The Mosques at Midnight—Baron Rothschild—Firmans and
Orders—A Proposition—Masquerading—St. Sophia by
Lamplight—The Congregation—The Mosque of Sultan
Achmet—Colossal Pillars—Return to the Harem—The
Chèïk-Islam—Count Bathiany—The Party—St. Sophia by
Daylight—Erroneous Impression—Turkish Paradise—Piety of the
Turkish Women—The Vexed Traveller—Disappointment—Confusion
of Architecture—The Sweating Stone—Women’s Gallery—View from
the Gallery—Gog and Magog at Constantinople—The Impenetrable
Door—Ancient Tradition—Leads of the Mosque—Gallery of the
Dome—The Doves—The Atmeidan—The Tree of Groans—The Mosque
of Sultan Achmet—Antique Vases—Historical Pulpit—The Inner
Court—The Six Minarets—The Mosque of Solimaniè—Painted
Windows—Ground-plan of the Principal Mosques—The Treasury of
Solimaniè—Mausoleum of Solyman the Magnificent—Model of the
Mosque at Mecca—Mausoleums in General—Indispensable
Accessories—The Medresch—Mosque of Sultan Mahmoud at
Topphannè.
Although I am about to describe to my readers a morning at the mosques,
I must nevertheless first conduct them into the mosques at midnight, by
recounting a visit to St. Sophia and Sultan Achmet, which I have
hitherto forborne to mention, in the hope (since realized) of being
enabled, ere my departure from Constantinople, both to form and to
impart a better idea of these magnificent edifices than my first
adventurous survey had rendered me capable of doing.
During a visit that I made to a Turkish family, with whom I had become
acquainted, the conversation turned on the difficulty of obtaining a
Firman to see the mosques; when it was stated that Baron Rothschild was
the only private individual to whom the favour had ever been accorded:
(probably upon the same principle that the Pope instituted the order of
St. Gregory, and bestowed the first decoration upon the Hebraic
Crœsus) and that travellers were thus dependent on the uncertain
chance of encountering, during their residence in Turkey, some
distinguished person to whom the marble doors were permitted to fall
back.
In vain I questioned and cross-questioned; I failed to obtain a ray of
hope beyond the very feeble one held out by this infrequent casualty;
and I could not refrain from expressing the bitterness of my
disappointment, with an emphasis which convinced my Musselmaun hearers
that I was sincere.
Hours passed away, and other subjects had succeeded to this most
interesting one, when, as the evening closed in, I remarked that ——
Bey, the eldest son of the house, was carrying on a very energetic
_sotto voce_ conversation with his venerable father; and I was not a
little astonished when he ultimately informed me, in his imperfect
French, that there was one method of visiting the mosques, if I had
nerve to attempt it, which would probably prove successful; and that, in
the event of my resolving to run the risk, he was himself so convinced
of its practicability, that he would accompany me, with the consent of
his father, attended by the old Kïara, or House-steward; upon the
understanding (and on this the grey-bearded Effendi had resolutely
insisted) that in the event of detection it was to be _sauve qui peut_;
an arrangement that would enable his son at once to elude pursuit, if he
exercised the least ingenuity or caution.
What European traveller, possessed of the least spirit of adventure,
would refuse to encounter danger in order to stand beneath the dome of
St. Sophia? And, above all, what wandering Giaour could resist the
temptation of entering a mosque during High Prayer?
These were the questions that I asked myself as the young Bey vowed
himself so gallantly to the venture, (to him, in any case, not without
its dangers) in order to avert from me the disappointment which I
dreaded.
I at once understood that the attempt must be made in a Turkish dress;
but this fact was of trifling importance, as no costume in the world
lends itself more readily or more conveniently to the purposes of
disguise. After having deliberately weighed the chances for and against
detection, I resolved to run the risk; and accordingly I stained my
eyebrows with some of the dye common in the harem; concealed my female
attire beneath a magnificent pelisse, lined with sables, which fastened
from my chin to my feet; pulled a _fèz_ low upon my brow; and, preceded
by a servant with a lantern, attended by the Bey, and followed by the
Kïara and a pipe-bearer, at half-past ten o’clock I sallied forth on my
adventurous errand.
We had not mentioned to either the wife or the mother of the Bey whither
we were bound, being fearful of alarming them unnecessarily; and they
consequently remained perfectly satisfied with the assurance of the old
gentleman, that I was anxious to see the Bosphorus by moonlight; though
a darker night never spread its mantle over the earth.
I am extremely doubtful whether, on a less exciting occasion, I could
have kept time with the rapid pace of my companion, over the vile
pavement of Constantinople; as it was, however, I dared not give way,
lest any one among the individuals who followed us, and who were perhaps
bound on the same errand, should penetrate my disguise.
“If we escape from St. Sophia unsuspected,” said my chivalrous friend,
“we will then make another bold attempt; we will visit the mosque of
Sultan Achmet; and as this is a high festival, if you risk the
adventure, you will have done what no Infidel has ever yet dared to do;
but I forewarn you that, should you be discovered, and fail to make your
escape on the instant, you will be torn to pieces.”
This assertion somewhat staggered me, and for an instant my woman-spirit
quailed; I contented myself, however, with briefly replying: “When we
leave St. Sophia, we will talk of this,” and continued to walk beside
him in silence. At length we entered the spacious court of the mosque,
and as the servants stooped to withdraw my shoes, the Bey murmured in my
ear: “Be firm, or you are lost!”—and making a strong effort to subdue
the feeling of mingled awe and fear, which was rapidly stealing over me,
I pulled the _fèz_ deeper upon my eyebrows, and obeyed.
On passing the threshold, I found myself in a covered peristyle, whose
gigantic columns of granite are partially sunk in the wall of which they
form a part; the floor was covered with fine matting, and the coloured
lamps, which were suspended in festoons from the lofty ceiling, shed a
broad light on all the surrounding objects. In most of the recesses
formed by the pillars, beggars were crouched down, holding in front of
them their little metal basins, to receive the _paras_ of the
charitable; while servants lounged to and fro, or squatted in groups
upon the matting, awaiting the egress of their employers. As I looked
around me, our own attendant moved forward, and raising the curtain
which veiled a double door of bronze, situated at mid-length of the
peristyle, I involuntarily shrank back before the blaze of light that
burst upon me.
Far as the eye could reach upwards, circles of coloured fire, appearing
as if suspended in mid-air, designed the form of the stupendous dome;
while beneath, devices of every shape and colour were formed by myriads
of lamps of various hues: the Imperial closet, situated opposite to the
pulpit, was one blaze of refulgence, and its gilded lattices flashed
back the brilliancy, till it looked like a gigantic meteor!
As I stood a few paces within the doorway, I could not distinguish the
limits of the edifice—I looked forward, upward—to the right hand, and
to the left—but I could only take in a given space, covered with human
beings, kneeling in regular lines, and at a certain signal bowing their
turbaned heads to the earth, as if one soul and one impulse animated the
whole congregation; while the shrill chanting of the choir pealed
through the vast pile, and died away in lengthened cadences among the
tall dark pillars which support it.
And this was St. Sophia! To me it seemed like a creation of
enchantment—the light—the ringing voices—the mysterious extent, which
baffled the earnestness of my gaze—the ten thousand turbaned Moslems,
all kneeling with their faces turned towards Mecca, and at intervals
laying their foreheads to the earth—the bright and various colours of
the dresses—and the rich and glowing tints of the carpets that veiled
the marble floor—all conspired to form a scene of such unearthly
magnificence, that I felt as though there could be no reality in what I
looked on, but that, at some sudden signal, the towering columns would
fail to support the vault of light above them, and all would become
void.
I had forgotten every thing in the mere exercise of vision;—the danger
of detection—the flight of time—almost my own identity—when my
companion uttered the single word “_Gel_—Come”—and, passing forward to
another door on the opposite side of the building, I instinctively
followed him, and once more found myself in the court.
What a long breath I drew, as the cold air swept across my forehead! I
felt like one who has suddenly stepped beyond the circle of an
enchanter, and dissolved the spell of some mighty magic.
“Whither shall we now bend our way?” asked my companion, as we resumed
our shoes.
“To Sultan Achmet,”—I answered briefly. I could not have bestowed many
words on my best friend at that moment; the very effort at speech was
painful.
In ten minutes more we stood before the mosque of Sultan Achmet, and,
ascending the noble flight of steps which lead to the principal
entrance, we again cast off our shoes, and entered the temple.
Infinitely less vast than St. Sophia, this mosque impressed me with a
feeling of awe, much greater than that which I had experienced in
visiting its more stately neighbour—four colossal pillars of marble,
five or six feet in circumference, support the dome, and these were
wreathed with lamps, even to the summit; while the number of lights
suspended from the ceiling gave the whole edifice the appearance of a
space overhung with stars. We entered at a propitious moment, for the
Faithful were performing their prostrations, and had consequently no
time to speculate on our appearance; the chanting was wilder and
shriller than that which I had just heard at St. Sophia; it sounded to
me, in fact, more like the delirious outcry, which we may suppose to
have been uttered by a band of Delphic Priestesses, than the voices of a
choir of uninspired human beings.
We passed onward over the yielding carpets, which returned no sound
beneath our footsteps: and there was something strangely supernatural
in the spectacle of several human beings moving along, without creating
a single echo in the vast space they traversed. We paused an instant
beside the marble-arched platform, on which the muezzin was performing
his prostrations to the shrill cry of the choir;—we lingered another,
to take a last look at the kneeling thousands who were absorbed in their
devotions; and then, rapidly descending into the court, my companion
uttered a hasty congratulation on the successful issue of our bold
adventure, to which I responded a most heartfelt ‘Amen’—and in less
than an hour, I cast off my _fèz_ and my pelisse in the harem
of——Effendi, and exclaimed to its astonished inmates:—“I have seen
the mosques!”
Knowing what I now know of the Turks, I would not run the same risk a
second time, though the Prophet’s Beard were to be my recompense. There
are some circumstances in which ignorance of the extent of the danger is
its best antidote.
But the feeling that remained on my mind was vague even to pain; I had
seen St. Sophia, it is true, and seen it in all the glory of its million
lamps; I had beheld it at a moment when no christian eye had ever
heretofore looked on it; and when detection would have involved instant
destruction. I had lifted aside the veil from the Holy of
Holies—witnessed the prostration which followed the thrilling cry of
“Allah Il Allah!”—and polluted, with the breath of a Giaour, the
atmosphere of the True Believers—I had looked upon the Chèïk-Islam, as
he stood with his face turned Mecca-ward, his pale brow cinctured with
gold, and his stately figure draped in white cachemere—and I had stood
erect when every head was bowed, and every knee bent at the name of the
Prophet; but still I had no definite idea of the mosque of St. Sophia;
on the contrary, the wish that I had formerly felt to visit it grew to a
positive craving from the hour in which I found myself at midnight
beneath its fire-girdled dome, and glanced out into the deep and
mysterious darkness beyond; and it was not until months afterwards that
it was satisfied, when the arrival of Count Bathiany, an Hungarian
nobleman, brother to the Princess Metternich, gave an opportunity to the
curious of indulging their lion-hunting propensities.
The party assembled at half-past ten in the morning at one of the gates
of the city, near the Seraglio wall, known by the name of “The Gate of
the Garden.” There were horsemen and pedestrians—ladies in arabas, and
on foot—spruce _attachés_, grave elderly gentlemen, anxious
antiquaries, officers of the navy, dragomen, foreign nobles, native
servants, and a motley train of sailors and attendants, carrying the
slippers of their several masters.
But if the eye were confused by the number of objects by which it was
attracted as our party passed, procession-like, through the narrow
streets, amid the comments and not unfrequently the scowls of the Turks,
who bear but impatiently this licensed profanation of their temples; the
ear was infinitely more so by the confusion of languages which assailed
it on all sides; here, two Russians almost set your teeth on edge as
they exchanged a few sentences—there, a couple of Germans deluded you
for the first moment into a belief that they were conversing in
English—on one side, a dark-eyed stranger begged your pardon in his low
soft Italian, for an awkwardness of which you were not conscious, and
thus gave himself an opportunity of addressing you during the morning,
without rudeness—and on the other, two smart midshipmen laughed out in
the lightness of their hearts words which told of home, because they
were breathed in the language of your own land—while a constant chorus
of Turkish, Greek, and Arab, was kept up by the attendants in the rear.
At length we reached St. Sophia; and I felt my heart beat quicker, as I
once more traversed the flagged court, and passed the elegant fountain,
at which the Faithful perform their ablutions; with its projecting
octagonal roof, its marble basin, and its covering of close iron
net-work, to protect the spring from the pollution of the birds.
At the entrance of the peristyle to which I have before alluded, we put
on the slippers we had provided, and, as soon as we had all passed, the
doors were closed.
How different was the aspect of every object around me from that which
it wore on my last visit! Then, all was refulgent with light; and now, a
sacred gloom hung upon the dark walls, and floated like a veil about our
path. Few were they who did not pass on in silence; for there is a power
and a sublimity in scenes like the one I am attempting to describe,
which overawe for awhile even the most vulgar minds; while to the
susceptible and contemplative the spell is deepened a thousand-fold.
One burst, rather of sound than speech—the wordless tribute of
irrepressible admiration—heralded our passage across the block of
porphyry upon which close the interior doors of the mosque; and in less
than a moment the richly carpeted floor of marble, porphyry, jasper, and
verd-antique, was mosaiced with groups of gazers throughout its whole
extent. Some stood riveted to the spot on which they had first halted,
as if touched by the wand of an enchanter, and scarcely stirring a limb
in the excess of their absorbing contemplation; others hurried rapidly
along, as though breathless with eager and impatient curiosity—one
tall, pale man, with amber-coloured mustachioes and long thin fingers,
was already taking notes, with his little red book resting against the
boots that he carried in his hand; and a couple of antiquaries were just
commencing a dispute _sotto voce_ relatively to some pillars of Egyptian
granite on the left hand side of the temple.
Nor were the Imams idle; for they had instantly detected the unhandsome
intrusion of one traveller with his boots on; an insult so great, that
no Moslem can tolerate it; and they were busily employed in compelling
their removal: accompanying the ceremony with certain epithets addressed
to the Giaour, with which, if he were unfortunate enough to understand
them, he had no opportunity of feeling flattered.
Our party were not, however, the only tenants of the vast pile. A group
of Ulemas were engaged in prayer as we entered, nor did they suffer our
presence to interfere with their devotions; and almost in the centre of
the floor knelt a party of women similarly engaged, while a couple of
children, who had accompanied them, were chasing each other over the
rich carpets.
An erroneous impression has obtained in Europe that females do not
attend, or rather, I should perhaps say, are not permitted to enter, the
mosques; this, as I have just shewn, is by no means the case; the
entrance is forbidden to them only during the midnight prayer. And, in
like manner, I had been taught to believe, before I visited the country,
that the Turks denied to their women the possession of souls: this is as
false a position as the other. It is true that the lordly Moslem claims
a paradise apart; where Hourii are to wreathe his brow with
ever-blooming flowers—pour his sherbet in streams of perfume into its
crystal vase—and fill his chibouk with fragrance.[5] But, amid these
voluptuous dreams, he does not quite overlook the eternal interests of
his mere earthly partner; I do not believe that her future enjoyments
are as clearly defined as those which he arrogates to himself—there is
a little harem-like mystery flung over the destiny that awaits her; but,
meanwhile, he does not altogether shut her out from the promise of a
hereafter, from which he himself anticipates so full a portion of
felicity.
The Turkish women are intuitively pious; the exercises of religion are
admirably suited to their style of existence. In the seclusion of the
harem the hour of prayer is an epoch of unwearying interest to the
whole of its inhabitants; and there is something touching and beautiful
in the humility with which, when they have spread their prayer-carpets,
they veil themselves with a scarf of white muslin, ere they intrude into
the immediate presence of their Maker.
Being aware of all this, the appearance of females in the mosque of St.
Sophia did not produce the same effect upon me as upon many of the
party. Those who were lately from Europe could scarcely believe their
eyes; and when, in reply to the remark of a person who stood near me,
expressing his astonishment at such an apparition, I explained to him
that the presence of females in the different mosques was of constant
and hourly occurrence, he looked so exceedingly annoyed at the sweeping
away of his ancient prejudices, that I verily believe he thought the
deficiency of the whole female Empire of Turkey must be transferred to
my own little person, and that I, at least, could have no soul.
Upon the whole, the first view of St. Sophia disappointed me; I had
carried away an idea of much greater extent; spacious as it was, I could
now see from one extremity of the wide edifice to the other—I was no
longer bewildered by the blaze of innumerable lights—and I know not
wherefore, but I regretted the mysterious indistinctness of outline
which had thralled me during my midnight visit.
Ignorant as I am also of architecture as a science, I have a sufficient
perception of the beautiful and the symmetrical, to make me lament the
incongruous medley of different orders and materials by which I was
surrounded. What gigantic pillars encircle the dome!—What individual
treasures are collected together! But with what recklessness are they
forced into juxtaposition! Columns of varying sizes and proportions;
some of Egyptian granite, others of porphyry, others again of scagliola,
and various precious marbles, are scattered, like the fragments of many
distinct buildings, throughout the whole body of the edifice. The eye is
bewildered, and the mind remains unsatisfied.
Eight of the porphyry pillars are relics of the temple of Heliopolis;
while those of _verd-antique_ are from that of Ephesus. The walls are
lined with marble, jasper, porphyry, and verd-antique, to the height of
a gallery which surrounds the temple; and which, like the base of the
building, is floored with rich marbles, and supported by plain columns
of the same material. But the dome, which was formerly adorned with
minute mosaics, was white-washed when the Turks converted St. Sophia
into a mosque; and the original richness of the design is now only to
be deciphered in spots where the plaster has fallen away; added to
which, the inferior Imams attached to the building make a trade of the
fragments of mosaic that they are continually tearing down, and which
are eagerly bought up by travellers, who thus encourage a Vandalism
whose destructive effects are irreparable.
Before we ascended to the gallery, we were introduced to one of the
miracles of the place, in the shape of a column; a portion of whose
surface is cased with iron, in one part of which a deep cavity is worn
away beneath the metal; and into this orifice the visiter is invited to
insert his finger, in order to convince himself of the humidity of the
marble. This column is called by the Imams “the Sweating Stone;” but if
the indignation of the inanimate matter at the transformation of a
Christian temple into a Mahommedan mosque have really reduced it to a
state of perpetual and palpable perspiration, I am under the necessity
of confessing that the miracle was not wrought for me; for, on making
the trial, I was conscious only of an extreme chill.
Hence we ascended by a very dilapidated and crumbling spiral stair to
the gallery, devoted originally to the use of the women, and capacious
enough to contain several hundreds; and here the mosaic merchants
plunged their hands into their breasts, and from amid the folds of their
garments drew forth some thousands of the gilt and coloured stones which
they had torn away from the elaborately-ornamented dome.
These were soon disposed of, and then we were permitted to contemplate
at our ease the marvels of the mighty pile, with its vast uncumbered
space, its bronzed columns, (many of them clamped with iron to enable
them to resist more powerfully the ravages of time,) and the huge,
shapeless, mystic-looking masses of dark shadow immediately beneath the
dome, which, after you have lost yourself in a thousand vague
conjectures on their nature and purport, turn out to be nothing more
than the mere daubing of some journeyman painter for the purpose of
effacing two mighty cherubim, that, in days of yore, pointed to the
Christian votary the way to Heaven, but which now, in the dim twilight
of the place, look like familiar spirits, shapeless and grim, guarding
the accumulated relics of the days of paganism, congregated beneath
them.
The view from this gallery, at the upper extremity of the mosque, is
extremely imposing; from that point you take in, and feel, all the
extent of the edifice, whose effect is rendered the more striking, from
the fact that it is entirely laid bare beneath you, being totally free
from the divisions and subdivisions which in Catholic chapels are
necessary for the location of the different shrines. Plain and
unornamented, save by the casing of marble already alluded to, the walls
tower upward in severe beauty, until they reach the base of the stately
dome, which is poized, as if by some mighty magic, on the capitals of a
circle of gigantic and rudely fashioned pillars; immediately beneath you
are the columns that support the gallery in which you stand, throughout
the whole extent of the temple; while on your left hand the marble
pulpit, with its flight of noble steps, shut in by a finely sculptured
door of the same material, and on your right the Imperial closet, with
its gilded lattices, complete the detail of the picture.
The two huge waxen candles occupying the sides of the arched recess, or
_mihrab_, at the eastern end of the building, are lighted every night,
and last exactly twelve months; they are the very Gog and Magog of
wax-chandlery, and must be at least eighteen inches in circumference.
In making the tour of the gallery, we came upon a door that had been
stopped with masonry; the frame into which it had originally fitted is
of white marble, and remains quite perfect. There are traces of violence
on the brick-work, which appears to have been secured by some powerful
cement that has indurated with age, until it has acquired the solidity
of stone, and has become capable of resisting any ordinary effort to
remove it; and this door is the second miracle of St. Sophia.
The legend runs that the united attempts of all the masons of Stamboul
are powerless against the rude masonry that blocks the entrance of this
passage, by reason of a wondrous and most potent talisman, which human
means have as yet failed to weaken; but that it conducts to an apartment
in which a Greek Bishop is seated before a reading-desk perusing an open
volume of so holy a nature, that no Moslem eye must ever rest upon it.
Nor does the tradition end here, for both the Turks and Greeks have a
firm faith in the prophecies which have been made, that St. Sophia will
one day revert to the Christians, on which occasion the walled-up Bishop
will emerge from his concealment, and chant a solemn high mass at the
great altar.
The latter portion of the legend would imply that the superstition is of
remote origin. I felt glad of this—these mystic imaginings require to
be enveloped in the mist of centuries, in order to elevate the
ridiculous into the sublime, and to attract our fancy without revolting
our reason.
From the gallery we passed out upon the leads that cover the inferior
cupolas of the building, and screen the mausoleums of the Sultans, and
other distinguished personages, whose ashes repose within the holy
precincts of St. Sophia; and, after traversing a number of these, and
crouching through several low and narrow stone passages, stopping at
intervals to contemplate the magnificent views that were spread out
beneath us on all sides, and which varied every moment as we advanced,
we at length found ourselves at the foot of the ruinous and crumbling
stair, or rather ascent, (for the traces of steps are almost worn away)
leading to the gallery encircling the dome.
Few of the party were disheartened by the difficulty; and accordingly we
slipped and scrambled towards the summit, and resolved to see all the
marvels of the place; but when the narrow door which opens from the
gallery was flung back by the guide, “a change came o’er the spirit of
our dream”—and out of the hundred individuals who were lion-hunting at
St. Sophia, there were only seven who possessed nerve enough to make the
tour of the dome. Many a fair lady and gallant knight leant for an
instant over the slender fence, and looked down into the body of the
building while clinging firmly to the rail; gazing on men reduced to the
dimensions of pigmies, and wide carpets dwindled to the proportions of a
pocket handkerchief; but a brief survey contented them, and they drew
back from the dizzy spectacle, with swimming heads and aching eyes.
Seven individuals only, as I have already mentioned, detached themselves
from the throng, of which number I was one; and I understood at once the
secret of the line of light that had struck me so forcibly on the night
of my first visit, when I remarked the clustered lamps which were still
attached to the lower railing of the gallery; and I wondered no longer
at the sublime effect they had produced, as I perceived the immense
height at which they had been placed.
The path we had to follow was about a foot in width, and the slight
railing that protected it was secured by iron bars to the wall beyond;
but in two places the projecting ledge that formed the passage had lost
its horizontal position, and sloped downwards at the outer edge, giving
a most uncomfortable projection to the wooden fence; these little
inconveniences were, however, amply compensated by the sublime effect of
the edifice, seen thus, as it seemed, from the clouds; while the
beautiful proportions of the dome became tenfold more evident as the eye
took in its whole extent, unbewildered by the immense space which had
baffled it from below.
While I stood gazing on the magnificent spectacle spread out beneath
me, a couple of doves winged their tranquil flight across the body of
the mosque, to their resting-places on the opposite side of the
building. As these birds are held sacred by the Musselmauns, they abound
about all their public edifices, and multiply to an extraordinary
extent; and their appearance, at a moment when my fancy was awakened,
and my feelings excited, by the objects of beauty and of grandeur that
surrounded me, produced an effect so powerful as to give birth to a very
different train of ideas from those in which I had previously been
indulging.[6]
The tour of the gallery completed our survey of the far-famed St.
Sophia; and flinging off the slippers which we had drawn over our shoes,
we exchanged the marble floor, covered with yielding carpets, for the
steep and stony streets leading to the mosque of Sultan Achmet.
On passing through the Atmeidan (or Place of Horses) on one side of
which the mosque is situated, a large plane tree was pointed out to me,
from whose branches Sultan Mahmoud caused several of the principal
Janissaries to be hanged, during the destruction of that formidable
body, whence it is called by the Turks “the Tree of Groans.” The
exterior of the building was already familiar to me, as it was from the
courtyard of Sultan Achmet that I had seen the procession of the
Kourban-Baïram; but of its interior I retained only the same dreamy,
indistinct impression which I had carried away on the same occasion from
St. Sophia.
The mosque of Sultan Achmet is remarkable for the immensity of the four
colossal columns that support the dome, to which I have already alluded;
and from the fact that the decree against the Janissaries was unrolled
and read by the Chief Priest from its marble pulpit. An air of solemn
and religious grandeur is shed over it by the dim twilight that enters
through the windows of clouded glass; and it possesses a side gallery,
roofed with mosaic and supported by marble pillars, which produces a
very pleasing effect; but beyond this, there is little to attract in its
detail, if, indeed, I except the curious and valuable collection of
antique vases, many of them richly inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and
various coloured stones, (and all of them, as the Imam assured us,
authentic) which are suspended from the transverse bars of iron that
support the lamps, intermixed with ostrich eggs, bunches of corn in the
ear, and similar symbols of abundance.
The inner court of the mosque is truly beautiful, being surrounded by an
open cloister supported by graceful columns in the Arabian taste, whose
capitals resemble clusters of stalactites, and whose slender shafts
shoot upwards almost with the lightness of a minaret. In the centre of
the court, a stately fountain pours forth its sparkling waters; and on
the left hand as you enter is situated the marble balcony from which are
read all the Imperial Firmans that possess public interest. Near the
gate of entrance, stands an immense block of porphyry of singular
beauty, resting upon two masses of stone; on which the dead are exposed
previous to their interment; no corpse being permitted to defile the
interior of the mosque, and the Sultans themselves having the funeral
prayers read over them in the open air.
The mosque of Sultan Achmet is the only one in the city that has six
minarets. This peculiarity arose from the desire of the Sultan to be the
first monarch who should build a mosque in his capital, rivalling that
of Mecca in the number of its minarets; but, as this could not be done
without permission of the Mufti, compliance with the Imperial request
was delayed, until steps had been taken to increase those at Mecca to
seven, as it was not deemed expedient for any other mosque to enjoy the
same privileges as that which is sanctified by the presence of the
Prophet’s Tomb.
These minarets are arranged with the most beautiful taste: two of them
are attached to the main body of the building, while the four others
pierce through the dense foliage of the stately forest trees which
encircle the mosque, with an irregularity singularly graceful. Their
transparent galleries of perforated masonry (three in number) girdle the
slender shafts with the lightness and delicacy of net-work, and their
pointed spires, touched with gold, gleam out like stars through the
clear blue of the surrounding horizon.
From the mosque of Sultan Achmet we proceeded to that of Solimaniè,
built by Solyman the Magnificent, which is considered to be the most
elegant edifice in Stamboul. Its interior is eminently cheerful and
attractive; and the splendid windows of stained glass are the spoils of
its founder, who, subsequently to a victory obtained over the Persians,
bore them away in triumph to enrich the present building, which was then
in a state of progression. The four pillars that support the dome are
slight and well-proportioned; but the four porphyry columns which form
the angles of the temple are the boast of the edifice; they originally
served as pedestals to as many antique statues, and are of surpassing
symmetry. St. Sophia, amid all the remains which are collected beneath
its roof, possesses nothing so fine; and, independently of these, there
is a greater attempt at architectural elaboration throughout the whole
building, than in either of the mosques that we had previously visited.
The pulpit is very peculiar, being shaped somewhat like the blossom of
the aram, which it the more resembles from the fact that the marble
whereof it is formed is of the most snowy whiteness; and the great doors
of the main entrance are richly inlaid with devices of mother-of-pearl.
Attached to the wall, near the platform of the muezzin, hangs a long
scroll of parchment, on which are traced, in black and gold, the
ground-plans of the five principal mosques in the world—viz. those of
Mecca, Medina, Jerusalem, St. Sophia, and Adrianople. It is evidently of
great antiquity, and was precisely the description of relic which an
antiquary would have valued; while even to the unscientific it was an
object of considerable interest.
There is one peculiarity in the mosque of Solimaniè, which it were an
injustice to the Turkish government to pass over in silence; and which
is in itself so interesting, that I am surprised no traveller has yet
made it matter of record.
An open gallery, extending along the whole of the northern side of the
edifice, is filled with chests of various sizes and descriptions, piled
one on the other, and carefully marked; these chests contain treasure,
principally in gold, silver, and jewels, to a vast amount; and are all
the property of individuals, who, in the event of their leaving the
country, family misunderstandings, or from other causes, require a place
of safety in which to deposit their wealth. Each package being
accurately described, and scrupulously secured, is received and
registered at Solimaniè by the proper authorities, and there it remains
intact and inviolate, despite national convulsions and ministerial
changes. No event, however unexpected, or however extraordinary, is
suffered to affect the sacredness of the trust; and no consideration of
country, or of religion, militates against the admission of such
deposits as may be tendered, by persons anxious to secure their property
against casualties.
On one side may be seen the fortune of an orphan confided to the keeping
of the Directors of the Institution during his minority; on the other,
the capital of a merchant who is pursuing his traffic over seas. All
classes and all creeds alike avail themselves of the security of the
depository; and, although an individual may fail to reclaim his property
for twenty, fifty, or even an unlimited number of years, no seal is ever
broken, no lock is ever forced. And despite that this great National
Bank, for as such it may truly be considered, offers not only an easy,
but an efficient and abundant, mean of supply, no instance has ever
been known in which government has made an effort to avail itself of the
treasures of Solimaniè. As the property is deposited, so is it
withdrawn—the proper documents are produced, and the chest or desk is
delivered up without the demand of a piastre from those who have acted
as its guardians.
The despotism of the Turkish government cannot, in this instance, be
subject of complaint; when, amid all its reverses, and all its
necessities, it has ever respected the property thus trustingly
confided; while it can scarcely be denied that the admirable integrity,
which is the great safeguard of the heaped-up wealth within the walls of
the mosque, is at least as worthy of commendation, as the generous
liberality which has foreborne to levy a tax upon so valuable a
privilege.
From the mosque we passed out by a charming covered walk to the
mausoleum of the Magnificent Solyman; an elegant cupolaed building, with
a fluted roof projecting about two feet forward, cased with marble on
the outside, and finely painted within in delicate frescoes. An enormous
plane tree flings its tortuous branches over the beautiful edifice,
which has far more the aspect of a temple than a tomb; and the sunshine
falls flickeringly on the marble steps, as it struggles through the
fresh leaves. The floor is richly carpeted, and along the centre are
ranged the sarcophagi of Solyman the Magnificent and his successor, of
Sultan Akhmet, and of the two daughters of the Imperial founder of the
mosque. Those of the Sultans are adorned with lofty turbans of white
muslin, decorated with aigrettes, and attached to the sarcophagi by
costly shawls; the tombs of the Princesses are covered plainly with
cachemire of a dark green colour, and are considerably injured by time.
An admirable model of the mosque of Mecca occupied a stand on the right
of the entrance, and was an object of general curiosity; it was well
executed, and gave an excellent idea not only of the building itself but
of the approaches to it. The Tomb of the Prophet occupied the centre of
the plan; and the line of road, covered with pilgrims, with its mountain
barrier and halting-places, enabled the spectator to form an accurate
judgment of the locality.
In all mausoleums of this description, (and they abound in
Constantinople) a priest each day lights up the huge wax candles that
are placed at the feet of the sarcophagi, and leaves them burning while
he reads a chapter from the Koran. Every part of the building is kept
scrupulously clean, and a grain of dust is never suffered to pollute the
tombs; the light is freely admitted to the interior, and no feeling of
gloom connects itself with these resting-places of the dead, which are
the very types of luxury and comfort.
Each mausoleum has its peculiar priest, which renders a fact that at
first startled me infinitely less surprising; I allude to the immense
number of individuals attached to the service of each mosque—St. Sophia
alone, as I have been credibly informed, affording occupation to more
than three hundred persons!
Three accessories are indispensable to a mosque—a clock, a fountain,
and a minaret; the clock determines the hour of prayer—the fountain
enables the Faithful to perform their ablutions—and the minaret
supplies the gallery whence the muezzin warns the pious to the temple of
Allah.
But, independently of these, every Imperial mosque possesses also its
_Medresch_ or College, where the _Sophtas_ are instructed at the expense
of the establishment; and its _Imaret_, or receiving-house for pilgrims,
where wayfaring strangers are lodged and fed, and the poor are relieved
at a certain hour each day, when a distribution of food takes place to
all who think proper to solicit it. In the event of a _Kourban_, or
sacrifice, it is in the _Imaret_ that the animal is put to death, and
shared among the needy who throng its entrance to benefit by the pious
offering.
The mosque of Sultan Mahmoud at Topphannè is greatly enhanced in beauty
by the splendid fountain and clock-house which he has built on either
side of the entrance; and whose gilded lattice-work, and paintings in
arabesque are truly Oriental in their taste; this small but elegant
mosque is also remarkable for the gilt spires of its minarets, and the
stately flight of marble steps by which it is approached.
The ruins of a mosque still remain in Constantinople which was
overthrown by an earthquake, wherein the tomb of the Sultan by whom it
was built, was covered with a slab of red marble, said to have been the
identical stone on which our Saviour was stretched on his descent from
the cross, embalmed, and prepared for the sepulchre!
All the principal mosques are surrounded, and partially overshadowed, by
ancient and stately trees, that, in many cases, appear to be coeval with
the edifice, and through whose leafy screen portions of the white
building gleam out in strong relief; and these are dominated in their
turn by the arrowy minarets, which, springing from a dense mass of
foliage, cut sharply against the clear sky, and heighten the beauty of
the picture.
I have seldom spent a morning of more absorbing interest than that which
I passed among the Mosques of Constantinople.