Orientalism of Broussa—Costume of the Men—Plain
Women—Turbans and Yashmacs—Facility of Ingress to the
Mosques—Oulou Jamè—Polite Imam—Eastern Quasimodo—Ascent of
the Minaret—The Charshee—Travelling Hyperboles—Silk
Bazàr—Silk Merchants’ Khan—Fountains of Broussa—Broussa and
Lisbon—The Baths—Wild Flowers—Tzekerghè—Mosque of Sultan
Mourad—Madhouse—Court of the Mosque—Singular
Fountain—Mausoleum of Sultan Mourad—Golden Gate—Local
Legend—The Tomb-house—More Vandalism—Ancient
Turban—Comfortable Cemeteries—Subterranean Vault Great
Bath—Hot Spring—Baths and Bathers—Miraculous Baths—Armenian
Doctress—Situation of Tzekerghè—Storks and Tortoises—Turkish
Cheltenham.
The city of Broussa is infinitely more oriental in its aspect than
Stamboul; scarcely a Frank is to be seen in the streets; no French
shops, glittering with gilded timepieces and porcelain tea-services, jar
upon your associations; not a Greek woman stirs abroad without flinging
a long white veil over her gaudy turban, and concealing her gay coloured
dress beneath a ferdijhe; while the Turks themselves almost look like
men of another nation.
I do not believe that, excepting in the palace of the Pasha, there are a
hundred _fèz_-wearing Osmanlis in the whole city. Such turbans!
mountains of muslin, and volumes of cachemire; Sultan Mahmoud would
infallibly faint at the sight of them; worn, as many of them are,
falling upon one shoulder, and confined by a string in consequence of
their great weight. Such watches! the size, and almost the shape, of
oranges—such ample drawers of white cotton, and flowing garments of
striped silk, and girdles of shawl! The women, meanwhile, except such as
belonged to quite the lower orders, were almost invisible; I scarcely
encountered one Turkish woman of condition in my walks, and those who
passed in the arabas kept the latticed windows so closely shut, despite
the heat, that it was impossible to get a glimpse of them. The men were
a much finer race than those of Constantinople; I rarely met a Turk who
was not extremely handsome, and much above the middle height; while the
few women whom I _did_ see were proportionably unattractive.
There is not a greater difference in the mode of wearing the turban by
the one sex at Broussa, than in that of wearing the yashmac by the
other. In Constantinople it is bound over the mouth, and in most
instances over the lower part of the nose, and concealed upon the
shoulders by the feridjhe. In Asia, on the contrary, it is simply
fastened, in most cases, under the chin, and is flung over the mantle,
hanging-down the back like a curtain. In the capital, the yashmac is
made of fine thin muslin, through which the painted handkerchief, and
the diamond pins that confine it, can be distinctly seen; and arranged
with a coquetry perfectly wonderful. At Broussa it is composed of thick
cambric, and bound so tightly about the head that it looks like a
shroud.
One circumstance particularly struck me at Broussa—I allude to the
facility of visiting the mosques. While those of Stamboul are almost a
sealed volume to the general traveller, he may purchase ingress to every
mosque in Broussa for a few piastres; and well do many of them deserve a
visit. That of Oulou Jamè, situated in the heart of the city, is the
finest and most spacious of the whole. Its roof is formed by twenty
graceful domes, of which the centre one is open to the light, being
simply covered with iron net-work. Beneath this dome is placed a fine
fountain of white marble, whose capacious outer basin, filled with fine
tench, is fed from a lesser one, whence the water is flung into the air,
and falls back with a cool monotonous murmur, prolonged and softened by
the echoes of the vast edifice. The effect of this stately fountain, the
first that I had yet seen within a mosque, was extremely beautiful; its
pure pale gleam contrasting powerfully with the deep frescoes of the
walls, and the gaudily-coloured prayer-carpets strown at intervals over
the matting which covered the pavement. The pulpit, with its heavily
screened stair, was of inlaid wood; and the whole building remarkable
rather for its fine proportions and elegant fountain than for the
richness of its details. The scrolls containing the name of Allah, and
those of the four Prophets, were boldly and beautifully executed; and
the arched recess at the eastern end of the temple painted with some
taste.
[Illustration: Miss Pardoe del.
Day & Haghe Lith^{rs}. to the King.
THE ROOF OF OULOU JAMÈ, FROM THE GARDEN OF THE GREEK CHURCH.
_Henry Colburn, 13 G^t. Marlborough S^t. 1837._]
The High Priest was reading from the Koràn when we entered, with his
green turban and pelisse deposited on the carpet beside him. His
utterance was rapid and monotonous, and accompanied by a short, quick
motion of the body extremely disagreeable to the spectator. As we
approached close to him, he suddenly discontinued reading, and examined
us with the most minute attention; after which he resumed his lecture,
and took no further notice of our intrusion. In one corner we passed a
man sound asleep—in another, a woman on her knees before the name of
Allah in earnest prayer, with the palms of her hands turned upwards. On
one carpet an Imam was praying, surrounded by half a dozen youths,
apparently students of the medresch attached to the mosque; while on
every side parties of True Believers were squatted down before their low
reading desks, studying their daily portion of the Koràn.
The Imam who accompanied us in our tour of the mosque was so indulgent
as even to allow me to retain my shoes, alleging that they were so light
as to be mere slippers, and that consequently it was unnecessary to put
them off; and on my expressing a wish to ascend one of the minarets, the
keeper was sent for to open the door and accompany me; nor shall I
easily forget the object who obeyed the summons.
His brow girt with the turban of sacred green—his distorted body
enclosed within a dark wrapping vest of cotton—and his short, crooked
legs covered with gaiters of coarse cloth—moved forward a humped and
barefooted dwarf with a long gristled beard, whose thin skinny fingers
grasped a pole much higher than himself; and who, after eyeing us with
attention for a moment with a glance as keen and hungry as that of a
wolf, sidled up close to the servant, and growling out “_backshich_,”
with an interrogative accent, began to fumble amid the folds of his
garment for the key of the tower; and at length withdrew it with a grin,
which made his enormous mouth appear to extend across the whole of his
wrinkled and bearded countenance. As I looked at him I thought of
Quasimodo—the monster of Nôtre Dame could scarcely have been more
frightful!
Having carefully concealed his pole behind a pile of carpets, and flung
back the narrow door of the minaret, this Turkish Quasimodo led the way
up a flight of broken and dangerous stone steps, in perfect darkness,
consoling himself for the exertion which we had thus entailed on him by
an occasional fiend-like chuckle, when he observed any hesitation or
delay on the part of those who followed him; and a low murmured commune
with himself, in which the word _backshich_ was peculiarly audible.
The stair terminated at a small door opening on the narrow gallery,
whence the _muezzin_ calls The Faithful to prayers. The burst of light
on the opening of this door was almost painful; nor is the sensation
experienced when standing within the gallery altogether one of comfort.
The height is so great, the fence so low, and the gallery itself so
narrow, that a feeling of dizziness partially incapacitates the
unaccustomed spectator from enjoying to its full extent the glories of
the scene that is spread out before him, and which embraces not only the
wide plain seen from the ruins of the Imperial Palace, but the whole
chain of mountains that hem it in.
After a great deal of stumbling, slipping, and scrambling, we again
found ourselves beside the fountain of Oulou Jamè; and, on leaving the
mosque, remarked with some surprise that its minarets are painted in
fresco on the outside, to about one-fourth of their height.
Having presented Quasimodo with a _backshich_, which sent him halting
away with a second hideous grin, we proceeded to the Charshee, which is
of considerable extent. As it chanced to be Sunday, the stalls usually
occupied by Armenian and Greek merchants were closed; but many a Hassan,
an Abdallah, and a Soleiman was squatted upon his carpet, with his wares
temptingly arranged around him, his long beard falling to his girdle,
his chibouk lying on the carpet beside him, and his slippers resting
against its edge. Here, a green-turbaned descendant of the Prophet, with
half a dozen ells of shawl twisted about his head, dark fiery eyes, and
a beard as white as snow, pointed silently as we passed to his embossed
silver pistols, his richly-wrought yataghans, and his velvet-sheathed
and gilded scimitars. There, a keen-looking Dervish, with his broad flat
girdle buckled with a clasp of agate, and his gray cap pulled low upon
his forehead, extended towards us one of his neatly-turned ivory
perfume-boxes.
While examining his merchandize we might have been inclined to believe
that we could purchase of him perpetual youth, and imperishable beauty.
He had dyes, and washes, and pastes, and powders—essences, and oils,
and incenses, and perfumed woods—amulets, and chaplets, and
consecrated bracelets, and holy rings; all set forth with an order and
precision worthy of their high qualities. A little further on, a
solemn-looking individual presided over a miniature representation of
Araby the Blest—Spices were piled around him pyramidically, or confined
in crystal vases, according to their nature and costliness: there were
sacks of cloves, heaps of mace, piles of ginger, mountains of nutmegs,
hampers of allspice, baskets of pepper, faggots of cinnamon, and many
others less commonly known. Opposite the spice-merchant was the gay
stall of the slipper-maker, with its gaudy glories of purple, crimson,
and yellow—its purple for the Jew, its crimson for the Armenian, and
its yellow for the Turk. I purchased a pair of slippers of the true
Musselmaun colour, for which I paid about twice as much as their value,
being a Frank; and we then continued our walk.
Not far from the slipper-merchant, on the platform in front of one of
the closed shops, sat a ragged Turk, surrounded by flowers of a pale
lilac colour, which emitted a delicious odour. While I was purchasing
some, I inquired whence they came, and learnt that they were wild
auriculas from Mount Olympus. I paid twice the price demanded for them,
and bore them off. How knew I but that the seed might have been sown by
Venus herself?
I had been told, previously to my leaving England, and indeed before I
had an idea of visiting Turkey, that the stalls of the sweetmeat venders
resembled fairy-palaces built of coloured spars; and this too by an
individual who had resided a few weeks at Constantinople. I can only
say, that with every disposition to do ample justice to all I saw, my
own ideas of enchantment are much nearer realization at Grange’s or
Farrance’s. The Turks do not understand that nicety of arrangement which
produces so much effect in our metropolitan shops; and with the
exception of the perfume and silk merchants, and perhaps one or two
others, they are singularly slovenly in the disposition of their
merchandize.
The sweetmeat-venders have a row of glass jars along the front of their
stalls, some filled with dried and candied fruits, others with sherbet
cakes, and others with different descriptions of coloured and perfumed
sugar; while the scented pastes, of which the Orientals are so fond, are
cut up into squares with scissors, and spread out upon sheets of paper;
or perforated with twine, and hung from the frame-work of the shops like
huge sausages. I confess that my imaginings of fairy-land extended
considerably beyond this. The merchandize itself, however, is far from
contemptible; and we found that of the Charshee of Broussa even more
highly perfumed than what we had purchased at Constantinople.
From the Charshee we passed into the silk-bazàr, which was almost
entirely closed, three-fourths of the merchants being Armenians; but
among those who were at their posts, we selected one magnificent looking
Turk, who spread out before us a pile of satin scarfs, used by the
ladies of the country for binding up their hair after the bath; the
brightest crimson and the deepest orange appeared to be the favourite
mixture, and were strongly recommended; but their texture was so
extremely coarse, and their price so exorbitant, that we declined
becoming purchasers.
On leaving the silk bazàr we proceeded to the silk merchants’ Khan, a
solid quadrangular building, having a fine stone fountain in the centre
of the paved court, the most respectable establishment of the kind
throughout the city, where their number amounts to twenty. Above the
great gate, the wrought stone cornice is curiously decorated with a
wreath of mosaic, formed of porcelain, as brightly blue as turquoise,
which has a very pretty and cheerful effect.
The number of fountains in Broussa must at least double that of the
mosques, which amount to three hundred and eighty seven. You scarcely
turn the corner of a street that is not occupied by a fountain, and it
is by no means uncommon to have three and even four in sight at the same
time, without calculating that all the good houses have each one or more
in their courts or gardens; no kiosk being considered complete without
its basin and its little _jet d’eau_. Yet, notwithstanding this
profusion of water, many of the streets are disgustingly dirty, not an
effort being made to remove the filth which accumulates from the habit
indulged in by the inhabitants of sweeping every thing to the fronts of
their houses. Indeed, setting aside the costume and the language,
Broussa and its neighbourhood are a second edition of Lisbon; nearly the
same dirt, the same bullock-cars, and luggage-mules, and rattle from
morning to night within the city; the same blue sky, sparkling water,
dense vegetation, bright flowers, and lofty trees without; the golden
Tagus of the one being replaced by the magnificent plain of the other.
After having returned home and changed our dress, we mounted our horses,
and started to see the Baths. Nothing can be more beautiful than the
road which conducts to them. Immediately on passing the gate of the
city, you wind round the foot of the mountain, and descend into the
village of Mouradiè; having the small mosque of Sultan Mourad on your
right, and in front of you, the lofty chain of land along which you are
to travel. After traversing the village, you turn abruptly to the left,
and by a gentle ascent, climb to about one-third the height of the
mountain; having on one hand the nearly perpendicular rock, and on the
other a rapid and almost unprotected descent, clothed with vines and
mulberry trees, whence the plain stretches away into the distance. The
road, as I have described, hangs on the side of the mountain, and is
fringed with wild flowers and shrubs: having the aspect of a garden; the
white lilac, the privette, the pomegranate, the rose, the woodbine, the
ruby-coloured arum, and the yellow broom, are in profusion; and it is
with compunction that you guide your horse among them when turning off
the narrow pathway at the encounter of a chance passenger; while the
perfume which fills the air, and the song of the nightingales among the
mulberry trees, complete the charm of the picture.
By this delightful road you reach the village of Tzèkerghè, in which the
Baths are situated. It possesses a very handsome mosque, which was
originally a Greek monastery. The exterior of the Temple is very
handsome, the whole facade being adorned with a peristyle of white
marble, and the great entrance approached by a noble flight of steps.
The interior is, as usual, painted in scrolls, and lighted by pendent
lamps, but is not remarkable for either beauty or magnificence. The
arrangement of the cloisters and the refectory of the monks is very
curious, being all situated above the chapel, and opening from a long
gallery, surmounting the peristyle. To this portion of the building we
ascended by a decaying flight of stone steps, many of whose missing
stairs had been replaced by fragments of sculptured columns: and found
the gallery tenanted by a solitary old lunatic, who, squatted upon a
ragged mat, was devouring voraciously a cake of black soft bread, such
as is used by the poorest of the population. The monastic cells have
been converted into receptacles for deranged persons, but this poor old
man was now their only occupant. We threw him some small pieces of
money, which he clutched with a delight as great as his surprise,
murmuring the name of Allah, and apparently as happy as a child.
The court of the mosque is shaded by three magnificent plantain trees,
and the fountain which faces the peristyle is remarkable from its basin
containing cold water, and its pipes pouring forth warm. As the pipe is
connected with the basin, the phenomenon is startling, although the
effect is very simply produced when once its cause is investigated, the
fountain being fed by two distinct springs; the hot spring being built
in, and forced into the pipes; and the cold one being suffered to fill
the basin, whence it runs off in another direction.
Near the mosque stands the Mausoleum of Sultan Mourad I., whose court is
enclosed by a heavy gate, said to be formed of one of the precious
metals cased with iron; and the country people have a tradition that
previously to his death, the Sultan desired that should the Empire ever
suffer from poverty, this gate might be melted down, when the reigning
monarch would become more rich than any of his predecessors. Be this as
it may, and it is sufficiently paradoxical, the gate has originally been
richly gilded, though much of the ornamental work is now worn away; and
it is probably to this circumstance that it owes its reputation.
Of an equally questionable nature is the legend relating to the name of
the village, which signifies in English, Grasshopper—a fact accounted
for by the peasantry in the following manner.
Sultan Mourad, during the time that the Christian monastery was
undergoing conversion into a Mohammedan mosque, was one day sitting
within the peristyle, when a grasshopper sprang upon him, which he
adroitly caught in his hand; where he still held it, when a Dervish
approached, who, after having made his obeisance, began to importune the
pious Sultan for some indulgence to his order; and was answered that if
he could tell, without hesitation or error, what was grasped by the
monarch, the favour should be granted. The wily Dervish, knowing that
the mountain abounded with grasshoppers, and that nothing was more
probable than that one of these might have jumped upon the Sultan,
immediately replied: “Though the ambition of a vile insect should lead
it to spring from the earth of which it is an inhabitant, into the face
of the sunshine, as though it were rather a denizen of the air, it
suffices that the Imperial hand be outstretched, to arrest its
arrogance. Happy is it, therefore, both for the rebel who would fain
build up a sun of glory for himself, of a ray stolen from the hâlo which
surrounds the forehead of the Emperor of the World; and for the
tzèkerghè, that, springing from its leafy obscurity, dares to rest upon
the hem of the sacred garment, when the Sultan (Merciful as he is
Mighty!) refrains from crushing in his grasp the reptile which he holds.
Favourite of Allah! Lord of the Earth! Is my boon granted?”
“It is, Dervish:”—said the Sultan, opening his hand as he spoke, and
thus suffering the insect to escape: “And that the memory of thy
conference with Sultan Mourad may not be lost, and that the reputation
of thy quick wit and subtle policy may endure to after ages, I name this
spot, Tzèkerghè——and let none dare to give it another appellation.”
[Illustration: Miss Pardoe del.
Day & Haghe Lith^{rs}. to the King.
TURKISH MAUSOLEUM.
_Henry Colburn, 13 G^t. Marlborough S^t. 1837._]
We were obliged to exert all our best efforts, in order to induce the
Imam, who had charge of the Imperial Mausoleum, to allow us to enter. We
were compelled to declare our country, our reasons for visiting Asia,
and our purpose in desiring to see the tomb of a True Believer, when we
were ourselves Infidels. Having satisfactorily replied to all these
categories, we were, however, finally gratified by an assent; and the
tall, stately Imam rose from the wayside bank upon which he had been
sitting, and, applying a huge key to the gate of which I have already
spoken, admitted us to the Court of the Tomb.
This edifice, which was erected by the Sultan himself, is beautifully
proportioned, and paved with polished marble; the dome is supported by
twelve stately columns of the same material, six of them having
Byzantine, and six, Corinthian Capitals, but the whole number are now
painted a bright green, having a broad scarlet stripe at their base! I
inquired the cause of this Vandalism, hoping, as the colour chosen was a
sacred one, that some religious reason might be adduced, which, however
insufficient to excuse the profanation, might at least tend to palliate
it: but I failed in my object; they had simply been painted to make them
prettier; and the same cause had operated similarly upon the gigantic
wax candles, that stood at the extremities of the Imperial Sarcophagus,
and which were clad in the same livery.
A goodly collection of wives and children share the Mausoleum with
Sultan Mourad, who is covered with splendid shawls, and at the head of
whose tomb, protected by a handkerchief of gold tissue, towers one of
the stately turbans of the ancient costume. As it was the first that I
had seen, I examined it attentively; and am only astonished how the
cobweb-like muslin was ever woven into such minute and intricate folds.
At the head of the Sarcophagus, on a marble pedestal (painted like the
others!) stood a copper vessel inlaid with silver, and filled with
wheat—the symbol of abundance; and at its foot was suspended a plough;
while lamps and ostrich eggs were festooned among the columns.
The light fell in patches upon the marble floor, or quivered as the wind
swept through the plantain trees, throwing fantastic shadows over the
tombs; and I left the Mausoleum of Sultan Mourad, more than ever
convinced that no people upon earth have succeeded better than the Turks
in robbing death of all its terrors, and diffusing an atmosphere of
cheerfulness and comfort about the last resting-places of the departed.
The Sarcophagus, as I have already stated, is universally based on a
mass of masonry about a foot in height, covered with plaister, and
whitewashed. I inquired why this portion of the tomb was not built of
marble, when in many cases the floors, and even the walls of the
mausoleum were formed of that material; and was assured by the Imam that
it was from a religious superstition, which he was, nevertheless, unable
to explain.
Beneath this stone-work an iron grating veils the entrance of the
subterranean in which the body of the Sultan is deposited; the
sarcophagus being a mere empty case of wood, overlaid by a covering of
baize or cloth, concealed in its turn by shawls and embroidered
handkerchiefs. No one is permitted to enter this subterranean, which can
generally be approached also by an exterior door opening into the court
of the tomb-house, save the reigning monarch, the Turks looking with
horror on all desecration of the dead, and neither bribes nor entreaties
being sufficient to tempt them to a violation of the sacred trust
confided to them.
On quitting the mausoleum we proceeded to the principal bath; where,
leaving the gentlemen comfortably seated under the shade of a maple tree
near the entrance, I went in alone. The appearance of the outer hall was
most singular; the raised gallery was tenanted, throughout its whole
extent, with Turkish and Greek women, eating, sleeping, and gossipping,
or busied in the arrangement of their toilette; while, suspended from
the transverse beams of the ceiling, swung a score of little hammocks,
in which lay as many infants. How the children of the country can, at so
tender an age, endure the sulphurous and suffocating atmosphere of the
bath is wonderful, but they not only do not suffer, but actually appear
to enjoy it.
Passing from this hall, which was of considerable extent, I entered the
cooling-room, in which the bathers were braiding their hair, or sleeping
upon the heated floor: and opening a door at the upper end, I walked
into the bath-room. Here I found between forty and fifty women, whom for
the first moment I could scarcely distinguish through the dense steam,
arising from a marble basin that occupied the centre of the floor, and
which was about a hundred feet in circumference.
The natural spring that supplies this basin is so hot that it requires
considerable habit to enable an individual to support its warmth, when
the doors of the bath are closed. The effect which it produced on me was
most disagreeable; the combined heat and smell of the water were
overpowering; but the scene was altogether so extraordinary, that I
compelled myself to endure the annoyance for a few minutes, in order to
form an accurate idea of an establishment of which I had heard so much.
The spring, escaping from a neighbouring mountain, is forced by pipes
into the bathing-hall, where it pours its principal volume into the
main basin, part of the stream being diverted from its channel in order
to feed the lesser tanks of the private rooms; from the basin it escapes
by a sluice at the lower end, and thus the body of water is constantly
renewed. When I entered, several of the bathers were up to their chins
in the basin, their long dark tresses floating on the surface of the
water; others, resting upon a step which brought the water only to their
knees, were lying upon the edge of the tank, while their attendants were
pouring the hot stream over them from metal basins; some, seated on low
stools, were receiving the mineralized fluid after the fashion of a
shower bath; while one, lying all her length upon the heated marble of
the floor—so heated that I could scarcely apply my open palm to it
without suffering—was sleeping as tranquilly as though she had been
extended upon a bed of down.
The hot springs of Broussa are numerous, but vary considerably in their
degrees of temperature; those which are frequented by persons labouring
under chronic diseases are much warmer than those used by ordinary
patients. The most powerful spring boils an egg perfectly hard in two
minutes; while there are others that are not more than blood heat. They
are all highly mineralized, and that which feeds the large basin of the
public hall is strongly impregnated with sulphur.
My appearance in the bath did not create the slightest sensation among
the bathers. The few whom I encountered on my way moved aside to enable
me to pass, and uttered the usual salutation; while those who were more
busily engaged simply suspended their operations for a moment, and
resumed them as soon as their curiosity was gratified.
I afterwards visited the “Miraculous Bath,” of which it is asserted that
a person in a dying state, who will submit to pass a night in complete
solitude on the margin of the basin, will rise in the morning perfectly
restored to health, whatever may have been the nature of the disease:
but, unfortunately, I could not find any one who had experienced, or
even witnessed, a cure of the kind, though many had heard of them in
numbers. As an equivalent, however, an old, ugly, red-haired Armenian
woman was pointed out to me, who is a celebrated doctress, and who had
just succeeded in sending home a credulous elderly gentleman to die in
Constantinople, who came to Broussa in a state of indisposition, and
left it, thanks to the nostrums of this ancient sybil, without a hope of
recovery.
Many of the houses in the village are furnished with hot springs; and
although they are, generally speaking, of mean appearance, and in a
dilapidated condition, they produce very high rents during the season;
and are usually let to Greek families of distinction, or to Europeans.
The situation of Tzèkerghè is eminently beautiful, and the air is balmy
and elastic; the magnificent plain is spread out beneath it; it is
backed by lofty mountains; and it is in itself a perfect bower of
fig-trees, plantains, and maples. The nightingales sing throughout the
whole of the day—the rush of water into the valley feeds a score of
fountains, which keep up a perpetual murmur; open kiosks are raised
along the hill side, some of them traversed by a running stream; storks
build in the tall trees; tortoises and land turtles crawl among the high
grass and the wild flowers; and altogether I know not a prettier spot
than that which is occupied by the village of Tzèkerghè—the rural
Cheltenham of Turkey.