IMPRESSIONS OF THE CITY TO-DAY
SO much has been written about Constantinople in its Turkish character,
that to say anything entirely fresh and new upon the subject is
impossible. The reader must, therefore, look to the illustrations which
adorn this work for the impression which the Oriental aspect of the city
makes upon an artistic eye. If the writer of the text ventures to repeat
some parts of a well-known tale, it is only because different ways of
telling an old story vary the points of view from which the matter is
regarded, bring different features into relief, and set them in another
atmosphere and colour; as the appearance of the same landscape changes,
according as it is seen at dawn, or at noon, or by the light of the
setting sun.
Speaking of the bridge that spans the Golden Horn from Galata to
Stamboul, De Amicis remarks that; "where every day a hundred thousand
people pass, not one idea passes in ten years." The slowness with which
the East changes is, perhaps, the impression which the spectacle of life
in Constantinople naturally makes upon the mind of a stranger. His
attention is arrested by the differences between the scenes he observes
for the first time and the scenes with which he is familiar. A fresh eye
is quick to detect distinctions and peculiarities. On the other hand,
"an old resident," on the same principle, is more deeply impressed by
the changes which have been wrought in the life and aspect of the city
of his abode, since the days of his early recollections. To the visitor
the old is new, and the new is old; while to the resident the old is
familiar, and the new is strange. If the former observer has the
advantage of seeing things from a more striking and picturesque point of
view, the latter is closer to fact and truth. Colonel White, writing in
1844, in his interesting book, _Three Years in Constantinople_, which
such a competent authority as Sir Henry Layard pronounced to be the best
work on Turkish life, said, that if a certain policy were pursued,
"fifty years cannot elapse ere travellers will flock to Constantinople
in search for relics of Moslem institutions with as much eagerness as
they now seek for vestiges of Christian or Pagan antiquities. "It would
be an exaggeration to say that this prophecy has been literally
fulfilled. But events have verified its forecast to such an extent, that
one is tempted to assume the prophet's mantle, and predict that Colonel
White's words will come to pass in the next half-century. At any rate,
if the world here has moved slowly, it has moved very far. The
descriptions of Constantinople in such works as Miss Pardoe's _City of
the Sultan_, and Colonel White's _Three Years in Constantinople_, seem
to-day descriptions of another city.
[Illustration: A WET DAY ON THE GALATA BRIDGE
The men in long, white pocketless coats stationed at either end of the
bridge collect the toll levied on every man, beast, and vehicle using
the bridge--professional beggars alone being exempt.]
In the political situation, in the matter of education both among the
Turks and the Christian populations, the changes are simply enormous.
This is, however, not the place to expatiate upon these serious topics,
although it is only by their consideration that the greatness and
far-reaching consequences of the new state of things can be properly
appreciated. But look at the change in the matter of dress. Where is now
the variety of costume, where the brightness of colour that made the
movement of the population at all times a procession in gala dress? So
far as her garb is concerned, a Turkish woman to-day is a sere and
withered leaf. She is almost a European lady, thinly disguised. And
where are the men who moved about, crowned with turbans, and attired in
long, coloured, flowing robes? You meet them occasionally on the street,
or see them gathered about the mosques, weary and tattered stragglers of
generations of men, whose mien and gait were the look and motion of
princes. Some one has said that the Turks committed a great mistake when
they adopted the European dress; for the change makes you suppose that
they have ceased to be Orientals, and are to be judged by European
standards in all respects. Too much is therefore expected of them.
Certainly the change has not improved their appearance. It has robbed
them of that quiet dignity and commanding air which imposed immediate
respect. The eagle is shorn of his plumes.
[Illustration: IN THE GRAND BAZAAR]
The Turkish pasha, for instance, is now a shadow of his former self.
What a master of men he looked when seated on a fine Arab horse and
glittering saddle-cloth, he rode slowly through the streets, accompanied
by a retinue of servants on foot, the crowd making way for him to pass
as though a king went by. What an incarnation of dignity he was when he
floated on the Bosporus in a caïque of five pairs of oars, two
servants squatting in front of him, with folded hands, in the bottom of
the boat; his pipe-bearer, behind on the poop, ready to present him with
a long-stemmed pipe of cherry or jasmine wood, surmounted by an amber
mouthpiece, adorned with diamonds. With the disappearance of such
things, there has been a sensible weakening of the awe which the ruling
race excited in the rest of the population. If any one wishes to
experience the fall, so to speak, in the temperature of the feeling of
awe produced by the change from an Oriental to a European garb let him
visit the Museum of the Janissary Costumes. What terror those costumes
must have inspired! Or let him visit the Imperial Treasury in the
Seraglio, and walk down the line of lay-figures attired in the costumes
worn by successive Sultans. The eye pays instant homage to every master
of the Ottoman Empire clad in native apparel. But when the figure of
Mahomet the Reformer, who swept away the janissaries and other old
institutions, is seen dressed in European clothes (except for the red
fez), one reads there the sign that the glory of the House of Othman was
on the wane. The dread and majesty by which the Turk was formerly hedged
round have vanished. Within the memory of men still living, eunuchs
carried swords to chastise indiscreet admirers of Oriental beauties, and
did not hesitate to slash a European guilty of casting long, lingering
looks upon the fair faces. It was forbidden, within days that one
recalls, to pass the imperial palace on horseback or with an umbrella
opened. So strictly was the rule enforced, that even the "Great Elchi,"
Sir Stratford Canning, riding by the palace, was once compelled to
dismount from his horse. This proved too much for the great man. Furious
at the indignity, he sent instantly for his dragoman, demanded an
immediate audience of the Sultan, and obtained the order which put an
end to the humiliating custom.
It is not, however, among the Turkish population alone that a marked
change in dress has occurred. Within the memory of living persons,
Armenian and Jewish women appeared in public wearing distinctive veils.
Baggy trousers, head-kerchiefs, striking colours, embroidered jackets,
turbans, were in vogue among the non-Moslem inhabitants, making the
scenes in the streets kaleidoscopic, and furnishing also a ready means
whereby to identify the nationalities that seemed inextricably mingled
together. It is surprising how a resident of Constantinople can
recognise the nationality of the peoples he meets, even since a common
style of dress has come into fashion. But in days not very remote, every
native wore his country upon his sleeve. His costume was the badge of
his race and people. Now, the order of the day is "à la Franca."
[Illustration: A FORTUNE-TELLER
In Stamboul, on the way to the Sublime Porte, an old negress may often
be seen telling fortunes by means of coloured beads and shells.]
Again, what a change has come over the style of building in the place.
The palaces of the Sultan are on European models.
The day has vanished, when to go up or down the Bosporus was to move
through a scene in which the charms of nature were heightened by the
fascinating primitiveness and fancifulness of the Orient. The large
old-fashioned Turkish house, almost nothing but stories of windows,
painted deep red, or left to assume the natural grey of the wood, with
broad eaves under which small attic windows, filled with little
diamond-shaped panes of glass nestled, have disappeared, or are fast
falling into decay. Venetian shutters are replacing the latticed
screens, which invested a Turkish home with so much mystery;
conservatories have taken the room of the old green-houses of
orange-trees and lemon-trees. And, worst of all, boats of European form
are supplanting the caïque, so light, so graceful, floating upon the
water like a seabird, and making the Bosporus seem a stream in
fairyland.
Nowhere, perhaps, is the mark of change more evident than in respect to
the means of communication, whether in the city or on the straits. Long
lines of tramways run from the Galata Bridge to the Golden Gate and the
Gate of S. Romanus, from one end of Stamboul to the other. Along the
railway that forms the highway to Europe, there are five stations within
the city limits for the accommodation of the districts beside the track.
The sedan chairs in which ladies were usually carried, in making calls,
are now occasionally employed to convey them to and from evening
parties. The groups of horses standing at convenient points in the great
thoroughfares to carry you up a street of steps or to a distant quarter,
with the surudji, switch in hand, running beside you to urge the animal
onward and to take it back at the close of your ride, have given way to
cabstands, and to a tunnel that pierces the hill of Galata. A tramway
carries one through Galata and Pera as far out as the suburb of Chichli,
while another line runs close to the shore from the Inner Bridge to
Ortakeui. There are persons still living who remember the first steamer
that plied on the Bosporus, in the forties of last century. Its main
occupation was to tug ships up or down the straits; but once a day, in
summer, it conveyed passengers between the city and the villages of
Therapia and Buyukderé. A second steamer soon followed, and charged
eleven piasters for the trip each way. Owing, however, to the opposition
of the caïquedjis, the steamer could not moor at the quay, so that
passengers were obliged to embark and disembark at both ends of the
journey in caïques, at the rate of one piaster each way. Thus a return
trip, which now costs one shilling and eight pence, involved an expense
of four shillings and four pence.
[Illustration: STREET SCENE, TOP-KHANEH
Top-Khaneh is a continuation of Galata.]
No one, of course, undervalues the advantages of steam navigation, or
suggests a return to sailing ships. At the same time it remains true,
that never again will men see the Bosporus so beautiful as it looked in
days when its waters were untroubled by steam. Owing to the prevalence
of northerly winds in these regions, ships bound for the Black Sea were
liable to long detention on their way up from the Mediterranean. Great
fleets of merchantmen were accordingly apt to collect in the Dardanelles
and in the Golden Horn, waiting for a favourable breeze. They had
sometimes to wait six weeks ere they could stir. When at length the
south wind did come, every stitch of canvas the ships could carry was
unfurled, and an immense procession of winged sea-coursers and chariots
rode through the Bosporus day after day so long as the south wind blew.
In an hour, a hundred, two hundred, vessels might pass a given point,
all panting to reach the open sea before the wind failed, and racing one
another to get there first. Ships of all sizes and of every form,
European and Oriental, sails and rigging of every style; huge
three-masted merchantmen, "signiors and rich burghers on the flood,"
schooners, brigs, barges, caïques, "petty traffickers," with their white
wings stretched over the blue waters, from one green bank across to the
other, flew before the wind, and formed a spectacle solemn and stately
as a royal or religious ceremonial. It was a magnificent scene of
colour, motion, and variety of form; of eagerness and achievement.
When we think of the means of communication with the outer world, the
change is extraordinary. For the voyage from England to Constantinople a
sailing vessel took usually thirty to sixty days. It might be even three
months, as an Englishman still living in the city found, in 1845, in his
own case. To-day one travels by rail to London in three and a half
days. Letters from England took ten days. There was a weekly European
mail _viâ_ Trieste, and three times a month _viâ_ Marseilles. Now, a
European mail arrives daily. The postage on a letter was 1s. 4d. where
now it is 2½d. It is impossible to exaggerate the influence upon the
life of the place due to this close connection by steamship and by rail
with the Western world. The Ottoman authorities were not altogether
mistaken, from their point of view, when they looked with disfavour upon
the junction of the railroads in Turkey with the European railway
system. That junction, it was thought, would facilitate the military
invasion of the country. But ideas travel by rail, as well as soldiers.
And the invasion of a country by new ideas may have consequences as
formidable and far-reaching as any that arms can introduce. The
completion of the railroad between Constantinople and Vienna in 1888 may
be regarded as the conquest of the city by foreign thought and
enterprise. Little, perhaps, did the crowds, that gathered at the
Stamboul railway station on the 14th of August in that year to witness
the arrival of the first train from the Austrian capital, appreciate the
significance of that event. But it was the annexation of Constantinople
to the Western world. New ideas, new fashions now rule, for better and
for worse. And soon the defects and the charms of the old Oriental city
will be a dream of the past.
Owing to the narrowness and steepness of the streets of Constantinople,
the transportation of heavy loads through the city by means of wheeled
vehicles has always been a difficult, and often an impossible,
undertaking. Much has been done in recent years to widen and grade the
chief thoroughfares. The authorities are even accused of having
occasionally secured that improvement, by setting fire to the houses
along an old narrow but picturesque lane in order to take advantage of
the law, that when a house is rebuilt the municipality has the right to
appropriate a part of the old site to broaden the public way, without
giving compensation to the owner of the ground. Moreover, during the
Russo-Turkish War of 1876-77, the Moslem refugees from Bulgaria
introduced the use of a rough four-wheeled cart drawn by one horse, and
that conveyance is now extensively employed. The old-fashioned, long,
narrow, wagon drawn by a pair of oxen or buffaloes, so primitive that it
might be a wagon which the Huns left behind in their march through the
land, still crawls and creaks under a pile of the household furniture
of a family removing from one house to another, or from town to country,
or from country to town. But the means of transportation most
characteristic of the place are the backs of animals and of men. To an
extent seen nowhere else, at all events, in Europe, the streets are
obstructed by long trains of donkeys and horses carrying planks, or
stones, or lime, or bricks, to some building in course of erection, or
hurrying back from it for fresh loads. It is, however, in the employment
of human beings as beasts of burden that Constantinople excels.
[Illustration: A STEP STREET
A typical street in the old Turkish quarter; the houses are built almost
entirely of wood, brilliantly painted, and hardly two in the street are
on the same level; the lattice work at the windows indicates the women's
quarters.]
The traveller soon makes the acquaintance of these hamals, as they are
called, upon his arrival, whether by sea or by land, and beholds with
surprise that, while he drives to his destination in a cab and pair, his
luggage is perched on the broad back of a fellowman, and proceeds
thither, so to speak, on foot. And the surprise grows into wonder at the
number of articles and the weight which can be put on that stooping
figure. In the affairs of residents, hamals occupy an important place.
No business at the Custom House can be done without their assistance.
They carry the merchant's goods to and fro. They bring your charcoal,
your coal, your wood, your stoves, your piano, your chest of drawers,
every heavy piece of your furniture. They chop your wood, and store it
in your cellar. They will even carry a child in their arms up a hill or
to a distant house, as tenderly as any nurse. Sometimes a poor sick man
is taken on a hamal's back to the hospital. To relieve the pressure of
his loads, a hamal wears a thick pad on his back, suspended from the
shoulders by straps through which he passes his arms, and curved upwards
at the lower end to furnish a hollow in which his burden may lodge. Thus
equipped, he stoops low, as a camel does, for friendly hands to load
him; a cord, by which he may steady himself and keep what he carries in
position, is then passed round his burden and given him to hold, and
thereupon he rises slowly and moves off. When a street is unusually
steep, it is customary to place, at convenient intervals, a series of
large stones or small platforms, upon which a hamal may rest his load
without removing it, and take breath for a few moments. To provide
stones of rest for these burden-bearers is considered a pious act. When
the load is too heavy for one man, it is slung upon a long ashen pole
and given to a couple of hamals to carry, by placing the ends of the
pole upon their shoulders. In the case of still heavier weights,
four, six, or eight hamals perform the task in a similar way. The load
is then attached to as many poles as are required; the men, ranged both
in front and in the rear in an oblique line, put the ends of the poles
on the left shoulder, and the right hand, where possible, upon the
shoulder of the comrade to the right; and thus bound and locked together
the band swings forward, shouting Varda. Many a person turns round to
watch the fine stalwart figures bearing off their burden, like a trophy
in a triumphal march.
[Illustration: SIMIT-SELLER
When moving about he carries on his head his tray, balanced on the red
pad resting on his turban.]
The hamals are not natives of the city, but come from various districts
of Asia Minor. They form part of that numerous body of men in
Constantinople who have left their homes and families in the interior of
the country to find work in the capital for a term of years, in order to
support their parents, or their wives and children. It is a practice due
to the scarcity of work in the interior, and a considerable portion of
the money thus earned is sent home to pay the taxes for which the
relatives there are a security. At intervals of five, or even ten years,
these men make a long visit to their homes, and then return to their
work, until they become too old for it, or have earned enough upon which
to retire. They generally own a cottage and a field, property
sufficient to afford the family the bare means of existence, and to
furnish a convenient retreat at last for the weary bread-winner at his
final home-coming. An ignorant, stubborn lot of men they may be, but
their simple lives, their hard labour, and the frequency and fidelity
with which they serve you, give them a place among the kind memories of
a resident in Constantinople.
A company of hamals, generally natives of the same district or village,
acquire the monopoly of carrying loads in a particular quarter or suburb
of the town. One of their number acts as their chief, and it is through
him that arrangements with them for work are made. All earnings are put
into a common fund, and divided fairly between the members of the
society. The various companies of hamals are as jealous of their claims
upon a particular locality as are the dogs of the quarter. They may
carry a load in a district not their own, only if the load is taken up
first in their own quarter. Any attempt to commence work in another
company's territory results in a fierce fight between the parties
concerned, and exposes the articles in dispute to serious damage. The
Moslem hamals are very attentive to their religious duties. It is often
impossible to get them to attend to your wants at the hours of prayer.
At one time, by far the larger number of hamals employed in the city
were Armenians. Those of them who were attached to merchants' offices,
as caretakers and confidential messengers, were renowned for their
fidelity and honesty. Any sum of money could be entrusted to their
keeping with absolute safety. Since the massacres of 1896, when this
class of the Armenian population was the object of special attack, and
was almost exterminated, the hamals of the city are chiefly Kurds. It
took some time for the newcomers to learn their duties, and merchants
were seriously inconvenienced by the consequent accumulation of their
goods at the Custom House, and the slowness of delivery. But, to all
complaints on the subject, the authorities, as though the injured
parties, returned the characteristic reply, "Why do you bring so many
goods?" Armenian hamals used to have one great holiday in the
year--Easter Monday--which they spent in dancing together, in their best
garb, on a great mound of rubbish beside the military parade ground at
Taxim. On their return, through the Grand Rue of Pera, "it was not
uncommon to see a band of them, carrying their long, massive poles,
heaving with every appearance of intense strain and fatigue; the burden
hung in the centre--an egg!" With the growth of a higher sense of human
dignity this species of a beast of burden will become extinct.
To omit all reference to the dogs of a city which has been styled a
"dog-kennel" is impossible, however well worn the theme may be. They are
one of the prominent features in the street-scenery of the city, and
attract the attention of all travellers. Along with other "improvements"
their number has been greatly diminished during recent years, but they
are still in evidence in every thoroughfare of the place. Tawny in
colour, with a furry coat, bushy tail, and pointed ears, they betray
their relationship to the wolf and the fox, although the hardships of
their lot, and still more the indulgence with which they are treated by
a large part of the population, have taken almost all their ferocity out
of them, except in their treatment of one another. They are the
assistant-scavengers of the city, eating the pieces of food found in the
rubbish, which, after an old custom not yet obsolete, is still too often
dumped into the street by the inhabitants at night, for the official
scavenger to remove in the morning. To some extent they act also as
watchmen, making night hideous with their barking.
[Illustration: MARKET AT SCUTARI
It is always market-day somewhere in Constantinople.]
For these purposes they divide the city between them; so that the
different quarters of Constantinople are respectively the special
domains of different companies of dogs, who guard their boundaries as
jealously and fiercely as any frontiers between rival nations. No sooner
does a strange dog enter a canine ward than his arrival is signalled by
a peculiar bark from a faithful defender of the rights of the invaded
district. The bark is echoed from member to member of the injured
community, until the whole pack is roused, and rushes upon the intruder
like a horde of savages, biting and worrying him beyond the bounds he
transgressed in an evil hour. Hence it is extremely difficult to take
your own dog out for a walk in the streets of the city. A deafening
uproar greets you from every community of dogs through which your road
passes. You must hold your companion in leash; you must be on the alert,
whip or cane in hand, to strike at the infuriated beasts that spring
with flashing teeth at him from all directions; and if you are fortunate
enough to get your dog safely through the fight, it will probably be
owing to the courtesy of some sympathetic onlookers who came to the
rescue in your extremity. When such an encounter occurs on an open road
with wilder dogs, the scene may prove a battle royal. In that case the
most effective way of driving your assailants off is to throw stones at
them, of which they are more afraid than of any stick in your hand.
Sometimes even the gesture of stooping to pick up a stone will suffice
to put the enemy to flight, yelping with imaginary pain. In view of this
state of things among the dogs of the city, a Turk, wishing to say that
a certain person is not of his "sort," puts the case in the clearest and
most scathing light by the simple remark, "He is not a dog of my
quarter."
The dogs are treated very kindly by the Moslem population. Large
companies of them encamp near barracks and guard-houses, certain to find
friends among the soldiers, and to share their rations. They will gather
about the shop of a baker or of a butcher, or wander like beggars from
one such place of entertainment to another in their district, sure they
will not be left to starve. There is a racy Turkish proverb based upon
this habit of dogs to sit in a row before a butcher's shop, expecting
scraps of meat. It is pointed against idlers who are waiting for
something to turn up, and runs to the following effect, "If looking on
were enough to get on, dogs would become butchers." It is not rare to
see Turks purchasing a loaf and distributing it among a company of dogs.
Sometimes a dog will take his stand near a baker's shop, and at your
approach will place himself at your feet, and with beseeching eyes
appeal to your generosity to buy him some bread, wagging his tail in
gratitude for the anticipated favour. There are dogs who come to an
understanding with a family of their acquaintance as to the most
convenient time to call for food, and who, at the appointed hour, tap at
the door of their host's house for the promised meal. It is common to
see at the door of a Turkish house an earthen jar, or an old petroleum
can, half sunk in the ground, and kept filled with water for the dogs;
and there is a low drinking-trough, for the benefit of the poor
creatures, at many of the public fountains in the city. Frequently also,
one sees a bed of straw provided for the comfort of a mother dog and her
litter of puppies.
[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO A TURKISH KHAN
The Khans formerly used by travelling merchants with their laden camels
are now almost entirely used for offices and warehouses.]
The idea of killing a dog is shocking to a Turk's mind. In his opinion,
it is sinful to do so. At one time, a dog in the village of Roumeli
Hissar upon the Bosporus became exceedingly dangerous. Not content with
keeping stray members of his own race off his ground, he snarled and
showed his teeth at every decent person who crossed his path, until at
length a European resident, losing patience, drew a pistol and fired
upon the obnoxious animal. The shot missed, but the gentleman who had
fired it was guilty of a double offence. He had broken the law
forbidding the carrying of firearms, and he had attempted the life of a
dog. The culprit was instantly surrounded by a fierce mob, arrested by
the police, and taken to the village prison. As strong influence could
be secured for his protection, his case was easily settled. But the
question how to deal with the dog was a more difficult matter to
arrange. Neither arguments nor backsish could persuade the police to
kill the dog. The utmost the guardians of the public safety would do was
to transport him to the opposite side of the Bosporus, and consign him
to the tender mercies of the inhabitants of that shore; and this would
be done, only if the aggrieved party would defray the expense involved
in executing the decree of banishment. A change of domicile from Europe
to Asia, or from Asia to Europe, is the most usual remedy applied, when
dogs show bad temper or become too numerous for the happiness of a
particular locality. It is a remedy, however, that provokes a policy of
retaliation, and induces a return of the evil in some analogous form.
[Illustration: TURKISH WELL, STAMBOUL
The water supply is obtained by means of the primitive pump at the side
of the stone tank; the rod attached to the crossbeam is pulled downwards
to work the pump.]
Notwithstanding all this kindness, dogs are held in great contempt. They
do look a disreputable lot. There are not many grosser insults in Turkey
than to call a man "a dog" (kiopek), or to dismiss him with the
ejaculation, "ousht," the term employed in driving a dog away.
Among the objects which attract attention, as one moves through the
streets, are the public fountains scattered over the city. They are
found everywhere, and are often remarkable for their architectural
beauty. Their number is explained by the fact that the old system of
water-supply did not bring water into the houses, but only to the
different quarters of the city, thus making it necessary to have, at
convenient points, outlets from which the inhabitants could obtain
water, either by coming to draw it for themselves, or by engaging the
services of water-carriers. However inconvenient this arrangement may
seem, it was always a pleasing sight to see groups of women and children
gathered towards evening about the fountain (Tchesmè) of their district
to fill graceful, bright-coloured pitchers at the gushing faucets, and
then to wend homewards. It took one far back in the ways of the world,
and was a bit of the country in the town. Nor are the faithful
water-carriers (sakka) forgotten, who brought water in great leathern
vessels, shaped like a blunderbuss, hung horizontally by a strap from
the left shoulder, and who poured the contents into a large earthenware
vessel within your house. The aqueducts of Valens, Justinian, and other
Byzantine Emperors, as well as the Basilica Cistern (Yeri Batan Serai)
still act their part in furnishing the city with water. Until recently,
the only other source of water-supply was either rain-water led from the
roof into a cistern built under the house, or water brought in barrels
from springs in the surrounding country. The introduction of water from
the Lake of Derkos, which lies close to the Black Sea, to the west of
the Bosporus, has been a great boon to the city, but it is not in favour
for drinking purposes.
[Illustration: A FOUNTAIN BY THE BOSPORUS
In this form of fountain the tank is enclosed within four marble walls
and roofed over.]
The most interesting fountains are those known as Sebil, generally pious
foundations, and next to the mosques and turbehs, the best specimens of
Oriental Art in the city. The finest example of this form of fountain is
the well-known Fountain of Sultan Achmed III. (1703-1730), which stands
to the east of S. Sophia, near the Grand Entrance to the Seraglio,
and which was designed by that Sultan himself. The fountains are
polygonal chambers; with broad, brightly-painted, wooden eaves; with
sides of gilded open iron work, or of marble slabs, over which carved
flowers and fruits are spread in profusion; and, often, surmounted by
fantastic little domes. Within, is found a tank from which a man keeps
full of water a number of metal cups, attached by chains to the iron
work, but accessible, through the openings in it, to every thirsty
wayfarer, without money and without price. The living, personal, human
element in this mode of distributing water is as impressive as the fairy
form of the monument. Furthermore, water-carriers, paid from the funds
which endow a fountain, go about the streets to give "the water of life"
freely to any person who asks for it.
To erect a public fountain is a very usual form of public benefaction
among Moslems, and is regarded as highly meritorious. It is common to
find, in the garden wall of Turkish mansions along the Bosporus, a
fountain opening on the side of the quay for the relief of any
passer-by, and especially of boatmen, who come on shore to tow their
craft against the current. To repair a fountain is also a work of merit;
an idea that, on one occasion, gave rise to a curious incident. The
fountain in a certain Turkish district, although very much the worse for
use, was for some reason left neglected by the community. Whereupon a
Christian neighbour proposed to put the fountain in order at his own
expense. The offer was welcome, but it raised a difficult question.
Would the original Moslem builder of the fountain not lose the merit of
having constructed it, if his work were restored by a Christian? Would
the Moslem community in the district not lose merit, for allowing the
fountain to be repaired by an alien in creed? And so the matter was laid
aside for consideration. At last it was settled to the satisfaction of
all parties on the following understanding. The Christian might be
allowed to execute the necessary repairs, if he renounced any merit for
doing so, and agreed that all the merit of the good deed should belong
to the original Moslem builder of the fountain. To this way out of the
difficulty, the Christian had no objection, and, after signing a legal
document to that effect, he was permitted to carry out his kind
intention.
Turks are extremely particular in regard to the quality of the water
they drink, and are willing to be at much trouble and expense to obtain
water of the kind they prefer. To be a perfect beverage, water must
issue from a rock, fall from a height, be of medium temperature, flow
rapidly and copiously, taste sweet, spring in high and lonely around,
and run from south to north, or from east to west. The excellence of any
water is accordingly determined by the number of these conditions it
fulfils. It is remarkable how much pleasure Turks find in visiting a
famous spring in the country, to spend the whole day beside it, under
the shade of trees, doing little else but drink carafe after carafe of
the water, as the elixir of life. Resorts of this description abound on
the shores and in the valleys of the Upper Bosporus, under such names as
"The Water of Life," "The Silver Water," "The Water under the Chestnut
Trees," "The Water beside the Hazels." The spectacle of the great
gatherings there, on Fridays, arrayed in bright colours, seated tier
above tier on the terraced platforms built against the green slope of a
hill, the women above, the men below, all in the deep shade of branches
meeting overhead, forms a picture beyond a painter's power to reproduce.
In this connection may be mentioned also the attractive little scenes
upon which one comes frequently in walking through the city--quiet
nooks, a little off the great thoroughfares, with a vine or westeria
spread on a trellis across the street for an awning, and a group of
humble workmen, seated on low stools at the door of a cafeneh, sipping
tiny cups of coffee, drinking water, smoking the narghileh, too happy to
speak much. Occasionally, the court of a small khan, or a portion of a
large court, is thus canopied by a trellised vine, making an oasis in
the desert of lowly toil.
[Illustration: OPEN-AIR CAFÉ, STAMBOUL
Smoking the narghileh and drinking coffee occupy a large part of the
Turk's time.]