most elegant object on the Bosphorus. It is an irregularly fronted and
extensive edifice, stretching along the lip of the channel, whose waves
wash its long and stately terraces of glittering marble, and sometimes
penetrate into their latticed and mysterious recesses. The building is of
wood; and the harem presents a line of gables perforated with long ranges
of windows secured by most minute screens of gilded wood: the Salemliek,
containing the State apartments, the private saloons of the Sultan, and
the rooms occupied by the Imperial household, is an octagonal pile, of
which the pointed roof is surmounted by a crescent supporting a star,
whose richly gilded points flash in the sunshine like lambent fire. The
entire building is painted in white and pale gold; and it has rather the
appearance of a fairy-palace, called into existence by enchantment, than
the mere every-day work of human hands.
A marble gate, terminating the terrace in the direction of the city,
admits the visitor into a garden bright with flowers, and redolent of
perfume; where fountains for ever fling their delicate jets of water
against the sky, with a soft and soothing music well suited to the spot;
and where birds of gorgeous plumage wander at will, as rainbow-tinted as
the blossoms amid which they sport. A line of gilt lattices veils the
seaward boundary of this delicious retreat; and, passing beside these,
an inlaid door of stately proportions gives admittance to the Hall of
Entrance.
[Illustration: THE SUMMER PALACE AT BEGLIER-BEY.
W. H. Bartlett. J. Cousen.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1838.]
“The first glance of the interior is not imposing. The double staircase,
sweeping crescent-wise through the centre of the entrance, contracts its
extent so much as to give it the appearance of being insignificant in
its proportions; an effect which is, moreover, considerably heightened
by the elaborated ornaments of the carved and gilded balustrades and
pillars. But such is far from being the case in reality; as, from this
outer apartment, with its flooring of curious woods, arabesqued ceiling,
and numerous casements, open no less than eight spacious saloons,
appropriated to the Imperial household.
“Above this suite are situated the State Apartments, which are gorgeous
with gilding, and richly furnished with every luxury peculiar alike to
the East and to the West. The Turkish divans of brocade and embroidered
velvet are relieved by sofas and lounges of European fashion—bijouterie
from Geneva—porcelain from Sèvres—marbles from Italy—gems from
Pompeii—Persian carpets—English hangings; and, in the principal saloons,
six of the most magnificent, if not actually the six most magnificent
pier-glasses in the world: a present to the Sultan from the Emperor of
Russia, after the Treaty of Unkiar Skelessi. Enclosed within a deep frame
of silver gilt, bearing the united arms of the two Empires, these costly
glasses reflect in every direction the ornaments of the apartment, and
produce an effect almost magical; while the highly-ornamented ceiling,
richly wrought with delicate wreaths of flowers, and the bright-coloured
carpets covering the floor, combine to fling over the saloon an
atmosphere of light and gladness, which is increased by the dazzling
glories of the parterre spread out beneath the windows, with its flashing
fountains, golden orangery, and long line of gleaming lattices.
“The Reception-room is small, and remarkable only for the
comfortably-cushioned divan on which the Sultan receives his visitors;
and the noble view that it commands of the channel, from the Seraglio
point to the Castle of Mahomet.
“The Banquetting Hall is entirely lined with inlaid woods of rare and
beautiful kinds, finely mosaiced; the ceiling and the floor being alike
enriched with a deep garland of grapes and vine leaves, flung over groups
of pine-apples of exquisite workmanship.
“Hence, a long gallery conducts to the private apartments of the Sultan;
and on every side are graceful fountains of white marble, whose flashing
waters fall with a musical monotony into their sculptured basins. In
one, the stream trickles from a plume of feathers, so delicately worked
in alabaster that they almost appear to bend beneath the weight of the
sparkling drops that gem them: in another, the water gushes forth,
overflowing a lotus-flower, upon whose lip sports a group of Cupids. The
private apartments, which separate the harem from the state wing of the
palace, are the very embodiment of comfort: two of them are lined with
wicker-work, painted cream-colour—the prettiest possible idea, executed
in the best possible style.
“The harem is, of course, a sealed book; for, as the ladies of the
Sultan’s household have never been allowed to indulge their curiosity by
a survey of that portion of the palace appropriated to Mahmoud himself,
it can scarcely be expected that any intruder should be admitted beyond
the jealously-barred door forming their own boundary.”[25]
The Bath of this imperial residence has already been described in an
earlier portion of our work; and we have now only to notice the extensive
and princely gardens, which rise, terrace above terrace, to the very
summit of the mountain which overhangs the palace. Each terrace is under
the charge of a foreign gardener, and arranged according to the fashion
of his own land; but the finest portion of the grounds contains a noble
sheet of water, called the Lake of the Swans, whose entire surface is
frequently thickly covered with these graceful birds, of which the Sultan
is so fond, that he sometimes passes hours in contemplating them as they
glide over the Stillwater; and, in the words of Wordsworth,
“Swim double—swan and shadow.”
Boats, gaily gilded and painted, are moored under the shadows of the
magnolias, willows, and other beautiful trees which form the frame-work
of the lake; and about fifty yards from the bank stands a pretty,
fanciful edifice, called the Air Bath,—an elegant retreat from the
oppressive heats of summer; whose roof, and walls, and floor, are alike
formed of marble, wrought in marine devices; and whose fountains,
trickling down the walls, pour their waters over a succession of
ocean-shells, marine divinities, sea-weeds, and coral reefs; and keep
up a constant current of cool air, and murmur of sweet sound, perfectly
charming. Inferior apartments branch off on either side from this
beautiful saloon, and altogether it is as pretty a toy as ever exhausted
fancy in its invention.
A gilded kiosque glitters amid the group of cypresses and plane-trees
by which the last height is crowned; and the artist has ably portrayed
the magic beauty of the scene which is mapped out beneath him as he
stands beside the boundary-wall of the palace garden. The undulating
shores, belted with houses, and sheltered by richly-wooded hills,—the
castle-crowned rocks,—the gleaming sails of the passing vessels upon the
channel,—and, far away, the “storm-tossed Euxine,” lashing its billows
as if in scorn against the fortress-barriers that bristle its shores—all
combine to form a picture well calculated to arrest the eye of the
painter and the admiration of the tourist.
SAINT SOPHIA.
“Sophia’s cupola, with golden gleam.”
BYRON.
The great object of every lion-hunting traveller in Turkey is to obtain
ingress to the mosques; and as this privilege is only accorded to great
personages, and to each European Ambassador once during his residence
in Constantinople, many are necessarily fated to disappointment. No
golden key will unlock the mysterious gates, nor lift aside the veil
of the temple; and it is with a disgust and a reluctance which they
scarcely care to conceal, that the officiating priests condescend to do
the honours of the shrine, even when the Imperial firman leaves them no
alternative.
The court of St. Sophia, like that of every other mosque in the city,
is paved with marble, and shaded by magnificent plane-trees, whose
far-spreading branches and luxuriant foliage chequer the vast space with
alternate patches of light and shadow, which produce a fine effect; and
collect in the vicinity of the holy edifice groups of quiet-looking
Moslems, who spread their carpets, and seat themselves to smoke their
chibouques, and watch the pious who pass into the temple from sunrise to
sunset.
An elegant fountain, with a projecting octagonal roof, whose marble basin
is screened by a covering of iron net-work from the pollution of the
birds which swarm upon the roof and amid the intricacies of the building,
affords to the Faithful the necessary opportunity of performing their
preliminary ablutions ere they enter the mosque; while in its immediate
vicinity, amulet and scent merchants, generally hadjis or pilgrims, with
their green turbans and flowing beards, spread their mats, and expose for
sale all descriptions of chaplets, perfumes, relics from Mecca, charms
against the Evil Eye, amber and ivory mouth-pieces for the chibouque, and
dyes and toys for the harem.
As these pilgrim-merchants are generally gifted with a quiet
facetiousness of manner which never fails to amuse a Turk, they collect
about them numbers of idlers, whose picturesque costume and graceful
attitudes form at every moment studies for the painter: the tall Effendi,
with his turban of cachemire and his furred pelisse, stands beside the
red-capped and blue-coated soldier; while, squatted at their feet, pipe
in hand, and passing the beads of his tusbee[26] listlessly through his
fingers as he intently follows the discourse which is going on around
him, may be seen the Emir in his green robe, proud of his descent from
the Prophet; and near him the Dervish, with his conical hat of grey
felt; the Santon, or saint, all filth and holiness; and occasionally a
closely-muffled female, her dark eyes flashing out between the folds
of her snowy veil, her feet covered with boots and slippers of yellow
morocco, and her form shrouded in a heavy cloak of dark-coloured cloth.
[Illustration: COURT AND FOUNTAIN OF ST. SOPHIA.
_COUR ET FONTAINE DE STE SOPHIE._ _DER HOF UND DIE FONTAINE ZU ST.
SOPHIE._
W. H. Bartlett. J. Redaway.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1839.]
If a stranger approach to examine the wares of the hadji, it is curious
to witness the interest which every individual takes in the success
of his trade. The lookers-on will seize a chaplet of Arabian wood,
rub it rapidly in their hands, and hold it towards him, that he may
inhale its perfume, expatiating all the time on its extreme sweetness;
while exclamations of “_Guzel! peh guzel!_—good! very good!” form a
perfect chorus: or they will smear their beards with dye to convince
him of its efficacy, if by these means they can induce the sale of
any of the scattered articles about them. Nor are they fastidious in
their commercial notions, for they stand quietly and encouragingly by,
while the wily hadji cheats the unclean giaour, without evincing any
inclination to rescue the victim; and as he bears away some treasure, for
which he has probably paid about five times its value, the worthy Moslems
see him depart with an ejaculation of “_Allah buyûk der_—God is great!”
and then calmly resume the chibouque and the narration where each had
been interrupted.
From the court, a stately covered peristyle, similar to that of St.
Peter’s at Rome, whose ponderous granite columns are imbedded in the
walls, conducts to the body of the mosque; and here the visitor casts off
his shoes, and puts on the slippers of yellow morocco, which are alone
permitted to press the floor of the temple. This done, the great gates
(which close upon a block of porphyry) are thrown back, the curtain of
tapestry is drawn aside, and in a moment the eye is bewildered amid the
space which is suddenly spread out before it.
The richly mosaiced floor of jasper, porphyry, verd-antique, and marble,
is covered with bright-coloured carpets; thousands of stained glass
lamps are suspended in complicated designs from transverse rods of
iron which traverse the body of the building in every direction; the
Imperial closet, facing the pulpit, is of finely and intricately-wrought
marble, with a cornice that looks like petrified point-lace; but it is
the vastness of St. Sophia which for a time fills the imagination and
satisfies the fancy of the traveller; and it requires time to divest him
of the feeling of involuntary awe by which he is at first overwhelmed,
ere he can compel himself to any analysis of the detail around him.
Gigantic pillars encircle the dome, which is of a magnitude strikingly
majestic; and a host of antique treasures are collected together, each
a gem in itself; but they are forced into most incongruous contact.
Columns of various proportions and architectural orders,—some of
Egyptian granite, others of porphyry, or scagliola, or precious and rare
marbles,—are to be seen on all sides; but the mind is confused by their
extraordinary juxta-position; and they lose half their beauty from their
want of arrangement. Eight majestic porphyry pillars from the Temple
of Heliopolis are contrasted with columns of verd-antique from that of
Ephesus; the walls are incrusted with marble, jasper, porphyry, and
verd-antique, to about mid-height, where a gallery, entirely surrounding
the mosque, supported by plain pillars, and floored with marble, affords
accommodation for several hundred persons; but the dome, which was
formerly adorned with minute mosaics, was whitewashed when the conquering
Mahommedans converted the Christian church of St. Sophia into a temple
of Islamism; and the original richness of the design is now only to be
distinguished in spots where the plaister has fallen away; while, as if
to render the ruin more complete, the inferior Imaums attached to the
mosque make a trade of the fragments of mosaic, which they tear away and
dispose of to travellers, who thus thoughtlessly contribute towards the
destruction of a noble work of industry and art.
St. Sophia also boasts of two miraculous objects, which must not be
passed over in silence—the “Sweating Stone,” and the “Bishop’s Door.” The
first is a column, partially cased with iron, and having a deep cavity
worn away beneath the metal in one particular spot, where the visitor is
directed to insert his finger, and to test the humidity of the marble,
which is said thus to have resisted the contact of any merely human touch
since the hand of the Prophet rested upon it. It is, however, certain
that the miracle sometimes fails.
The “Bishop’s Door” is situated on the northern side of the gallery, and
is veiled by a mass of masonry, on which are many traces of violence, the
cement being of so powerful a nature as to have resisted all attempts
at its destruction. The door-frame is of fine white marble, and quite
perfect; and the legend runs, that the united efforts of all the masons
in Stamboul, are insufficient to force a passage to the apartment,
in which, protected by a powerful talisman, a Greek Bishop, who was
officiating at the altar when the Turks poured into the city after the
defeat of Constantine, sits in his full canonicals, perusing an open
volume of so holy a nature that Moslem eye must never look upon it; and
this same Bishop will, as both the Turks and Greeks firmly believe, on
the day when St. Sophia becomes again a Christian shrine, walk forth from
his walled-up chamber, and chaunt a solemn high mass at the great altar!
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF ST. SOPHIA’S.
W. H. Bartlett. J. Carter.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1839.]
From this gallery the best view of the whole interior of the edifice is
obtained; as that which encircles the dome is at such an immense height
from the ground, that it reduces the dimensions of the building almost
to insignificance, while the eye takes in the vast proportions of the
dome itself, and the mind is absorbed by that single contemplation.[27]
Clouds of blue doves occasionally wing their way across the body of
the mosque; and it is a singular and beautiful fact, that they are the
unmolested descendants of the birds which were found there by the Turks
when they first became the masters of St. Sophia; and so holy are they in
their eyes, that the destruction of one of them would be attended with
great danger to the aggressor.
From the lower gallery the whole extent of the mosque may be contemplated
in its silent and solemn grandeur. In the centre of the wide and
uncumbered space, the mighty dome rests on the capitals of a circle of
gigantic and rudely-fashioned columns; immediately beneath you are the
pillars that support the far-stretching gallery in which you stand; on
one hand rises the marble pulpit, with its noble flight of steps shut in
by an elaborately sculptured door; and on the other, the Imperial closet,
with its delicate tracery and gilded lattices. Two huge wax candles flank
the _mihrab_, or arched recess at the eastern end of the building, which
are lighted every night, and last exactly twelve months; they are about
eighteen inches in circumference, and throw their light over the Korān
of the Chèïk-Islam, or High Priest, who occupies the _mihrab_ during the
hours of worship. No private shrines, as in the Catholic churches—no
stalls or pews, as in our own places of worship—contract and cumber the
body of the building; and the effect of its extent is, consequently,
much heightened. Altogether, St. Sophia, despite all its incongruities,
is decidedly an architectural wonder, and well worthy of the admiration
which has been lavished upon it for centuries.
THE OCMEIDAN.
“The tough bow yields before the sinewy arm;
And, swift as lightning, through the yielding air
The winged arrow whistles to the mark.”
The Ocmeidan, or Place of Arrows, is an extensive plain, situated behind
the village of Tatavola, called by the Greeks who inhabit it the hamlet
of St. Demetrius; and stretching along above the deep valley of this
little Christian colony, and beside the cemeteries of Pera.
The view which it commands, where it touches upon the harbour, is most
magnificent; the “Seven Hills” are all before it, with their galaxy of
mosques and palaces: two of them linked together by the hoary aqueduct
of Valens, and all gleaming in white marble, and overtopped by the dusky
mountains of Asia Minor. Beneath it spreads the Golden Horn, crowded with
shipping, and traversed by a light floating bridge, seeming to the eye
as frail and unstable as that of El Sirat; but which is crossed by the
Faithful from the Golden City only to arrive at the infidel dwellings of
the Franks, instead of the houri-tenanted valleys of Paradise; forming,
meanwhile, an extremely pretty feature in the landscape.
A fringe of forest-trees descends to the very edge of the plain, which is
full of gentle undulations, and is rendered remarkable by being studded
over at irregular distances by columns of stone or marble, bearing
inscriptions, and not unfrequently lettered with gold. These columns,
which have much the appearance of funereal monuments, are simply records
of the skill of the Imperial Toxopholite who now sways the sceptre of the
Ottoman empire, and whose dexterity in the use of the “cloth-yard shaft”
is presumed to be unequalled throughout his dominions. Archery is a sport
to which Sultan Mahmoud is much attached; and he is said to boast that,
during the last forty years of his life, he has never suffered a week to
pass in which he has not practised his well-worn bow. His proficiency in
the science may therefore be inferred: though it is certain that none,
save an Imperial arm, could ever have
“Sped the winged arrow”
to such a distance, as some of the columnar records, to which allusion
has just been made, appear to testify.
[Illustration: VIEW FROM THE OCMEIDAN.
W. H. Bartlett. H. Adlard.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1839.]
Three hundred yards is, in one instance, cited as the space cleared by
the feathered messenger of the Caliph: the ground was measured, and the
pillar was raised, and the Sultan departed from the Ocmeidan, satisfied
that no subject throughout his empire could outdo “the shooting of that
day;” nor was it probable that any bowman could be found to controvert
his opinion; and none, it is said, knew this better than the page who
had picked up the marvellous arrow, and received two purses[28] when he
restored it to his imperial master.
There is much etiquette observed in the archery parties of the Sultan.
First flies the arrow of Mahmoud himself, as he stands on the right of
a line of Pashas and Beys, who have been formally invited to partake
of the sport; and immediately off start half a dozen of the pages of
the household to recover the missive, and to mark the spot where it
falls. These functionaries, who endeavour to out-speed each other, and
to secure the prize which, on the occasion of a longer shot than usual,
they are sure to receive from their sovereign, run with their heads
close to the earth, and generally contrive to pick up the arrow without
checking their speed, and to carry it on for some distance before they
affect to find it, when they proclaim their success with a shrill cry;
and the measurement of the ground takes place at once, where the shot is
considered sufficiently remarkable to warrant the ceremony.
The very “long bow,” which we have cited to have been drawn by the Sultan
on the happy occasion when the space over which his arrow had travelled
was declared to be three hundred yards, is said to have been the frolic
of a sportive and daring page, who, having gathered it up at a reasonable
distance, ran on until he had a vision of detection, when he stopped,
unquestioned if not unsuspected, and at once established the fame of his
Imperial master as the first Toxopholite in Europe.
When the Sultan has ascertained his success, each of his courtly
companions shoots in turn; but it is almost needless to remark, that
their arrows always fall short of the mark: while, despite the diplomatic
frauds of time-serving dependants, it is equally certain that there are
few archers either so skilful or so graceful as the Emperor of Turkey.
THE SERAÏ BOURNOU.
“A rich confusion form’d a disarray
In such sort, that the eye along it cast
Could hardly carry any thing away,
Object on object flashed so bright and fast:
A dazzling mass of gems, and gold, and glitter,
Magnificently mingled in a litter.”
BYRON.
The celebrated Seraï Bournou, occupying the obtuse point of the triangle
on which Constantinople is built, boasts, as perhaps its greatest
peculiarity, that it was once in itself a city. The ancient Byzantium was
founded in the year A.C. 660, by a Lacedæmonian colony; and a portion of
the original walls are actually standing at this day, and still serve to
separate the palace gardens from the public street. The mouldering but
solid masonry which now girdles the Imperial residence of the Caliphs,
once belted a city; and the groves and alleys that are to-day scantily
traversed by slaves, eunuchs, and women, were in times of old thickly
peopled with an active, busy, and enterprising population.
Byzantium, enriched by the first Constantine, and made the key-stone of a
new Empire, and the capital of a second Rome—Byzantium, where a hundred
of his august race feasted and governed in their turn, and which was
ultimately lost to Christendom by the last and bravest of the line—is
now a mere Moslem palace, where the echoes of the war-trumpet, and the
neighing of the war-steed, have been replaced by the twanging of the
lute, and the voices of women; even its ancient name is never heard, and
its broad sun-lighted honours have been exchanged for silence and mystery.