enriched with columns and statues, and that monuments, now no longer in
existence, were profusely collected within its walls: be that as it may,
the only remnant of classic antiquity now remaining is a stately column
of marble, formed of huge blocks piled upon each other to the height of
ninety feet, and standing upon a raised square platform, or terrace,
planted with trees, in an outer court of the palace; and known as the
Column of Theodosius; though it is evident, in comparing this pillar
with the descriptions of antiquaries, that it cannot be the original
monument called by that name; nor, it is presumed, can its present
position be that which it originally occupied in the city. A venerable
cypress, many feet higher than the column, screens it on the seaward
side, but the statue which once surmounted the capital is gone; and one
deep rent, almost separating the shaft throughout its whole thickness,
and evidently produced by the shock of one of those earthquakes to which
Constantinople was formerly so subject, attests its ancient origin; while
its graceful proportions, and the elaborately-defined acanthus of its
capital, render it one of the most interesting monuments now existing in
the capital.
[Illustration: THE COLUMN OF THEODOSIUS.
_COLONNE DE THÉODOSE._ _DIE SÄULE DES KAISERS THEODOSIUS._
W. H. Bartlett. J. Cousen.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1840.]
The most striking feature of the Seraï Bournou in the present day
is its surpassing orientalism. Fountains, palaces, streets, and
market-places—all the public rendezvous of Stamboul have suffered change,
save the mysterious dwelling of the Caliphs. European innovations have
crept with spirit-steps across the land: tapestry hangings and jewelled
toys are scattered over the summer-palace of Asia; gaudy chintzes from
the looms of Britain shut out the sun-light from the gilt-latticed
casements of the imperial kiosques; silks from the warehouses of Genoa
and Lyons cover the sofas of the regal pile at Beshik-Tash; but in the
hidden recesses of the palace of Amurath all is unchanged, as though the
genius of mutability had never waved his wand over the children of the
Prophet.
Its effect from the sea of Marmora is as singular as it is beautiful. The
wall by which it is enclosed is separated from the water only by a narrow
wharf or terrace, pierced at intervals by a close lattice-work, through
which the fair tenants can look out upon the sun-lighted waves, and on
to the fantastic islands of the Propontis; in some places overgrown
with the most luxurious parasites, among which are conspicuous the rich
dark leaves of the ivy, and the clustering verdure of the gorgeous
caper-plant, with its galaxy of blossoms; and in others, surmounted by a
light and graceful kiosque, now, however, tarnished by the weather, and
mouldering into disuse; for since the present Sultan girded himself with
the sword of sovereignty, and eschewed the mysterious exclusiveness of
his predecessors, the Seraï Bournou has ceased to be a chosen residence
for the Ottoman court. And even as the victorious Mahomet II. feelingly
apostrophized the denuded and desecrated palace of the last Constantine,
when he entered as a conqueror the august abode of his vanquished enemy,
only to find it ravaged by his own soldiery, may the silent Seraï be
addressed to-day in the celebrated words of a Persian poet:—“The spider
has woven his web in the halls of the Cæsars, and the owl has kept her
unstartled watch on the towers of Afrasiab.”
Nothing can be seen from the water save a line of gilded kiosques,
gracefully clustered together on the extreme point of the land; the
roofs and domes of a few scattered buildings; and here and there a
slender minaret pointing heavenward from the midst of a dense forest of
rich and stately trees, of which numbers overhang the boundary walls,
and throw their long cool shadows over the current of the Propontis;
whose depth is so great, even to the edge of the terrace, that vessels
of burthen pass close beside the Golden Gate, or seaward entrance to the
palace—a stately portal of marble, so richly overlaid with arabesques of
burnished gold, that it is scarcely possible to look upon it beneath a
mid-day sun.
Gliding round the point into the harbour, the voyager next comes
upon a pavilion nestled beneath the walls of the Seraï, and known as
the waiting-room of the Franks, where, in the previous reigns, the
European Ambassadors were detained on days of audience until it was
the pleasure of the Sultan to admit them within the sacred boundaries
of the palace-grounds; and a few roods beyond this pavilion is a low
door, of which the bars are now thickly overgrown with rust, and the
bolts immovable from disuse, known as the Pasha’s Gate, through whose
ill-omened opening, tradition tells, that recreant or suspected nobles
who suffered the bowstring, were formerly cast into the deep waters of
the harbour; while romance, greedy of her own legend, asserts that hence
were also burled the degenerate beauties who chanced either to offend, to
weary, or to disgust the Sardanapalus of the hour, to the mercy of the
——“rolling waves, which hide
Already many a once love-beaten breast,
Deep in the caverns of the deadly tide.”
The one assertion is, however, probably as apocryphal as the other; for
the sluggish waters of the port must have been assuredly less inviting
to the ministers of death than the hurried current of Marmora, where,
scarcely an arrow’s flight from the Seraglio walls, it rushes towards the
gulph of Nicodemia. Be that as it may, however, the walls of the Seraï,
terminating a short space beyond this gate, where the court of Yeni
Djami descends to the harbour, take an upward direction, and are flanked
at their extreme point as they traverse the city, by a gaily-gilded
kiosque, poised, as if by magic, upon one of the buttresses, and entirely
surrounded by lattice-work, which, while it conceals the interior of the
building, permits its tenants to command every object beneath them.
[Illustration: FOUNTAIN AND SQUARE OF ST. SOPHIA.
_FOUNTAÍNE ET PLACE STE SOPHIE._ _DER SOPHIENPLATZ MIT SPRINGBRUNNEN._
W. H. Bartlett. T. Higham.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1839.]
Directly opposite to this glittering pavilion, called the Kiosque of
Justice, is situated the magnificent portal which gives its name to
the Turkish government—the “Sublime Porte”—a stately and imposing gate
of entrance to the great public offices of the Empire. This noble and
finely-proportioned structure, perhaps one of the most striking in the
world, is flanked by two deep niches, containing slabs of marble, whereon
are exposed the heads of such criminals below the rank of Pashas, or
enemies taken in battle or captured by stratagem, as it is the pleasure
of the monarch to reveal to the eyes of the people; and the gilded
kiosque, to which allusion has been made, owes its appellation to the
circumstance, that it is from thence that the Sultan ascertains the
effect of the exhibition upon the populace, and the fact that his orders
have been executed by the proper functionaries.
The principal and highest entrance to the Seraï Bournou occupies one side
of a square, of which the Mosque of St. Sophia encloses a second; while
the remainder is formed by lines of mean-looking houses and coffee-shops.
A very beautiful fountain, now fast falling to decay, stands in the
centre of the space; whence the water gushes forth in an ample volume,
dancing and glittering in the sun-light. It is a fine specimen of the
ancient Moorish architecture, and is surmounted by five domes—one
occupying the centre of the pile, and richly perforated with transparent
chiselling; while four minor lateral cupolas form the extremities of
the roof, which is terminated by a deep overhanging cornice, highly
ornamented with a heavy cornice and a series of minute arabesques. Two
broad and steep steps of white marble lead to the building, which is,
with the exception of the Kilidge Ali Pasha Djiamini at Top-hannè, the
finest structure of the kind in the capital; and a group of sentinels and
eunuchs loitering under the lofty portal of the Seraglio gate, give a
last touch of orientalism to the picture.
The first court of this celebrated Palace cannot fail to disappoint the
highly-wrought anticipations of the visitor, who imagines, when he has
once succeeded in passing the magic threshold so rarely trodden by any
foot save those of the monarch and his immediate court, that all the
wonders of Eastern mystery and magnificence are to burst on him at once;
and his astonishment may be conceived, when he finds himself standing
in a spacious oblong enclosure, which is rather an excrescence than an
appendage to the palace; in which the only striking object is one of
the most enormous and beautiful maple-trees in the world, looking like
a forest growing from a single trunk, chequering an immense space with
light and shadow, and affording shelter to a perfect colony of beautiful
blue doves. On the right hand of the court are situated the infirmaries,
the wood-stores, and the bakehouses; on the left, the once elegant Greek
church of St. Irene, now converted into an arsenal; and on a line with
this desecrated edifice, the Mint, a handsome range of building, to which
are attached the dwellings of the _Chekir-Encine_, or Superintendent
of the Public Works; and the _Tarafhannè_, or Inspector of the same
department.
Passing along beside a high wall, the visitor finds himself at the
Orta Kapousi, or Middle Gate, a place of death and doom, where rivers
of blood are declared to have been shed. This gate is flanked by two
towers, forming a _saillie_; and near it is the _Djillāt Odossi_, or
executioner’s apartment, the temporary prison of condemned Vèzirs, who,
on their entrance to the Seraï, when they had fallen under the suspicion
and displeasure of the Sultan, were arrested on this spot without
previous warning; and hence the Turkish expression, “arrested between
the two doors.” In case of exile, their sentence was read to them on
this spot, and its fulfilment enforced by the officers of the Seraï;
in that of death, it was at once carried into effect by the tenant of
the tower. Above the gate-way is a range of iron spikes, on which the
forfeited heads were exposed to blacken in the sunshine; while on the
wall immediately beneath, a _yafta_, or proclamation of the crime which
had drawn down the destruction of the culprit, was affixed to the wall.
These _yaftas_ were written in large characters, on a scroll shaped like
a cone, and remained exposed so long as the weather spared them, unless
the bostanji of the guard could be bribed by the friends of the victim,
when they generally disappeared.
It was at the _Orta Kapousi_ that the celebrated mortar of the Ulema is
said to have been formerly deposited, but no trace of it now remains; and
a hope may be indulged that this revolting instrument of torture never
really had existence. Indeed, every vision of death and suffering is
swept from the mind as the threshold of the _Orta Kapousi_ is passed, and
the pilgrim stands at the entrance of the third court. The gate, fraught
with images of doom as it is approached from without, is all gaiety,
gilding, and glitter, within. No sound of wail, no voice of weeping is
permitted to penetrate deeper into the dwelling of the Light of the
World, and Brother of the Sun! In the thickness of the wall is situated
a guard-room, where the eunuchs of the palace vary their monotonous and
imprisoned existence by bandying vapid pleasantries with the lounging and
listless soldiery; weapons both for use and ornament are hung upon the
walls, and a range of low sofas afford the means of rest and enjoyment to
the guard. The other face of the gate is screened by a rich projecting
roof, all paint and gilding, which advances at least five feet beyond the
façade of the building, and is supported by two lofty columns of white
marble, whose shafts are wrought into the semblance of palm-trees, and
whose heavily carved capitals are surmounted by square pillars overlaid
with mosaic and gilded arabesques. The roof itself is pointed, and
crowned by a flashing crescent of gold; while underneath it is divided
into a lattice-work of gilt bars, traversing a ground of the brightest
blue, and looking like a sheet of turquoise.
[Illustration: THIRD COURT OF THE SERAÏ BOURNOU.
W. H. Bartlett. J. B. Allen.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1839.]
[Illustration: FOURTH COURT OF THE SERAÏ BOURNOU.
_QUATRIÈME COUR DU SÉRAI BOURNOU_ _DER VIERTE HOF DES SERAI BOURNOU_
W. H. Bartlett. S. Bradshaw.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1840.]
The elaborately tesselated pavement beneath, apparently intended to
represent the reflection of the roof, is composed of curious stones,
cemented together with some preparation, which, in its present state,
appears as though liquid gold had been used to connect the different
portions; and the effect of the whole is so extraordinary, so sumptuous,
and so totally unlike any thing that can be seen in Europe, that it is
presumed that any apology for this somewhat prolix description will
be deemed unnecessary; and the rather, that very few Franks have yet
penetrated into the mysteries of this stronghold of the Mahommedan
Emperors. The court into which this magnificent gate gives entrance,
contains the Throne-room and the Library. The former is the State
Reception-room in which Abdul Hamet Khan, the father of the present
Sultan, received the European ministers, and the Great Officers of
the Empire on all occasions of ceremony. It is a handsome building,
surmounted by a dome, and approached by a double flight of steps, having
a fountain in the centre, and forming a terrace, protected by an awning
of crimson silk. The interior is simple in its arrangement, and perfect
in its proportions. The ceiling is heavy with arabesques, and rich
with gilding; and the shadows of the mighty maples and thickly-planted
cypresses which overhang it, tend to increase its beauty.
The Imperial Library occupies a range of kiosques in the Saracenic
taste, with open peristyles, whose columns support a row of arches
of the most graceful dimensions, and is said to possess treasures in
manuscripts of untold value; but the hour is not yet arrived when those
treasures will be laid bare to the research of the student, and the
antiquary, the philosopher, and the man of science. Meanwhile, the
_coup-d’œil_ is charming; and it is almost with regret that the visitor
finds himself hurried on to the fourth court, containing the beautiful
edifice sometimes called the Kiosque of Bagdat. Here it is asserted that
the jewels of the Constantines, and the treasures of all the preadamite
Sultans are secured; that the towers are vaulted, and that each is a
mine of wealth. Here also, it is said, that rebellious beauties have
pined away a joyless existence, when they have been bold enough to oppose
the power of their personal attractions to the despotic pleasure of a
sensual master, who would not destroy his own hope while there remained a
prospect of subjecting their distaste to his arbitrary will.
Beyond the fourth court is situated the “Garden of Delight,” in which
stand the gilded kiosques appropriated to the harem, and the young
princes of the Imperial house. Here, all is a confusion of glare and
glitter; parterres, only less gorgeous than the buildings which rise
among them; and pavilions, besprent with paint and gilding, looking
as bright as the flowers which blossom on every side. Clusters of
roses, blooming in baskets of gilded wicker-work; fountains, murmuring
sweet music under the deep shadows of overhanging boughs: and in every
direction, the carefully-latticed and jealously-guarded casements of the
harem, which no infidel foot may tread with impunity.
None of the ladies belonging to the household of the present Sultan
inhabit the Seraï Bournou, save when he is himself an inmate of the
palace; and the extensive harem is now solely occupied by half a dozen
octogenarian wives of the Sultan Selim, whose age preserved them from the
fate of the younger and more beautiful portion of his establishment; who,
in accordance with Eastern ideas of expediency, were put to death on the
accession of the present Sultan, lest they should dishonour themselves by
an alliance with a subject, after having formed part of the household of
the sovereign: but notwithstanding this fact, the harem is sacred, and no
prying eye nor intrusive foot is permitted to disturb the peaceful repose
of the worthy relicts of the unfortunate, misguided, and martyred Selim.
TOP-HANNÈ.
“——Leave the sail still furl’d, and ply
The nearest oar that’s scatter’d by,
And midway to those rocks where sleep
The channel’d waters dark and deep,
Rest from your task.”
BYRON.
Had the noble bard from whom the lines which head the chapter are
derived, written them as a guide to the traveller who first seeks to look
on the suburb of Top-hannè, situated between Galata and the valley of
Dolma-Batchè, they could not have been more judiciously framed; for, as
the caïque heaves, unpropelled for an instant by the oars of the rowers,
midway between the rocky shore of Asia and the pier of Top-hannè, the eye
of taste is greeted by a scene of surpassing beauty.
[Illustration: FOUNTAIN AND MARKET AT TOP-HANNÈ.
_FONTAINE ET MARCHÉ DE TOP-HAUNE._ _DIE FONTAINE UND DER MARKT ZU
TOP-HANNÈ._
W. H. Bartlett. H. Griffiths.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1839.]
The Mosque of Sultan Mahmoud, with its slender minarets, dipped in gold
for a third of their height, and cinctured with galleries as light as
petrified cobwebs—its gilded gates, and noble flight of marble steps—is
seen to the rear of the Arsenal, where a long line of brass guns (whence
salutes are fired on all occasions of public rejoicing) are ranged
along the head of the channel. The cannon-foundry, which gives its name
to the locality, terminates the battery at one extremity; and above it,
on the side of the hill, stand the remains of the Galata Seraï, which
having been grievously injured during the great fire of Pera, from an
Imperial palace, has now degenerated into a college for the pages of the
household. A handsome barrack bounds the suburb on the side next the
harbour, and the Top-hannè pier is the great landing-place for caïques
plying from Scutari, and the villages on the Bosphorus. But the especial
boast of this pretty spot is the fountain in the fruit-market, the
celebrated Kilidge Ali Pasha Djiamini, or Fountain of the Mosque of Ali
Pasha, a French renegade, who built the temple bearing his name, which
stands on the western side of the square.
Rich as Constantinople avowedly is in fountains of various architecture,
the whole city cannot boast another of equal beauty and workmanship; its
elaborate arabesques are beyond praise, and when the sun-light touches
them, almost look like jewels. Its proportions are perfect; and it stands
in the centre of an unencumbered space, pouring out its dense volume
of water into a capacious basin of glittering marble, and producing an
effect highly scenic. On one side rises the mosque to which it belongs—a
heavy pile, with thick and stunted minarets—a memorial of the days when a
Christian, after denying his God and forswearing his faith, might still
enjoy the confidence, and earn the honours of the Moslem; days now gone
for ever, and looked back upon with surprise by the Osmanli themselves,
who have learnt to feel that services based upon apostasy, and zeal
whose germ was falsehood, are alike hollow, worthless, and untenable.
On the other hand is situated the elegant Kiosque of Halil Pasha, with
its lordly portal and gold-latticed casements—an embodiment of the
fairy-palaces of the Arabian Tales; and all around and about are piled
the luscious fruits of Europe and of Asia. As this is the great market
for the growers of Scutari, the islands of Marmora, and all the Asiatic
villages on the channel, the display may be imagined; piles of perfumed
melons are heaped beside pyramids of grapes, which look as though they
were carved in amber; delicate pasteks, green and glittering as emeralds,
are contrasted by golden pomegranates; pistachio-nuts, lemons, quinces,
oranges, and apples, are scattered in all directions; while the downy
peach, and the plum, blushing through its own bloom, tempt the touch
of the wanderer at every step. The Moslem merchant is there, gravely
squatted upon his mat, with his yellow slippers lying beside him, and his
chibouque, charged with the potent tobacco of Latakia between his lips,
quietly awaiting a customer; while the restless Greek is near him, now
trilling a romaïka—now cursing, in the name of his saints, the tardiness
of the buyers—now mumbling a prayer to the Panagia,[29] as his fitful
humour serves; while, here and there among the merchants, wanders a bowed
and bearded Jew, with shabby _beniche_[30] and cringing gait, vending
spurious opium, second-hand finery, and stale sweetmeats.
Altogether, the scene is singularly attractive; and the Frank traveller
must pay many visits to the Fruit-market of Top-hannè, and the beautiful
Kilidge Ali Pasha Djiamini, ere he wearies of so novel and so exciting a
spectacle.
THE WALLS OF CONSTANTINOPLE.
Girdling a peopled world they stretch along—
A mighty grasp about a mightier space;
Where heroes strove in vain, and poet’s song
Hath shed around a glory and a grace.
Here the proud Crescent braved the holy Cross,
And reared its symbol on each saintly shrine;
And here, triumphant ’mid an Empire’s loss,
Thy proud heart ceased to beat—Imperial Constantine!
MS. POEM.
The walls of Constantinople are fraught with interesting memories. To the
historian they tell of the varying fortunes of a mighty empire; to the
antiquary, of the noblest days of Roman art; and to the soldier, of the
bold and heroic deeds of a race long gone, but living still in the page
of tradition; while, to the traveller and the man of taste, they offer
scenes of picturesque beauty, varying at every point of his pilgrimage;
and presenting a succession of landscape-views which defy alike the
description of the tourist, and the pencil of the painter.
The city of Constantinople occupies a triangular promontory above the
Propontis, and it has been strongly fortified on all sides, as well
those which are washed by the sea, as on that which is the base of the
triangle, and connects it with the main land. The walls extend twelve
miles, sweeping from sea to sea, running along the whole length of the
harbour, restraining the billows of the sea of Marmora, and terminating
in the celebrated fortress of the Seven Towers. They are every where
ruinous, and in several places so utterly dilapidated as to be wholly
useless for the purposes of defence; their reparation being a herculean
project at present unmeditated by the Turks, and probably never to
be accomplished. At some points the foundation of the walls is formed
by huge masses of rock, a species of architecture still to be traced
in a few of the most ancient Grecian structures, and formerly termed
Cyclopæan; and fabulously asserted to be the work of giants, owing to
the enormous size and weight of the stones employed. In other spots,
particularly on the side of Marmora, the masonry commences regularly
from the very edge of the water; and where the action of the waves has
displaced the original material, piles of broken shafts of the most
beautiful proportions, hewn into fragments, have, in endless instances,
been substituted to prevent the ingress of the water to the gardens and
kiosques by which the shore is fringed. The antiquarian treasures thus
recklessly lavished where baser material would have sufficed, are said to
be beyond price; and many a sculptured capital and graven stone may be
detected as the caïques slowly glide along over the glittering ripple,
which render the traveller willing to believe and to mourn over the
fact. Permission has in several instances been sought by strangers to
remove some of these tempting reliques, but it has always been coldly and
resolutely denied.
[Illustration: THE CITY WALLS. (Descending to the Port.)