country that was doubly charming after the lonesomeness of Roumelia,
which had been all I had seen for six months. Everything is under
cultivation, planted less with corn than with vines and mulberry
trees. The latter, which serve as food for the silkworms, are trimmed
low like bushes, with the crowns cut off, as we do with willows. Their
large bright green leaves cover the fields far and wide. The olive
trees grow here in groves of no mean size, but they have to be
planted. The whole richly cultivated country reminds one of Lombardy,
especially of the hilly landscape near Verona The distant view is as
magnificent as the foreground is lovely. On one side you see the Sea
of Marmora and the Princess Islands, and on the other the glorious
Mount Olympus, whose snow-clad peak rises above a broad girdle of
clouds. The flowering vineyards filled the air with rich scent,
assisted by caprifolium blossoms in luxuriant growth, and a yellow
flower the name of which I do not know.
When we had crossed a ridge of low hills, we saw Brussa stretched out
before us in a green plain at the foot of Mt. Olympus. It is indeed
difficult to decide which one of the two capitals of the Ottoman
rulers is more beautifully situated, the oldest or the newest, Brussa
or Constantinople. Here the sea and there the land bewitches you. One
landscape is executed in blue, the other in green. Relieved against
the steep and wooded slopes of Mt. Olympus, you see more than one
hundred white minarets and vaulted domes.
The mountain rises to the regions of almost perpetual snow, and
supplies the inhabitants of Brussa with wood to warm themselves in
winter and with ice for their sherbet in summer. A river, called
Lotos, winds its course through rich meadows and fields of mulberry
trees, where giant nut trees with dark foliage and light green planes,
white minarets and dark cypress trees rise to the sky. Vines climb up
the mighty trunks and attach themselves to the branches, whence they
droop again to earth, while Caprifolium plants and thriving creepers
superimpose themselves on the vines. Nowhere have I seen such a wide
and thoroughly green landscape, except from the tower of Lübbenau,
overlooking the woods along the Spree. But here you have in addition
the richer vegetation and the glorious mountains which surround the
plain. The abundance of water is surprising; everywhere brooks are
rushing along and springs are gushing from the rocks, ice cold and
boiling hot, side by side. In every part of the city, even in the
mosques, water is bubbling from countless fountains.
As is the case with all Turkish cities, the beautiful picture vanishes
the moment you enter Brussa. The smallest German town surpasses
Constantinople, Adrianople, or Brussa in the charm of its buildings
and still more in comfort. Only the mosques and the _Hanns_, or
caravansaries, the fountains and public baths are magnificent. In the
earlier times of the Ottoman monarchy no ruler was permitted to build
a mosque before he had won a battle against the infidels. The mosques
in Brussa are smaller and less beautiful than those which were built
later, but they possess the added interest of historical memories.
There you find such names as Orchan, Suliman, Murad, in short, all the
heroes of the victorious period of Islam.
The mosque of Bajasid attracted me most because of its excellent
architecture. Bajasid is the man whom the Turks call Ilderim, or the
Lightning. The monument of the mighty conqueror, who himself was
conquered and died in a cage according to the legend, stands alone in
the shadow of mighty cypress trees. The largest of the mosques used to
be a Christian cathedral. It is lighted from above, the middle vault
having been left open. The beautiful Asiatic starry sky itself has
become its vault. The opening is covered with a wire screen, and below
it in a wide basin a fountain is playing.
I will not say that even the largest mosques, the Sultan Selim, for
instance, in Adrianople, or Sulamanich in Constantinople, make the
same impression or inspire the same reverence as St. Stephan's in
Vienna, or the cathedrals of Freiburg and Strassburg. But every
mosque, even the smallest, is beautiful. There is nothing more
picturesque than the semi-circular, lead-covered domes and the
slender, white minarets rising above the mighty planes and cypresses.
When the Ottomans conquered the provinces of the Eastern Roman Empire
they preserved the Greek Church architecture, but they added the
minarets, which are of Arabian origin.
[Illustration: COUNT MOLTKE]
The _Hanns_ are the only stone dwelling-houses to be found. They are
built in the shape of rectangles with an open court. Here, at least in
the larger ones, you will find a mosque, a fountain, a small kiosk for
noble travelers, and a few mulberry trees or plane trees. All about
the court there is a colonnade with pointed arches; and, beyond that,
rows of cells, each one with its individual vault. A mattress of straw
is the only furniture for the traveler, who finds neither service nor
food in these _Hanns_.
We dined in thoroughly Turkish fashion at the _Kiebabtshi_. After our
hands had been washed we sat down, not at but on the table, where my
legs were terribly in the way. Then the _Kiebab_, or small piece of
mutton, broiled on the spit and rolled in dough, was served on a
wooden platter. It is very good and tasty. It was followed by salted
olives, which are wonderful, by the _helva_, i. e., the favorite sweet
dish, and by a bowl of sherbet. This consists of water poured over
grapes and thoroughly iced. The whole dinner for two hearty eaters
cost one hundred and twenty paras, or five shillings.
The comforts of the Turkish baths I have described to you in an
earlier letter. The baths of Brussa are distinguished, because they
are not artificially but naturally heated, and so much so that you
would not think it possible, at first, to enter the great basin of
clear water without being parboiled before you could leave it again.
From the terrace of our bath we had a beautiful view, and it was so
comfortable there that we hated to leave.
On the thirteenth we rode to Kemlik, at the end of the Bay of Mudania,
where there is a dockyard. This is the most beautiful spot I have
seen. The clear surface of the sea is lost here between the high and
steep mountains, which leave just enough space for the little town and
the olive woods. Twilight is very brief in this country, and night had
come when we reached the town gate, but what a night! Although the
moon happened to be new, objects were distinguishable at a
considerable distance, while the evening star shines here so brightly
that shadows are cast by its light.
At three o'clock in the morning we were again in the saddle, riding
toward the East through a valley and between high mountains, along the
same road which Walther von Habenichts once followed with his twelve
thousand crusaders. The hills were covered with olive trees and
flowering bushes filled with nightingales. At sunset we reached the
extensive lake of Isnik. The gigantic walls and towers on the opposite
shore used to protect a powerful city, for which the crusaders often
fought. Today they surround the few miserable huts and rubbish heaps
which centuries ago were Nicea. It was here that an assembly of one
hundred learned bishops expounded the mystery of the Trinity, and
decided to burn all who held a different view. What would these proud
prelates have said if a man had prophesied to them that the time would
come when their rich and mighty city would be a rubbish heap, and
their cathedral the ruins of a Turkish mosque; when the empire of the
Greek emperors would be destroyed, and their own exegesis, yes, even
their entire religion, would have disappeared from these parts, and
when for hundreds of miles and through hundreds of years the name of
the camel-driver of Medina would be the only one in the mouths of the
people.
The Moslems, who abhor all pictures, have covered with whitewash the
paintings in the Greek churches. In the Cathedral of Nicea, where the
famous council was held, there glistens even today through the white
coating of the wall, where the high altar used to be, the proud
promise, I.H.S. (_in hoc signo_, i. e., under this sign, the cross,
you will win). But directly over it is written the first dogma of
Islam, "There is no God but God." There is a lesson of tolerance in
these faded inscriptions, and it seems as if Heaven itself wished to
listen as well to the _Credo_ as to the _Allah il allah_. One of the
chief pursuits of the honest Turks is what they call _Kief etmek_,
literally "creating a mood." It consists of drinking coffee in a
comfortable place and smoking. Such a place _par excellence_ I found
in the village where we made a stop. Imagine a plane which extends its
colossal branches horizontally for almost one hundred feet, burying in
its deep shadow the nearest houses. The trunk of the tree is
surrounded by a small terrace of stone, below which water is gushing
from twenty-seven pipes in streams as thick as your arm, and rushing
off as a lively brook. Here, with their legs crossed, the Turks sit,
practising--silence.
A JOURNEY TO MOSSUL
TRANSLATED BY EDMUND VON MACH, PH.D.
[This is the forty-third letter of Moltke's Letters from Turkey, and
is dated from Dshesireh on the Tigris, May 1, 1838.]
I told you in my last letter that we should be going on an expedition
against the Arabs. This did not materialize. Nevertheless, I had the
opportunity of making the acquaintance of a very interesting part of
the country. On April 15, von Mühlbach, I, and two fully armed _agas_
of the pasha, together with our servants and dragomans, embarked on a
vessel built in a style well known even in the times of Cyrus, a raft
supported by inflated sheep-skins. The Turks look upon hunting as a
sin, they despise venison and beef, but eat an enormous quantity of
sheep and goats. The skins of these animals are cut in front as little
as possible and removed from the carcass with great care. Then they
are sewed up and the extremities tied up. When the skin is inflated
(which is done quickly and without touching the skin to the mouth) it
is exceedingly buoyant and can hardly be made to sink. From forty to
sixty such bags are tied together in four or five rows under a light
framework of branches. There generally are eight skins in front and
eighteen in the back. The whole is covered with a litter of leaves
over which rugs and carpets are spread. Taking your seat on these you
glide downstream with utmost comfort. Because the current is swift,
oars are not needed for progress, but only for steering the raft,
keeping it in the middle of the course, and avoiding the dangerous
rapids. On account of these rapids we had to tie up every night
until the moon was up, but in spite of this we covered the distance,
which by land would have taken us eighty-eight hours, in three and
one-half days. The river, therefore, must flow with an average
velocity of almost four miles per hour. In places it is much swifter,
and in others decidedly slower.
The Tigris leaves the mountains near Argana-Maaden, and flows past the
walls of Diarbekir, where it is apt to cause slight inundations in
summer time. It then receives the Battman river flowing in a southerly
direction from the high Karsann-Mountains and carrying more water into
the Tigris than this river contained before. Immediately after the
union of these two rivers the Tigris enters another mountainous
territory formed of sandstone. The gentle curves of the broad and
shallow river are transformed into the sharp criss-cross angles of a
ravine. The banks are abrupt, often vertical on both sides; and on top
of some steep, rocky slopes your eye may discover groves of dark-green
palms, and in their shadows the settlements of tribes of Kurds, who in
this region are mostly cave-dwellers.
The town of Hassn-Kejfa (Hossu-Keifa), situated on a high rock whence
a narrow staircase descends to the river, offers a most unusual
aspect. The old city below has been destroyed, and only a few minarets
still pointing to the sky indicate that mosques and houses once stood
here. The inhabitants were obliged to retreat to the top of the cliff,
where they built a wall of defence on the only accessible side. In the
narrow ravine I discovered huge blocks which had rolled down from
above. People have hollowed them and are using them as dwelling
places. These "huts" today make up a small, very irregular town,
which, however, possesses even a bazaar. By far the most noteworthy
remains are the ruins of a bridge which used to cross the Tigris.
There was one gigantic arch with a span of between eighty and one
hundred feet. I do not know whether the credit for such a daring
structure should be given to the Armenian kings or the Greek
emperors, or perhaps even to the califs.
It is impossible to travel more comfortably than we did. Stretched out
on downy pillows, and provided with victuals wine, tea, and a charcoal
basin, we moved down the stream with the rapidity of an express coach
and without the least exertion. But the element which propelled us
persecuted us in another form. Rain poured from the sky incessantly
after our departure from Diarbekir. Our umbrellas no longer protected
us, and our cloaks, garments and carpets were soaked. On Easter day,
just as we were leaving Dshesireh, the sun broke through the clouds,
warming our stiffened limbs. About two miles below the city the ruins
of another bridge across the Tigris are still in existence, and one of
its piers creates a fierce whirlpool whenever the water is high. The
exertions of the men at the oars were of no avail, and irresistibly
our small ark was attracted by this charybdis. With the speed of an
arrow we were sucked down below the surface, and a big comber broke
over our heads. The water was icy cold, and when in the next moment
our raft, which had not capsized, continued its way downstream as
innocently as if nothing had happened we could not help laughing at
one another, for we were a sad looking sight, everyone of us. The
charcoal basins had gone overboard, a boot swam alongside, while each
one of us hastened to fish out some little object. We made a landing
on a small island, and since our bags were as thoroughly soaked as we
were ourselves, we had to disrobe and spread our entire toilet in the
sun to dry as well as possible. At some distance a flock of pelicans
were taking their rest on a sandbank and sunning their white plumage
as if in derision of our plight. Suddenly we saw that our raft had got
loose and was floating off. One of the _agas_ immediately jumped after
it and fortunately reached it. If he had failed we should have been
left on a desert island in nothing but nature's own garb.
When we were tolerably dry we continued our journey, but renewed
downpours spoiled the moderate results of our previous efforts. The
night was so dark that we had to tie up, for fear of being drawn into
other whirlpools. In spite of the biting cold, and although we were
wet to the skin, we did not dare to light a fire which might have
attracted the Arabs. We silently pulled our raft into the shelter of a
willow tree and waited longingly for the sun to appear from behind the
Persian frontier mountains and to give us warmth.
Not far from Dshesireh the Tigris enters another plain and leaves
behind the high and magnificent Dshudid mountains on whose bright and
snow-clad peaks Noah and his mixed company are said to have
disembarked. From here on the scenery is very monotonous; you rarely
see a village, and most of those you see are uninhabited and in ruins.
It is apparent that you have entered the country of the Arabs. There
are no trees, and where a small bush has survived it is a _siareth_ or
sanctuary, and is covered with countless small rags. The sick people
here, you must know, believe they will recover when they sacrifice to
the saint a small part of their garments.
On the top of an isolated mountain of considerable height we could see
at a great distance the ruins of an old city. When we approached it we
actually passed along three sides of this mountain, on the north, east
and south. The city was, I suppose, the ancient Bezabde of which the
records say that it was situated in the desert and surrounded on three
sides by the Tigris. Sapor laid siege to it after he had taken Amida
and, when he had captured its three legions, gave it a Persian
garrison.
Gliding past the ruins of the so-called old Mossul we discovered
toward evening the minarets of Mossul. This is the most easterly point
which I have visited, and my Turkish companions had to face west when
they offered their evening prayer, while in Constantinople the moslems
are looking for the _Kibla_ in the southeast.
Mossul is the important half-way station for the caravans from Bagdad
to Aleppo. Being situated in an oasis of the desert the city must at
all times be on the lookout against the Arabs. The walls which
completely surround the city are weak but high, and offer sufficient
protection against the irregular bands of mounted Bedouins. The
Bab-el-amadi gate, mentioned in the time of the crusaders, is still
standing, although it has been walled up. Most of the dwellings are
built of sun-dried bricks and a kind of mortar which hardens within a
few seconds. Following an Oriental custom great weight is attached to
beautiful and large entrance doors (_Bab_). You can see arched portals
of marble (which is quarried immediately outside the city gates) in
front of houses and mudhuts the roofs of which scarcely reach to the
points of the arches. The roofs are flat, made of stamped earth
(_Dam_), and are surrounded by low walls and parapets. In most of the
larger houses you can see traces of their having been hit by bullets,
and the fortress-like aspect of these dwellings reminds you of the
palaces of Florence, except that here everything is smaller, humbler
and less perfect.
The inhabitants of Mossul are a remarkable mixture of the original
Chaldean populace and the Arabs, Kurds, Persians and Turks who
successively have ruled over them. The common speech is Arabic.
Indshe-Bairaktar, the governor, received us with great courtesy and
had us quartered with the Armenian Patriarch. The Nestorian and
Jacobite Christians of Mossul have the most beautiful churches I have
seen in Turkey, but they are living in discord and hatred. One of
these churches happened to belong, I do not know why, to two
congregations, and since everything which the one did in these sacred
halls was an abomination in the eyes of the other, the beautiful vault
had been divided by a brick wall directly in the centre.
Our Jacobite Patriarch was greatly troubled about having to house
heretics, but he much preferred us to Nestorians or Greeks. Since no
Christians, moreover, had ever been received with so much honor by
the Pasha, and the most important Mussulmans came to pay us their
respects, he treated us well, and even sold me a Bible in Arabic and
Syrian (Chaldean).
In the northwesterly corner of the city the plateau falls off abruptly
toward the river. Here the water of the Tigris is raised by a
contrivance, which makes use of a high kind of derrick, leathern hose,
and a rope which is pulled by a horse. The long nozzle of the hose
empties into huge brick basins whence the water is distributed over
fields and gardens. But only the empty areas within the walls and the
fields adjacent to the city are cultivated. If only a fraction of all
the water rushing past Mossul could be used for irrigation purposes
this whole country would be one of the most fertile of the world. This
idea undoubtedly induced the people ages ago to build the powerful
stone dikes which hem in the course of the river a few hours above the
city. Surely, it would not be difficult to irrigate all the fields
from there, but the Arabs hovering about the city make the harvesting
of the crops too uncertain.
There is a bazaar especially for the Arabs immediately outside the
walls of Mossul, built there for the purpose of keeping these
suspicious characters from entering the city proper. Over the
confusion of many small mud-huts some slender palm trees rise to
majestic heights, the last ones of the desert. These palms are like
reeds grown to the proportions of trees. They are typical of the
south, and give confidence to the Arabs who seem to feel that they are
way up north and yet still in the land of the myrrh and the incense.
Here the children of the desert congregate and, pushing their
bamboo-spears into the sand--point down, squat on the ground to admire
the glory of a city--even though it be a city which affects the
European with the very opposite of glory, but which for hundreds of
miles has no equal.
Perhaps no people have preserved their character, customs, morals, and
speech as unchanged through centuries as the Arabs, and have done so
in spite of the most manifold changes in the world at large. They were
nomads, shepherds and hunters roving over little-known deserts, while
Egypt and Assyria, Greece and Persia, Rome and Byzantium rose and
fell. And then, inspired by one idea, these same nomads suddenly rose
in their turn and for a long time became the masters of the most
beautiful valley of the old world, and were the bearers of the then
civilization and science. One hundred years after the death of the
Prophet, his first followers, the Sarazenes, ruled from the Himalayas
to the Pyrenees, and from the Indies to the Atlantic Ocean. But
Christianity and its higher spiritual and material perfection, yes
even its intolerance, which its high morality should have made
impossible, drove the Arabs back again from Europe. The rude force of
the Turks undermined their rule in the Orient, and for the second time
the children of Ishmael saw themselves driven out into the desert.
Those Arabs who had reached a higher state of culture, and had settled
down to the pursuit of agriculture, commerce, or industry, had to sink
the lower before the oppression of a rule of iron. The artificial
dealings of a government trying to imitate European methods, and the
assistance of the Franks, the introduction of the census and of taxes,
of duties and monopolies, standing armies and conscriptions, the
barter of offices and the leasing of custom houses, slavery and the
vices of the east, together with the energy, indomitable will and
marvelous luck of Mehmet Ali, all combined in one grand achievement--I
mean the monumental tyranny, never yet equalled, under which the
fellahs today are groaning in Egypt and the Arabs in Syria, and under
which a whole country has been transformed into a private domain, and
a whole people into personal slaves.
By far the greater part of the Arabic nation, however, had remained
true to its old customs, and no despotism could get hold of them. The
extent of the Asiatic and African deserts, their fiery sky and parched
soil, and the poverty of the inhabitants have ever been the
protection of the Arabs. The rule of the Persians, the Romans, and the
Greeks was never more than partial, and often existed only in name.
The Bedouin today, like his fathers of old, is still living the life
of want, care, and independence, roving through the same steppes as
they, and watering his herds from the same wells as they did in the
time of Moses or of Mahomet.
The oldest descriptions of the Arabs fit the Bedouins of our day.
Unquenchable feuds are still dividing the several tribes, the
possession of a pasturing place or of a well still determines the
welfare of many families, and blood-feuds and hospitality still are
the vices and virtues of this people of nature. Wherever along their
frontiers the Arabs come in contact with foreign nations war is the
result. The children of Abraham divided among themselves the rich and
fertile countries, while Ishmael and his tribe were cast out into the
desert. Shut off from all the other people the Arabs consider
foreigners and foes to be identical and, unable to procure for
themselves the products of industry, they believe they are justified
in appropriating them wherever they find them.