[Illustration: MISS PARDOE.
H. Room. Thompson.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1840.]
THE
BEAUTIES OF THE BOSPHORUS;
BY MISS PARDOE,
FROM DRAWINGS
BY WILLIAM H. BARTLETT.
[Illustration: SCENE OF THE BARBYSES IN THE VALLEY OF SWEET WATERS.
W. H. Bartlett. H. Griffiths.]
LONDON:
PUBLISHED FOR THE PROPRIETORS BY GEORGE VIRTUE, 26, IVY LANE
1839.
THE
BEAUTIES OF THE BOSPHORUS;
BY MISS PARDOE,
Author of “The City of the Sultan,”
ILLUSTRATED IN A SERIES OF
VIEWS OF CONSTANTINOPLE
AND ITS ENVIRONS,
FROM ORIGINAL DRAWINGS BY W. H. BARTLETT.
“’Tis a grand sight, from off the ‘Giant’s Grave,’
To watch the progress of those rolling seas
Between the Bosphorus, as they lash and lave
Europe and Asia.”
BYRON.
LONDON:
PUBLISHED FOR THE PROPRIETORS, BY
GEORGE VIRTUE, 26, IVY LANE.
1838.
LONDON:
R. CLAY, PRINTER, BREAD-STREET-HILL.
TO
THE MOST EXCELLENT VIZIR
MUSTAFA RÉCHID PASHA,
MUSHIR, AND MINISTER OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS OF THE SUBLIME PORTE,
DECORATED WITH THE NISHAM OF HONOUR
APPERTAINING TO HIS ELEVATED RANK.
KNIGHT GRAND CROSS OF THE LEGION OF HONOUR OF FRANCE,
OF THE ORDER OF LEOPOLD OF BELGIUM,
AND OF ISABELLE OF SPAIN,
&c. &c. &c. &c.
This Volume is Inscribed,
AS A TOKEN OF REGARD FOR HIS FRIENDSHIP,
AND OF ADMIRATION FOR HIS TALENTS,
BY
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
Page
Introduction 3
The Valley of the Sweet Waters 6
Eyoub 9
Turkish Baths 13
Palace of Beshik-Tash 17
The Castles of Europe and Asia 20
Fountain of the Asian Sweet Waters 22
Aqueduct near Pyrgo 24
The Mausoleum of Solyman “the Magnificent” 25
Yeni Djami 28
The Tcharchi, or Bazārs of Constantinople 29
Fountain in Galata 37
View from Mount Bulgurlhu 39
Turkish Houses on the Bosphorus 40
Mosque of Sultana Validè, from the Port 43
The Mosque of Sultan Achmet 44
The Column of Marcian 48
Scutari 50
Musicians at the Asian Sweet Waters 55
Beglier-Bey 57
Saint Sophia 60
The Ocmeidan 64
The Seraï Bournou 66
Top-hannè 72
The Walls of Constantinople 74
The Mosque of Chazade 79
Suleimaniè 80
The Port of Constantinople 82
Entrance to the Black Sea 84
The Palace of Belisarius 89
The Seraglio Point 91
Yenikeuï 92
Dolma-Batchè, from the Grand Champ-des-Morts 94
A Bendt, in the Forest of Belgrade 96
Mosque of Sultan Bajazet 106
The Riven Tower, (near the Top-Kapousi) 110
Istenia 111
The Arsenal, (from Pera) 113
The Tower of Galata 115
The Tchernberlè Tasch 117
The Ferry at Scutari 118
A Turkish Apartment 125
The Slave-Market 127
Petit Champ-des-Morts, Pera 130
The Guz-Couli, or Maiden’s Tower 134
Bebec, on the Bosphorus 135
A Public Khan 138
Fort Beil-Gorod, on the Bosphorus 142
The Aqueduct of Baghtchè-Keuï 143
A Coffee-Kiosque 147
The Bosphorus 151
Conclusion 156
DIRECTIONS TO THE BINDER.
LIST OF PLATES.
_To face Page_
PORTRAIT OF MISS PARDOE, TO FACE THE VIGNETTE
PALACE OF THE SWEET WATERS 6
COURT OF THE MOSQUE OF EYOUB 9
EYOUB 11
THE GOLDEN HORN, FROM THE CEMETERY OF EYOUB 12
COOLING-ROOM OF A HAMMĀM 15
SCENE FROM ABOVE THE NEW PALACE OF BESHIK-TASH 17
THE BOSPHORUS, FROM ABOVE BESHIK-TASH, LOOKING NORTH 19
THE CASTLES OF EUROPE AND ASIA 21
FOUNTAIN NEAR THE ASIAN VALLEY OF SWEET WATERS, ON THE BOSPHORUS 22
AQUEDUCT OF THE EMPEROR VALENS, NEAR PYRGO 24
MAUSOLEUM OF SOLYMAN THE MAGNIFICENT, AND ROXALANA 26
INTERIOR OF THE MAUSOLEUM OF SULTAN SOLYMAN 27
YENI DJAMI, OR MOSQUE OF THE SULTANA VALIDÈ 28
GREAT AVENUE IN THE TCHARTCHI 29
THE ARMOURY BAZĀR 31
A SCENE IN THE TCHARTCHI 32
KAÏMAC SHOP IN THE TCHARTCHI 34
FOUNTAIN IN GALATA 37
VIEW FROM MOUNT BULGURLHU 39
TURKISH COUNTRY HOUSES, ON THE BOSPHORUS 40
MOSQUE OF SULTANA VALIDÈ, FROM THE PORT 43
THE ATMEIDAN, OR HIPPODROME 45
COURT OF THE MOSQUE OF SULTAN ACHMET 47
COLUMN OF MARCIAN 48
CEMETERY OF SCUTARI 50
FOUNTAIN AT SCUTARI 53
MUSICIANS AT THE ASIAN VALLEY OF SWEET WATERS 55
THE SUMMER PALACE AT BEGLIER-BEY 57
COURT AND FOUNTAIN OF ST. SOPHIA 61
INTERIOR OF ST. SOPHIA’S 63
VIEW FROM THE OCMEIDAN 64
COLUMN OF THEODOSIUS 66
FOUNTAIN AND SQUARE OF ST. SOPHIA 69
THIRD COURT OF THE SERAÏ BOURNOU 70
FOURTH COURT OF THE SERAÏ BOURNOU 71
FOUNTAIN AND MARKET AT TOP-HANNÈ 72
THE CITY WALLS, DESCENDING TO THE PORT 74
TOP-KAPOUSI, OR THE CANNONGATE 76
FOUNTAIN AND MOSQUE OF CHAZADE 79
MOSQUE OF SULEIMANIÈ, FROM THE SERASKIER’S TOWER 80
INTERIOR OF THE MOSQUE OF SULEIMANIÈ 81
MIHRAB OF THE MOSQUE OF SULEIMANIÈ 82
THE PORT OF CONSTANTINOPLE 83
ENTRANCE TO THE BLACK SEA, FROM THE GIANT’S GRAVE 84
THE BOSPHORUS, OPPOSITE THE GENOESE CASTLE 85
THERAPIA, AND THE GIANT’S GRAVE 86
BUYUKDÈRÈ, FROM THE GIANT’S GRAVE 88
PALACE OF BELISARIUS 89
THE SERAGLIO POINT 91
YENIKEUIJ, ON THE BOSPHORUS 92
DOLMA-BATCHÈ, FROM THE NECROPOLIS OF PERA 94
A BENDT, IN THE FOREST ABOVE BELGRADE 96
AQUEDUCT OF VALENS, IN THE CITY 99
CISTERN OF BEN-VEBER-DIREG, OR THE THOUSAND AND ONE 100
YÈRÈ-BATAN-SERAÏ 103
MOSQUE OF BAJAZET, WITH THE SERASKIER’S GATE 106
COURT OF THE MOSQUE OF BAJAZET 107
THE SEA OF MARMORA, FROM THE SERASKIER’S TOWER 109
RIVEN TOWER, NEAR THE TOP-KAPOUSI 110
ISTENIA, NEAR THERAPIA 111
THE ARSENAL, FROM PERA 113
THE TOWER OF GALATA 115
THE FLOATING BRIDGE 116
THE TCHERNBERLÈ TASH, OR BURNT PILLAR 117
VIEW FROM THE FERRY AT SCUTARI 118
CONSTANTINOPLE, FROM SCUTARI 121
ENTRANCE TO THE SEVEN TOWERS 122
A TURKISH APARTMENT, IN THE FANAR 125
THE MOSQUE OF OSMANIÈ, FROM THE SLAVE-MARKET 127
THE PETIT CHAMP-DES-MORTS, PERA 130
TOMB IN THE CEMETERY OF SCUTARI 132
THE GUZ-COULI, OR MAIDEN’S TOWER 134
BEBEC, ON THE BOSPHORUS 136
A PUBLIC KHAN 138
FORT BEIL-GOROD 142
AQUEDUCT OF BAGHTCHÈ-KEUÏ 143
VIEW THROUGH THE AQUEDUCT OF BAGHTCHÈ-KEUÏ 145
A COFFEE-KIOSQUE, ON THE PORT 147
MAP OF THE ENVIRONS OF CONSTANTINOPLE, WITH THE THRACIAN BOSPHORUS 151
THE BEAUTIES OF THE BOSPHORUS.
“’Tis a grand sight, from off the ‘Giant’s Grave’,
To watch the progress of those rolling seas
Between the Bosphorus, as they lash and lave
Europe and Asia.”
BYRON.
Every enjoyment of life has three distinct
stages—anticipation—reality—and reminiscence; and it is more difficult
than it at first appears to be, to decide on the comparative extent and
value of each. Hope is the most extravagant and imaginative; action, the
most engrossing and tangible; and memory, the most calm, and durable, and
sober.
I feel this truth forcibly at a moment like the present, when, after
having laid aside the pen with which, upon the glorious shores of
the Bosphorus, I recorded the observations growing out of passing
circumstances, and glowing with reality and action, I am once more
called upon mentally to retrace my steps. For months before I visited
the picturesque capital of Turkey, I had nourished visions as bright and
as impalpable as the rainbow. I anticipated I knew not what—adventures
as numerous and as romantic as those of the “Thousand and One Nights;”
and I dreamt dreams impossible of accomplishment; not caring to inquire
too curiously of my reason whether such things would be; but content to
inhabit my cloud-land castle, and to look down from the unstable edifice
in all the luxury growing out of my self-created images.
When I was subsequently dwelling in the “City of the Sultan,” and that
reality had succeeded to anticipation, much of the mist of romance,
indeed, rolled away; but the fair face of the landscape suffered little
from its absence, for Constantinople needs no aid from the imagination
to make it one of the brightest gems in the diadem of nature: its clear
calm sky, its glittering sea, its amphitheatre of thickly-peopled hills,
its geographical position, its political importance, and, above all,
its surpassing novelty, tend to make every day and every hour in that
gorgeous scene, and under that sunny sky, a season of intense enjoyment;
while the varying character of the native population, constituted as
it is of such anomalous materials—the truthful Turk, the wily Greek,
the stately Armenian, and the timid Jew—coupled with the blended air of
mystery and of magnificence which pervades the whole locality, suffice
to render the Turkish metropolis a sojourn of unwearied and exciting
delight: and when, favoured by circumstances which seemed to shape
themselves to my wishes in a manner to make me doubt whether the spells
of fairy-land were indeed all broken, I was enabled to penetrate to the
very centre of Turkish society, and to domesticate myself both with
princes and peasants, I found that the fallacies which had evaporated,
would have been but a sorry exchange for the reality that remained; and I
gave the advantage to the fact over the anticipation.
And now, once more, when the heat and the hurry of the expedition are
over, when the pride and the pageantry have passed away, and that I
am preparing to live over again that brief period of delight—conjured
back, as by magic, in gazing on the extraordinarily faithful and
admirable sketches which lie upon my table in “merrie England,” from
the pencil of Mr. Bartlett,—I am tempted to believe that my hour of
real enjoyment has arrived; an hour which I may prolong or multiply at
my pleasure, by memories of scenes well known, and individuals vividly
remembered—of beauty and of luxury, of legend and of song. I look back
upon my residence at Constantinople and its environs as upon a bright
vision, which I am glad to have an opportunity of calling up once more,
and investing with tangibility: and thus I feel that I am now, perhaps,
enjoying the true and enduring privilege of the traveller, as I turn
from one graphic sketch to another, and recall the circumstances and
incidents which have tended to impress each spot upon my memory; while I
am compelled to doubt if the romance of anticipation, or the fatigue and
risk of positive residence, indeed outweighed the quiet memories which
throng about me to-day, and people my cheerful apartment with by-gone
brilliant shapes, and scenes never to be forgotten.
The great charm of Constantinople to an European eye exists in the
extreme novelty, which is in itself a spell; for not only the whole
locality, but all its accessories, are so unlike what the traveller has
left behind him in the West, that every group is a study, and every
incident a lesson; and he feels at once the necessity of flinging from
him a thousand factitious wants and narrow conventional prejudices,
and of looking calmly and dispassionately upon men and scenes wholly
dissimilar to those with which he had previously been acquainted.
Nor is even this all; for the march of expediency has been so rapid, and
the mania for reform so active during the reign of the present Sultan,
that the most extraordinary changes are constantly taking place, not
only in the habits and feelings of the people, but in the very aspect of
their city. The beautiful remains of Moorish architecture, so essentially
Oriental in their character, are giving place to European innovation; the
heavy, drooping, convoluted roofs of the fountains are disappearing, to
make room for light iron railings; and the bright frescoes and painted
screens of the wooden palaces are superseded by columns of sculptured
marble; an anomaly sufficiently startling to convince the traveller that
it is only a first step towards the total extinction of that peculiar
and fairy-like species of architecture which renders the vicinity of the
Bosphorus so unlike every other locality, that it appears to be rather
the embodyment of a “Midsummer night’s dream,” than a mere earthly
landscape.
If it be indeed desirable to
“Catch the living manners as they rise,”
it can be no less so to preserve a record of the past. There is a fine
moral in the representation of things that have passed away, if it be
read aright. We gaze on the pictured glories of Tyre and Sidon, of
Nineveh and Carthage, and the lesson is a salutary one. In after-years,
in like manner, when the Constantinople of to-day shall have become
changed, (as it surely will,) into a mere city of European palaces, and
marts, and manufactories, it will be a reposing place for the spirit
to dwell upon the semblance of that which it once was, while Turkey
was yet (ostensibly at least,) an independent Empire, with a distinct
faith, and feeling, and principle of existence; ere the progress of
events, political as well as moral, swept away, with the unsparing besom
of reform, the web which the spider of antiquity had woven about “the
palaces of the Caliphs.”
THE VALLEY OF THE SWEET WATERS.
“From its base emerged
A vital spring of water; which thence flow’d
In winding rills across the flow’ry glade,
At which the beasts of earth and fowl of air
Refreshed their palates, after dainty feed.”
ABINGTON’S _Chaos_.
Kyat-Khana, called by the Franks the “Valley of the Sweet Waters,” is
a lovely glen, nestled at the base of a chain of hills, and situated
between Eyoub and Hassa Kuï, the quarter of the Jews. It is entirely
shut in on all sides; and looks from the heights above, which are bleak
and arid, like a huge emerald. Through the thick grass of the valley,
and under the shadow of its magnificent trees, flows the Barbyses; a
limpid, but inconsiderable stream, upon whose banks rise two of the
most fairy-like edifices that ever sheltered prince or peasant! The
larger building is a summer-palace, where the favourite wives of the
Sultan lounge away many of the long sunshiny days of the warm season in
comparative freedom; and exchange the closely-latticed apartments of
the Imperial harem for the shady groves and grassy paths of the palace
gardens; dreaming through the hot hours in gilded kiosques[1] on the
river bank; or driving amid the tall plane-trees in arabas,[2] bright
with gilding, and drawn by cream-coloured oxen.
It must not be supposed, however, that, in addition to these enjoyments,
the fair Sultanas are even here permitted to look upon a world from which
they are elsewhere so jealously shut out; I have already enumerated
all the privileges of their summer residence. When the harem is about
to remove to Kyat-Khana, a military _cordon_ is established along the
whole range of the heights overlooking the valley, and the public are
entirely shut out from that portion of it which immediately surrounds the
palace. Occasional glimpses of the pretty prisoners may, nevertheless,
be obtained, as they glide along the Barbyses, in their magnificent
caïques,[3] closely veiled, and followed by other boats, filled with a
portion of the negro guard of the household.
[Illustration: PALACE OF THE SWEET WATERS.
_PALAIS DES EAUX DOUCES._ _DER PALAST DES SÜSSEN WASSERS._
W. H. Bartlett. After a sketch by Miss Pardoe. W. Mossman.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1839.]
The locality owes its name of Kyat-Khana, (literally signifying the
House of Paper,) to the fact that a paper manufactory was formed in
the valley by a renegade, named Ibrahim, in the year 1727, during the
reign of Achmed III. It was, however, abandoned, as well as a printing
establishment instituted by the same individual, in consequence of a
refusal from the Ulema to permit the printing of the Korān, which they
declared to be too holy to be submitted to so infidel a process; and the
machinery and buildings were in a state of almost equal dilapidation,
when Sultan Selim, the uncle and predecessor of the present sovereign,
anxious to revive so useful an art among his people, gave up the palace
as a manufactory, and munificently encouraged the re-establishment of
the fabric; but he was fated to see this attempt fail, like many others
which he made to ameliorate the condition of his subjects, and which he
ultimately expiated with his life. All traces of the undertaking have now
vanished from the valley, and the palace has become once more an Imperial
residence.
The smaller edifice to which allusion has been made, is a kiosque,
also appertaining to the Sultan, and occasionally occupied by the high
officers of the household: it stands on the very edge of the Barbyses,
and the caïques glide under the windows, or shoot along beneath the thick
branches of the trees on the opposite bank, with a velocity which, to
the eye of a stranger, is perfectly surprising; while the inmates of the
kiosque smoke their _chibouques_ in luxurious indolence, fanned by the
air of the river, and amused by the passing groupes.
The valley itself is delicious; the greensward is bright and rich, to
a degree unknown in any other environ of the city. In spring it is the
grazing-ground of the Imperial stud; and the beautiful Arabians are
installed with great pomp, picketted after the Eastern fashion, and
superintended by parties of Bulgarians, whose tents are pitched in
the valley, and who never quit it under any pretence until they are
released from their charge. In summer it is the resort of all ranks;
who, on every Friday (the Turkish Sabbath,) resort thither, to enjoy
what none know better how to appreciate than the Orientals—a bright sky,
a running stream, flowers, leaves, and sunshine. Bullock-carriages,
covered with gay-coloured awnings of silken shag, fringed with gold;
gilded arabas, drawn by swift horses; and caïques, the number of whose
elegantly-clad rowers denotes the rank or wealth of their owners, pour
forth their tenants every moment; while the thick branches of the noble
trees protect from the glare of the sun parties of white-veiled women,
who, squatted on their mats or carpets, and attended by their slaves,
sit for hours listening to the Wallachian and Bulgarian musicians, who
collect _paras_[4] and praises at a very trifling expense of melody;
purchasing the prettily and significantly arranged bouquets of the
dark-eyed Bohemian flower-girls; or watching the ungainly dances of
the Sclavonians, who, with their discordant bagpipes under their arms,
perform evolutions which resemble the saltatory attempts of half-educated
bears. Here and there, a little apart from the crowd, may be seen a party
of Greeks, engaged in their graceful romaïka; while groups of lovely
children, and water-venders, and sweetmeat merchants, wander up and down
the greensward, and are greeted with smiles and welcome on all sides. It
is, in short, a spirit-stirring scene; and the poorer classes who are
unable to command a carriage, or a caïque, will cheerfully toil on foot
from the city, under a scorching sun, in order to secure their portion of
the festival.
A great deal of public business is occasionally transacted at Kyat-Khana;
and then the sparkling Barbyses is alive with the gilded barges of the
Pashas and Beys, shooting over the ripple like meteors; the grandee
himself being carefully shielded from the sun by a red umbrella, held
over him as he reclines on his cushions at the bottom of the boat,
quietly smoking his chibouque, by an attendant, who is squatted on the
raised stern of the arrow-like bark, immediately behind him.
The valley of Kyat-Khana is a very favourite resort of the present
Sultan, who has expended considerable sums in beautifying the palace,
and in ornamenting the fountains and kiosques which appertain to it; but
only a short time since it was entirely abandoned for two years, owing
to the death of a favourite Odalisque, who expired suddenly, in the very
zenith of her youth and beauty, during a visit which she made here with
her Imperial master; whose grief at her loss was so intense, that he
could not bear to inhabit the valley until time had blunted his regret.
A handsome head-stone, erected to her memory, lettered with gold, and
overshadowed by a weeping willow, stands upon a square platform, beneath
the windows of the saloon occupied by the Sultan; and the breeze, as it
sweeps through the flexile branches of the tree, almost carries them into
the apartment. Sultan Mahmoud, who is esteemed a very respectable poet
for an Emperor, is said, during his season of despair, to have written a
pathetic ballad in her honour; but, be that as it may, it is certain that
she has been long forgotten among the bevy of beauties who now tread the
gilded chambers of the palace of Kyat-Khana.
EYOUB.
“It is a goodly sight to see
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land!”
BYRON.
Eyoub, beautifully situated at the eastern extremity of the walls of
Constantinople, and stretching down to the very lip of the harbour,
is the “holy of holies” of the Turks. Its magnificent mosque and its
picturesque cemetery are equally historical; while its position,
overlooking the whole extent of the Golden Horn, and commanding a noble
view far up the Bosphorus, is possibly unrivalled. Smoothly-rounded
hills, feathered with trees varying in character, but all rich in beauty,
form a background eminently scenic; the lofty maple and the leafy
plane-tree, the fan-like acacia and the rigid cypress, flourish side by
side, and overshadow a wilderness of graves; while the suburb itself,
unusually well-built and regular, circles a portion of the harbour with
stately and pleasant dwellings.
[Illustration: COURT OF THE MOSQUE OF EYOUB.
_COUR DE LA MOSQUÉE D’EYOUB._ _DER HOF DER MOSCHEE ZU EYOUB._
W. H. Bartlett. J. Carter.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1840.]
The mosque, built of the purest white marble, with a court gloriously
shaded by gigantic trees, and paved with the same material of which the
edifice is composed, is the most sacred of all the Constantinopolitan
temples; for on this spot tradition says that Abu Eyoub, the
companion-in-arms of the Prophet, was slain, during the siege of the
Saracens in 668, a fact which was revealed in a vision to Mahomet II.
about 800 years afterwards; who, in commemoration of the event, laid the
foundation of the present mosque, which is one of the most elegant in the
capital; and is rendered still more holy in the eyes of the Turks, from
the circumstance that it is within these walls that every Sultan, on his
accession, is invested with the sword of sovereignty. No infidel foot is
permitted, under whatever pretence, to desecrate the mosque of Eyoub; and
Christians are rarely, and always reluctantly, admitted even to the court.
At Eyoub, on the very verge of the water, stands one of the summer
palaces built by the unfortunate Sultan Selim, and overlooking the lovely
glen through which the Barbyses flows calmly onward, to lose itself in
the harbour. It is now the property of the Sultana Asmè, the elder sister
of the present Sultan.
“The decorations throughout are heavy, but of the greatest richness,
and perfectly oriental in their character. What was formerly the
reception-room of the ill-fated sovereign is entirely lined with gilding;
the walls being niched and overhung with stalactited cornices similar to
those which decorate many of our old cathedral tombs; and the weight of
this elaborate ornament is relieved by a ceiling of faint blue, sprinkled
with silver stars.”[5]
The exterior of the building is in the Moorish taste, with a convoluted
and projecting roof; and the façade is of considerable extent.
Near this palace stands the great Fèz manufactory, where all the caps for
the court and the army are now made. It is a modern building, erected on
the site of one of the dilapidated kiosques of the Sultan, and is a very
important and ornamental feature in the landscape.
There is an anecdote connected with this establishment, which is
sufficiently characteristic and amusing to merit transcription; and it
may be inserted here for the benefit of the many, to whom it will be
entirely novel. “The manufactory was suggested and founded by Omer Lufti
Effendi, in consequence of the extremely high price paid by the Sultan
to the Tunisians, with whom this fabric originated, for the head-dress
of his troops. Having induced a party of Arabian workmen from Tunis to
accompany him to Constantinople, he established them in the old palace,
which has since been replaced by the present noble building; and under
their direction the knitting and shaping of the caps acquired some degree
of perfection.
“But the dye was a secret beyond their art; and the Turkish government,
anxious to second the views of the energetic Omer Effendi, made a
second importation of Tunisians with no better success, although they
were chosen from among the most efficient workmen of their country. The
caps, while they were equal both in form and texture to those of Tunis,
were dingy and ill-coloured; and the Arabs declared that the failure of
the dye was owing to the water in and about Constantinople, which was
unfavourable to the drugs employed.
“As a last hope, a trial was made at Smit, but with the same result; and
the attempt to localise the manufacture was about to be abandoned, when
Omer Effendi, suspecting the good faith of the Arabian workmen, disguised
a clever Angorian Armenian, named Avanis Aga, as a Turk, whom he placed
as a labourer in the dye-room. Being a good chemist and a shrewd
observer, Avanis Aga, affecting a simplicity that removed all suspicion,
soon made himself master of the secret which it so much imported his
anxious patron to learn; and, abandoning the ignoble besom that he had
wielded, as the attendant of the Tunisian dyers, immediately that he
discovered the fraud, which, either in obedience to the secret orders of
their Regent, or from an excess of patriotism, they had been practising
ever since their arrival, he set himself to work in secret; and, with the
water of Smit, dyed two caps, which, having dried, he presented to Omer
Effendi, who was unable to distinguish them from those of Tunis.
“Delighted at the successful issue of his experiment, Omer Effendi
summoned the Arabs to his presence, and showed them the Fèz; when,
instantly suspecting the masquerade that had betrayed them, they
simultaneously turned towards the Armenian; and throwing their turbans on
the ground, and tearing their hair, they cried out, ‘Yaccoup! Yaccoup!’
(Jacob! Jacob!)
“The superintendent having dismissed them, after causing them to
be liberally remunerated for the time which they had spent at
Constantinople, sent them back to Tunis; while Avanis Aga, elected Head
Dyer of the Imperial Manufactory of Eyoub, now enjoys the high honour of
deciding on the exact tint to be worn by Mahmoud the Powerful, the ‘Light
of the Sun,’ and ‘Shadow of the Universe.’”[6]
[Illustration: EYOUB.
W. H. Bartlett. Chas. Richardson.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1839.]
By far the most interesting feature of Eyoub is, however, its
beautifully-situated cemetery, occupying the slope of a thickly-wooded
hill. After the necropolis of Scutari, that of Eyoub is the most
venerated by the Turks; and to the stranger it is rendered peculiarly
interesting by the fact, that it contains the tombs of the “Tiger-Pasha,”
Ali of Tepeleni, whose life, revolt, and death, form a wild and
thrilling romance; and those of his three sons, and his grandson; who,
in accordance with Eastern ideas of expediency, shared his punishment;
and whose trunkless heads now lie in the burial-ground of Eyoub, beside
his own. On a parapet wall directly facing the Selyvria gate, five oblong
blocks of marble of unequal height, and crowned with turbans, are ranged
side by side in a conspicuous situation. That which covers the head of
the traitor himself is thus inscribed:—“Here lies the head of the once
celebrated Tepedelenly Ali Pasha, Governor of the Sangiac of Yanina;
who for more than fifty years pretended to independence in Albania.”
The others simply record the name and rank of the respective victims,
and terminate the inscription very _naïvely_ with the words, “who has
been put to death by the cutting off of his head;” without attempting
to perpetuate any accusation of crime or misdemeanour; their unlucky
relationship to the rebel Pasha being accounted a sufficient treason.
When on a visit at the Fanar, or Greek quarter of the city, I had once
a momentary glimpse of the widow of this celebrated rebel. She was the
daughter of a Greek papas, or priest, of Yanina, of great beauty and
some erudition, to whom the Pasha was reported to have been passionately
attached; though she is accused (it is doubtful with what justice) of
having stipulated to receive her “thirty pieces of silver” for betraying
him to the Government. Be this as it may, it is certain that she
possessed great influence over his mind; and that it was entirely by
her arguments and entreaties that he was dissuaded from the desperate
intention of blowing her, himself, and his treasures, up with gunpowder,
to prevent their falling into the hands of the Sultan; and that it was
she who negotiated the affair between Ali and Hourchid Pasha; while it
is equally a fact, that let her have made what compact she might, she
received neither money nor land from the Turkish Government after the
execution of her husband, but was turned over in a state of positive
destitution to the custody of the Patriarch, where she literally owed
her daily comforts to the charity of the benevolent. She was a voluntary
prisoner in her apartment, from which she seldom emerged save to attend
some ceremony in the Patriarchal Church; and her time was said to be
generally passed in prayer.
The view from the cemetery is strikingly fine; on the one hand the city,
throned on its seven hills, with a thousand stately domes gleaming in
the sunshine, and a thousand taper minarets glancing towards heaven,
stretches along the edge of the harbour, until the line is lost at the
abrupt and palace-cumbered point of the ancient Byzantium; beyond which
may be descried the termination of the Bosphorus, and the mountain-chain
of Bulgurlhu, on the Thracian shore of the channel.
On the other side of the land-locked harbour the gently-flowing Barbyses
glides, like a silver thread, through the valley of Kyat-Khana, to pay
its tribute to the wealth-freighted waters of the Golden Horn; and on the
verge of a small hamlet not above two furlongs from this calm stream,
stands a small mosque, half buried in trees, insignificant in appearance,
and seldom remarked by strangers; which is, however, too historically
interesting to be passed over. It is called the “Mosque of Blood,” and is
painted a dull red from the base of its walls to the summit of its single
minaret. It is a desecrated temple, having been forced during the last
siege by a party of combatants, some of whom expired beneath its roof,
and thus brought the presence of death where, on religious principles,
it is never suffered to intrude; while in its immediate vicinity rises
a bleak, treeless, and desolate-looking eminence, occupied by the bones
of all the True Believers who perished during that memorable struggle,
to the amount of some thousands: their remains have been respected, but
there is neither monument nor inscription to perpetuate the memory of
their good services.
Beyond this mosque, the out-buildings of the Imperial arsenal, the
dry-dock for the construction of shipping, the galleys, (which are under
the immediate control and authority of the High Admiral,) the powder
magazines, and the ruined palace of a former Capudan Pasha, occupy the
shore as high as the suburb of Kassim Pasha, where stands the Marine
Barrack, a huge pile, chiefly remarkable for the wretched taste of
its tawdry fresco-painting, and its air of chilling desolation; and
near to it the new Tershana, or Admiralty, a bright, many-coloured,
highly-ornamented edifice, in the Russian taste; occupying the side of
a small creek, and overlooking a wooden pier. A wet-dock, handsomely
enclosed within solid and well-made walls, and entered through a noble
pair of iron gates, below Kassim Pasha, is succeeded by a height covered
with cypresses, which leans downward to the water, where it terminates in
a steep flight of steps, partly artificial and partly hewn in the rock,
and designated the _Meit-iskelli_, or Ladder of the Dead. This gloomy
forest is the “Little Cemetery,” or lesser burial-ground of Pera, the
faubourg inhabited by the Franks; and the jetty at the foot of the stair
which has just been described, is principally used for the embarkation of
the bodies of deceased Turks, whom their friends are conveying for burial
to the Asian necropolis of Scutari.
[Illustration: THE GOLDEN HORN, FROM THE CEMETERY OF EYOUB.
W. H. Bartlett. H. Adlard.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1839.]
Immediately beyond this jetty, a floating bridge, stretching from the
pier of Galata (the quarter of the Frank merchants, dominated by the hill
on which Pera is built,) to the “Gate of the Garden,” near the Kiosque
of Pearls, and immediately under the walls of the Seraglio, shuts in the
harbour; while the line of shore in the distance, fringed with the houses
and public buildings of Top-hannè, gently recedes, until it disappears
under the stately shadow of Bulgurlhu.
TURKISH BATHS.
Here Beauty on her ’broidered cushion lies
With languid brow, and dreaming downcast eyes—
A rose o’ercharg’d with rain: beside the fair
A kneeling slave binds up the glossy hair;
Pours perfumed water o’er the drooping face,
And lends to loveliness another grace.
MS. POEM.
There is, perhaps, no luxury throughout the luxurious East more perfect,
or more complete, than the Baths. Those of the great and the wealthy
in Constantinople embody the idea of a scene in the “Thousand and One
Nights”—they are so bright and fairy-like in their magnificence—so light
and gay with painted glass, white marble, brocade, and embroidery.
Every bath, however small may be its dimensions, consists of three
apartments; the outer hall, in which the bathing-dress is arranged; the
cooling-room, a well-cushioned and comfortable space, moderately heated,
and intended for the temporary reception of the bathers before they
venture to encounter the pure free air of the exterior apartment; and
the bath itself, where the atmosphere is so laden with sulphuric vapour,
that, for some seconds, the breath is impeded, and the suffocating
sensation which ensues is positively painful.
The Imperial Bath at the summer-palace of Beglier-Bey, is one of the
most elegant and costly in the city or its environs: and as it can only
be seen by the express permission of the Sultan himself, is well worthy
of description. Passing a crimson door, surmounted by a crescent-shaped
cornice of rich gilding, the visitor enters a small hall, in which stands
a basin of fine white marble, occupied by two swans, wrought in the same
material, and appearing to sport in the limpid water; which, escaping
from this charming fountain, falls through concealed pipes into the
basins destined to supply the bathers. The cooling-room, opening from
this dim apartment, (where the light only penetrates after struggling
through stars and crescents of painted glass, inlaid in the marble
roof like clusters of jewels,) is hung with draperies of silk, richly
embroidered; and the large mirror which occupies the wall at the lower
end of the divan, is set in a frame-work of gold and enamel, surmounted
by the Ottoman arms, skilfully executed; while the divan itself,
formed of gay-coloured satin, is wrought in silks until it resembles a
flower-bed; and the cushions which are scattered over it are of the same
beautiful and costly description. The bath is a vast hall, of the most
elegant proportions, lined, and roofed, and paved with marble. It is
lighted like the cooling-room, and surmounted by exquisitely-imagined
fountains; and gives back a long and subdued echo at every footfall which
disturbs its deep and dreamy silence.
This description will serve to convey an idea of the baths of the great,
and will give no exaggerated impression of their magnificence; the
establishments of the Pashas and Beys being all precisely similar in
their arrangement, and only varying in splendour with the resources of
their owners. Here the fair Zibas and Heyminès of the different palaces
pass whole hours, folded in long scarfs of muslin, worked and fringed
with gold, their dark hair streaming over their ivory shoulders; inhaling
the sulphuric atmosphere, and enjoying the luxurious languor which it
creates; sipping sherbets made of the most delicate conserves, or the
finest fruits; and, not unfrequently, enjoying a slumber which is nowhere
deeper than amid the dense vapours of the bath-room.
But the public _Hammām_ is altogether a different scene. No dreamy
silence, no thoughtful abstraction can be indulged in the far-stretching
hall, where hundreds congregate, and where the echoes of the many-domed
roof heighten and prolong every harsh sound into tenfold discordance.
These establishments are numerous in Constantinople, and fortunes,
really colossal for that country, are said to be made by them, although
they pay a heavy tax to the government. From eight in the morning they
are open until sunset, men and women frequenting them on alternate days;
and the ladies seldom fail to avail themselves of the whole of the time
allowed, by spending it almost entirely in the Hammām.
[Illustration: COOLING ROOM OF A HAMMĀM.
W. H. Bartlett. J. T. Willmore.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1839.]
The bath is the very paradise of Eastern women. Here they assemble to
discuss every subject of interest and amusement, whether politics,
scandal, or news; to arrange marriages, and to prevent them; to ask and
to offer advice; to display their domestic supremacy, and to impart their
domestic grievances; but, above all, to enjoy the noise, the hurry, and
the excitement, which form so great a contrast to the calm and monotony
of the harem.
On leaving the outer hall, the bather is supplied with a pair of wooden
pattens, raised several inches from the floor, which is so much heated
in the inner apartments, that, until the vapour has had time to operate
upon the frame, it is impossible to touch it with the naked foot. Thus
provided—and among the higher classes these pattens are objects of
great cost and luxury, the band by which they are secured across the
instep being frequently inlaid with jewels—the bather passes into the
cooling-room, where a number of little channels, filled with warm water,
traverse the floor in every direction; which, while they add to the
heat, serve to diminish the oppression of the vapour that escapes at
each opening of the door of the bath itself; an extensive octagon hall,
containing eight fountains, and surrounded by small cabinets for those
who do not choose to avail themselves of the more public apartment.
We cannot, perhaps, do better than take a description of the
extraordinary scene presented by this locality from the pages of an
eye-witness.
“For the first few moments I was bewildered; the heavy, dense,
sulphureous vapour that filled the place, and almost suffocated me—the
wild shrill cries of the slaves pealing through the reverberating domes
of the bathing-halls, enough to awaken the very marble with which they
were lined—the subdued laughter and whispered conversations of their
mistresses, murmuring along in an under-current of sound—the sight of
nearly three hundred women, only partially dressed, and that in fine
linen so perfectly saturated with vapour that it revealed the whole
outline of the figure—the busy slaves passing and repassing, naked
from the waist upwards, and with their arms folded upon their bosoms,
balancing on their heads piles of fringed or embroidered napkins—groups
of lovely girls, laughing, chatting, and refreshing themselves with
sweetmeats, sherbet, and lemonade—parties of playful children, apparently
quite indifferent to the dense atmosphere which made me struggle for
breath—and, to crown all, the sudden bursting forth of a chorus of
voices into one of the wildest and shrillest of Turkish melodies, that
was caught up and flung back by the echoes of the vast hall, making a din
worthy of a saturnalia of demons, all combined to form a picture like
the illusory semblance of a phantasmagoria, almost leaving me in doubt
whether that on which I looked were indeed reality, or the mere creation
of a distempered brain.”[7]
In this hall, amid the noise and hurry here described, those who frequent
it collect round the fountains, which are plentifully supplied with both
hot and cold water, each lady attended by one or more slaves; her hair
is then combed and saturated with water, poured over it from a basin of
metal; and her limbs are gently rubbed by a hand covered with a small
glove, or rather bag, woven of camel’s hair; after which, she changes
her dripping garments for others that await her near the door of the
hall, and passes into the cooling-room. Here, reclining on mats and
carpets, the bathers sometimes lie for hours, with their hair concealed
beneath heavy napkins, and their whole persons wrapped closely in long
white scarfs, like winding-sheets. Were it not that they are flushed by
the action of the vapour, and for the ceaseless conversation which they
maintain, they would look like a party of corses prepared for burial.
When at length they venture into the outer hall, they at once spring upon
their sofas, where the attentive slaves fold them in warm cloths, and
pour essence upon their hair, which they twist loosely without attempting
to dislodge the wet, and then cover with handsome head-kerchiefs of
embroidered muslin; perfumed water is scattered over the face and hands,
and the exhausted bather sinks into a luxurious slumber beneath a
coverlet of satin or of eider-down.
The centre of the floor, meanwhile, is like a fair; sweetmeat,
sherbet, and fruit-merchants, (old crones, who frequently have as
many _billet-doux_ as bowls of _yahourt_[8] in their baskets,) parade
up and down, hawking their wares. Negresses pass to and fro with the
dinners, or _chibouques_,[9] of their several mistresses; secrets are
whispered—confidences are made; and, altogether, the scene is so strange,
so new, and withal so attractive, that no European can fail to be both
interested and amused by a visit to a Turkish Hammām.
PALACE OF BESHIK-TASH.
“The European with the Asian shore
Sprinkled with palaces: the ocean-stream
Here and there studded with a seventy-four;
Sophia’s cupola with golden gleam:
The cypress groves: Olympus high and hoar.”
BYRON.
The new palace of Beshik-Tash, erected by the present Sultan, commands
a noble view of the Propontis; sweeps the Bosphorus through nearly its
whole length; looks towards Scutari, (the Asian jewel seated at the foot
of the dark mountain-chain of Bulgurlhu-Dagi;) affords a glimpse of the
ancient Chalcedon; and includes within the range of its magnificent
prospect the snow-crowned summit of Mount Olympus, flashing out in the
distance through the clear blue of the horizon like a huge pearl set
in sapphires; the Seraï Bournou, whose imperial walls enclose what was
once a city; and the “Seven Hills” of glorious Stamboul. The world can
probably produce no similar panorama; and as the traveller stands on the
height above the palace gardens, and looks down upon the heavy inelegant
wooden edifice, protected on the seaward side by a stately colonnade
of white marble, he may well be pardoned should he indulge a regret
that this imperial residence should be so unworthy of its admirable and
unequalled site.
[Illustration: SCENE FROM ABOVE THE NEW PALACE OF BESHIK-TASH.
W. H. Bartlett. R. Wallis.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1839.]
During the youth of Sultan Mahmoud, he was induced to consult a
celebrated astrologer, who, among other predictions, foretold, that
while he continued to build palaces, he should be successful in all his
undertakings. And it would appear that he put the most perfect faith in
the prophecy, for every pretty bay in the Bosphorus has its kiosque; and
the number of his residences in the immediate vicinity of the capital,
amounts to fifty-seven. The palace of Beshik-Tash is the last and
most extensive of the whole, but decidedly the least picturesque and
elegant. Its Armenian architect was not, however, selected without due
consideration on the part of the Sultan, who was won to decide on the
present plan by the assurance that it was thoroughly European; a fact
which could not be disputed, were the glittering and well-proportioned
columns that support the open peristyle swept away, when this huge pile,
which has cost upwards of a million sterling, would present precisely
the appearance of a manufactory.
There is an anecdote connected with the palace which is extremely
characteristic of its regal builder, and which may appropriately be
introduced here. While yet undecided unto whom he should confide
the great work of its erection, an architect (also an Armenian) was
introduced to the Sultan by one of his favourites, and was desired to be
upon the spot destined for its site at a particular hour, in order to
judge of its capabilities, and to explain them to his imperial master.
Ere they entered upon the actual subject of their meeting, Mahmoud
stretched forth his arm towards the Seraï Bournou,[10] of which nothing
could be seen above the surrounding walls but the gleaming roofs, with
here and there a tall white minaret, or a stately dome, standing out
from amid a forest of cypress and maple-trees; and drily inquired what
the stranger thought of the palace of Amurath? The Armenian cautiously
replied, that never having been enabled to examine the nature of the
building, he was totally inadequate to form any judgment. “Let him
have the opportunity;” said the Sultan to the Bey by whom he had been
introduced, “and to-morrow I will hear the result.”
The astonished raïah,[11] consequently, found himself in a few moments
darting over the ripple in the caïque of his patron; and, ere long,
actually passing the sacred threshold which it had hitherto been
death to any infidel to tread. Bewildered and, perhaps, misled by his
astonishment, and dazzled by the gilding and glitter of the celebrated
Seraï—or, it may be, fearful of undervaluing by a word an edifice which
had so long been a world’s wonder—or, again, tutored by his friend, the
courtier—he declared, when he next stood in the presence of the Sultan,
that, in as far as his poor judgment served, earth held nothing to
compare with the palace of Amurath.
“Would you tell me that Europe boasts not its equal?” asked the Sultan
calmly.
“I have visited many of the cities of the west;” said the obsequious
raïah, “and I have seen nothing from the rising of the sun to its going
down, so perfect as the Seraï Bournou.”
“_Chok chay_—that is much!” smiled the Sultan; “then the Franks are liars
when they send me things like these, and tell me that they represent
the palaces of their Padishahs;”[12] and as he spoke he drew out a roll
of paper which he held in his hand, and displayed to the discomfited
Armenian views of the different imperial and royal edifices of Europe.
“Have you ever seen any of these Seraïs? and do they really not resemble
the drawings now before me?”
“They do, may it please your highness; I have looked on many of them.”
“Then,” said the Sultan, “you are unsuited to the undertaking which I
contemplate; for none, save a rogue or a fool, could class that place,
fitted only for deeds of blood and mystery”—and he pointed once more
towards the Seraï Bournou; “that place, hidden beneath high walls,
and amid dark trees, as though it could not brave the light of day;
with these light, laughing palaces, open to the free air, and the pure
sunshine of heaven. Such would I have my own; and such it shall be:—we
have therefore met for the last time.”
And the Armenian, having prostrated himself before the “Lord of the Three
Seas,” withdrew from the presence of his master to comfort himself as he
might under his disappointment and disgrace.
[Illustration: THE BOSPHORUS, FROM ABOVE BESHIK-TASH. (Looking North.)
_LE BOSPHORE (NORD) VU DU HAUT DE BESHIK-TASH._ _DER BOSPHORUS NACH
NORDEN HIN, GESEHN VON BESHIK-TASH HER._
W. H. Bartlett. J. Cousen.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1839.]