or, as
they are really and much more appropriately called, the Turning
Dervishes—for nothing can be more utterly unlike dancing than their
evolutions—is not without its meaning. The community first pray for
pardon of their past sins, and the amendment of their future lives; and
then, after a silent supplication for strength to work out the change,
they figure, by their peculiar and fatiguing movements, their anxiety to
“shake the dust from their feet,” and to cast from them all worldly
ties.
As I could not reconcile myself to believe that the custom could have
grown out of mere whim, I took some pains to ascertain its meaning, as
well as visiting the chapel a second time during its observance, in
order to ascertain whether the ceremonies differed on different days,
but I remarked no change.
Immediately after passing with a solemn reverence, twice performed, the
place of the High Priest, who remained standing, the Dervishes spread
their arms, and commenced their revolving motion; the palm of the right
hand being held upwards, and that of the left turned down. Their
under-dresses (for, as I before remarked, they had laid aside their
cloaks) consisted of a jacket and petticoat of dark coloured cloth, that
descended to their feet; the higher order of brethren being clad in
green, and the others in brown, or a sort of yellowish gray; about their
waists they wore wide girdles, edged with red, to which the right side
of the jacket was closely fastened, while the left hung loose: their
petticoats were of immense width, and laid in large plaits beneath the
girdle, and, as the wearers swung round, formed a bell-like appearance;
these latter garments, however, are only worn during the ceremony, and
are exchanged in summer for white ones of lighter material.
The number of those who were “on duty,” for I know not how else to
express it, was nine; seven of them being men, and the remaining two,
mere boys, the youngest certainly not more than ten years of age. Nine,
eleven, and thirteen are the mystic numbers, which, however great the
strength of community, are never exceeded; and the remaining members of
the brotherhood, during the evolutions of their companions, continue
engaged in prayer within the enclosure. These on this occasion amounted
to about a score, and remained each leaning against a pillar: while the
beat of the drum in the gallery marked the time to which the revolving
Dervishes moved, and the effect was singular to a degree that baffles
description. So true and unerring were their motions, that, although the
space which they occupied was somewhat circumscribed, they never once
gained upon each other: and for five minutes they continued twirling
round and round, as though impelled by machinery, their pale,
passionless countenances perfectly immobile, their heads slightly
declined towards the right shoulder, and their inflated garments
creating a cold, sharp air in the chapel, from the rapidity of their
action. At the termination of that period, the name of the Prophet
occurred in the chant, which had been unintermitted in the gallery; and,
as they simultaneously paused, and, folding their hands upon their
breasts, bent down in reverence at the sound, their ample garments wound
about them at the sudden check, and gave them, for a moment, the
appearance of mummies.
An interval of prayer followed; and the same ceremony was performed
three times; at the termination of which they all fell prostrate on the
earth, when those who had hitherto remained spectators flung their
cloaks over them, and the one who knelt on the left of the Chief Priest
rose, and delivered a long prayer divided into sections, with a rapid
and solemn voice, prolonging the last word of each sentence by the
utterance of “ha—ha—ha”—with a rich depth of octave that would not
have disgraced Phillips.
This prayer was for “the great ones of the earth”—the magnates of the
land—all who were “in authority over them;” and at each proud name they
bowed their heads upon their breasts, until that of the Sultan was
mentioned, when they once more fell flat upon the ground, to the sound
of the most awful howl I ever heard.
This outburst from the gallery terminated the labours of the orchestra;
and the superior, rising to his knees while the others continued
prostrate, in his turn prayed for a few instants; and then, taking his
stand upon the crimson rug, they approached him one by one, and,
clasping his hand, pressed it to their lips and forehead. When the first
had passed, he stationed himself on the right of the superior, and
awaited the arrival of the second, who, on reaching him, bestowed on him
also the kiss of peace, which he had just proffered to the Chief Priest;
and each in succession performed the same ceremony to all those who had
preceded him, which was acknowledged by gently stroking down the beard.
This was the final act of the exhibition; and, the superior having
slowly and silently traversed the enclosure, in five seconds the chapel
was empty, and the congregation busied at the portal in reclaiming
their boots, shoes, and slippers.
I had never hitherto seen such picturesque groups as those which
thronged the Dervishes’ chapel on my second visit; nor did I ever
witness more perfect order in any public assembly. A deep stillness
reigned throughout the whole ceremony, only broken by the sobs of a
middle-aged Turk who stood near me, and who was so much overcome by the
saddening wail of the orchestra that he could not restrain his tears; a
circumstance by no means uncommon in this country, where all ranks are
peculiarly susceptible to the influence of music.
The interior of the edifice was a perfect picture, of which the
soberly-clad Dervishes occupied the centre; while the exterior circle
was peopled with groups of soldiers in their coarse wrapping coats and
red caps—venerable Turks in claret-coloured pelisses, richly
furred—descendants of Mahomet, with their green turbans and portly
beards—and peasants in their rude suits of dusky brown; all equally
intent, and all equally orderly.
The Turks are extremely tolerant with regard to religious opinions;
their creed being split into as many sects as that of the Church of
England; and each individual being left equally free to follow, as he
sees fit, the dictates of his conscience. The Dervishes are of several
different orders. The _Mivlavies_ are materialists in their faith; the
_Zerrins_ worship the Virgin Mary; and the _Bektachis_ believe in the
Saviour and the twelve apostles; every order has its peculiar
constitution, differing from the dogmas of simple Islamism; but they are
universally venerated by Musselmauns, despite their sectarian
prejudices. They are generally versed in astrology and music; exorcise
sufferers from witchcraft and the evil eye; and are always of quiet and
submissive manners, never mingling either in the intrigues of the court,
or the cabals of the Ulémas.
It is not surprising that the Turks should venerate their own Dervishes,
when they not only tolerate but even respect the Christian monks, and
regard their monasteries as holy places, bearing the names of saints,
and inhabited by men wholly devoted to God. To such a height, indeed, do
they carry this reverence, that they permit the communities of several
convents built on the charming little group of islands, called “Princes’
Islands,” situated in the Propontis, not more than two leagues from
Constantinople, to be summoned to their chapel to prayer by the ringing
of bells; a privilege which is not accorded to any Christian church
devoted to a general congregation; but perhaps the greatest proof that
can be adduced of their veneration for religious societies exists in the
fact that in the mausoleum of the principal Tekiè at Iconium lies one
of the most celebrated of Musselmaun saints, Mollah Hunkiar, and beside
him a Christian monk, to whom he had been so tenderly attached during
his life, that he desired in his will that they should not be separated
after death. The two tombs still exist, and what renders the anecdote
still more worthy of record, is the circumstance that it is the Chèïk or
Abbot of this very monastery, who has the privilege of girding on the
sword of the Sultan in the Mosque of Eyoub, on his accession to the
Ottoman throne.
The Turks do not consider their women worthy to become Dervishes, but
they, nevertheless, respect the Christian nuns; and a somewhat curious
proof of this fact was given in 1818, on the receipt by the Sultan and
his favourite minister, Halet Effendi, of two petitions drawn up by a
sisterhood at Genoa, in which were set forth the injuries done to their
convent by the French Republicans, terminating with a prayer to “his
very pious Highness,” to send to them, as a present, three Turkey
carpets to cover the floor of their chapel, one of which was to be
crimson, a second purple, and the third green; and in return they
promised to pray for the health, prosperity, and glory of the august
head of the Ottoman Empire. The Sultan gallantly acceded to their
request, and the compatriotes of Roxalana received with the least
possible delay the magnificent donation by which a Musselmaun Emperor
contributed to the adornment of a temple dedicated to Christian worship.
In the cemetery of the Tekiè at Pera lies the body of the Marquis de
Bonneval, a French renegade who died a pasha; and the stone slab yet
remains there that once covered the head of Halet Effendi, the founder
of the convent, which, I have omitted to mention, is built entirely of
marble. The head of the Effendi has, however, been removed to a less
sacred place of burial, and has found a traitor’s grave.
Halet Effendi, once the favourite of the Sultan, was the cause of the
Greek insurrection, which he brought about to conceal his own disloyal
views. Having, by his intrigues, caused the appointment of Michel Suzzo
to the principality of Moldavia, and having been reproached with the
disaffection of Suzzo towards his Imperial master, the minister, who was
responsible for the conduct and loyalty of his Greek _protégé_, boldly
replied that the disaffection towards the Sultan was not that of Suzzo
individually, but of his whole nation; an assertion which he immediately
proceeded to bear out by exciting the Greeks covertly to rebellion; and
he was so well seconded by his creature that, when Ypsalanti reared his
standard in the provinces, Suzzo joined his banner, and the insurrection
in the Morea, and the revolt of the Greeks in Constantinople, with the
murder of the Patriarch, were the fearful consequences of the rebellious
coalition; a treason which Mahmoud visited on his favourite with a
sentence of exile to Iconia, giving him, at the same time, an autograph
letter, in which he pledged himself to respect both his life and
property; but, after the lapse of a few years, repenting an act of
clemency so misplaced, the Sultan dispatched a Capedjee-basha, furnished
with a Firman of recall, to his banished courtier, who found Halet
Effendi at Iconia, and presented his credentials. The exile, overjoyed
at so sudden and unlooked-for a change in his fortunes, lost no time in
preparing for his return to Constantinople; but he had not long confided
himself to the keeping of the Capedjee-basha when the bowstring
terminated his existence, and the executioner hastened back to Stamboul,
carrying along with him the head of his victim.
This ghastly memorial of their benefactor was consigned, at their urgent
request, to the Dervishes of Pera, who buried it in their grave-yard,
beneath the small slab of stone, which, in a Turkish cemetery, indicates
to the initiated that the deceased above whom it is placed has perished
by violence; but it had not lain there more than a few days, when the
Sultan chanced to inquire how it had been disposed of; and, hearing
that it had received burial at this Tekiè, of whose order, entitled
Mevlavies, he is himself a member, (and whose chapel in which he
formerly performed his evolutions he still frequents, although in
private, occupying, on his visits, one of the latticed closets,) he
ordered that it should be immediately disinterred and carried to Balata,
where the common sewers of the city empty themselves into the Bosphorus.
This was accordingly done; and the turban-crested pillar that surmounts
the slab now only serves to indicate the spot where rested for a few
brief days the dishonoured head of Halet Effendi.