remarkable even in Turkey, where these establishments are always princely
both in their extent and construction: it is a quadrangle, flanked with
square towers, built in three sections, gradually lessening, and each
crested by a slight spire. The gate of entrance is lofty, and elaborately
wrought in iron, giving ingress to a noble square or court, where twelve
thousand men may be commodiously exercised; and surrounded on three sides
by an open gallery, screening the long ranges of apartments above the
basement of the building. The ground-floor is occupied by workshops;
the whole of the clothing, cartridges, and other equipments, excepting
arms, being manufactured within the precincts of the barrack, and very
creditably produced. The kitchens are vast, cleanly, and convenient,
and elaborately fitted with apparatus for steam, and the vessels used
in cooking scrupulously kept; while the vegetable store, where piles of
every description of herb and root necessary to the cooks are carefully
housed, are floored, lined, and roofed with marble; and copious basins
of the same material, are supplied with the purest and coolest water,
from the fountain of the magnificent mosque of Selim III., which stands
immediately opposite to the principal gate of the barrack.
The armouries, clothing-stores, and regimental schools, are all in the
highest order; and no disrule awakens the ready echoes of the extensive
building. Indeed, it would be difficult to find throughout the whole of
Europe, a nobler military establishment than that of the Turkish Imperial
Guard at Scutari.
Hence, a somewhat steep descent sweeps downward to the ferry, which
is generally crowded with bales of merchandise, piles of fruit, laden
donkeys, lounging hadjis, and busy boatmen, clamorous for passengers;
while the magnificent views of Stamboul and its environs, which
are commanded from the hanging gardens of the principal residences
overlooking the Sea of Marmora, are almost beyond description.
Immediately before them runs the glittering current, sweeping the
sunshiny waves onward from the Bosphorus into the far-reaching Propontis;
girdling with liquid light the rocky foundations of the isle-seated
Guz-Couli; and, finally, mingling with the world of waters mapped out
before it; while beyond rises the long castellated wall of the ancient
city of the Constantines, lost to the view at one point amid a cluster
of Imperial kiosques, and at the other, beneath the gloomy shadows of
the _Yēaidhe_—the mysterious prison of the Seven Towers—which link the
land and seaward sides of the external wall, forming an angle eminently
picturesque, from its startling contrast to every surrounding object. The
original design of the fortress, as has been elsewhere stated, can no
longer be traced beyond the walls, only four of the towers now remaining,
the other three having been prostrated by earthquakes, and suffered to
moulder away unrenewed.
At intervals along the wall appear the latticed kiosques of the Imperial
Seraï, whence the incarcerated beauties of the harem look forth upon
the bright scene without; while above and about them rise the shadowy
plane-trees, the leafy beeches, lofty cypresses, feathery acacias, and
other magnificent trees of the palace gardens. Away, amid the heaving
waves, lies the archipelago of islands formerly called Demonesia, or the
Demon Islands (since modified into the Princess’ Islands,) lying about
nine miles from Constantinople, within a short row of the Asian coast. Of
these, four are extremely fertile, and partially inhabited; the nearest
to Stamboul is Proté, so called from its situation, it being the first
approached from the Bosphorus. It is about three miles in extent; and is
a favourite resort with the Greeks of the Fanar, many of whom spend the
summer months in its pleasant valley, situated between two rather abrupt
acclivities. A small village is built on the east side of the island;
and on one of the heights stands a monastery, looming out cold and bare
against the horizon, without a tree to soften down its rigid outline,—a
mark alike for the hot sunshine and the laden storm-cloud.
The second of the group is known as “Platé,” from its being a dead flat;
though many of the Franks, disregarding the ancient Greek name, call
it “Gull Island,” from the immense number of those birds which are to
be found there, feeding on the clustering marine plants by which it is
covered, and rearing their young, undisturbed by the vicinity of a busy
and crowded city.
[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO THE SEVEN TOWERS.
_ENTRÉE DES SEPT-TOURS._ _EINGANG ZUM CASTELL DER SIEBEN THÜRME._
W. H. Bartlett. E. Benjamin.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1839.]
The next island, Oxea, is the highest of the whole, and is surrounded
by steep and rugged precipices, which render it extremely picturesque
from the water; particularly on the eastern side, where the bend of
the shore forms a fine bay, beautifully framed in by tall and jagged
rocks. On this island still exist some very interesting and curious
remains of the reservoirs which formerly supplied the whole archipelago
with water; fresh springs being rare on any of the other islands. Two
of them yet remain almost perfect, and the water which they contain is
clear and pure. The ruins of various edifices are also apparent in many
of the precipitous portions of the islands: walls of bricks made flat,
and cemented together with lime and powdered tiles, are to be found on
all sides, and small water-cisterns are numerous in every direction. The
most remarkable vegetable production of the island is the giant fennel,
which here grows commonly twelve feet in height, and almost assumes the
importance of a forest tree, as it spreads abroad the deep shadows of its
feathery umbels.
The next island is that of Pitya. It is small, and boasts but slight
remnants of the abundance of pine wood with which it is stated to have
been once covered; possessing, moreover, no single object of interest
to compensate for the loss; while Antigone, the ancient Panormus, about
a mile beyond, boasts its vineyards and its villages, its monastery
crowning an eminence which dominates the whole island; and the presence
of the learned and illustrious exile, Constantius, Archbishop of Mount
Sinai, and ex-Patriarch of Constantinople—a prelate renowned alike for
his virtues and his erudition, who was deposed and banished by the Turks
for his literary productions; not the least obnoxious among them being
a Statistical Account of the past and present State of Constantinople,
printed at Venice in 1824, in modern Greek, for the use of his
countrymen—a work during whose compilation he had incurred considerable
personal risk, disguising himself as a dervish, in order to penetrate
into their sanctuaries; and which had cost him not only his liberty, but
even great pecuniary embarrassment, his income in exile being barely
sufficient to secure to him the common comforts of life.
From Antigone the traveller proceeds to Chalki, perhaps the most
interesting islet of the group, from the fact that it abounds with
spars, and that the remains of mines are still perceptible, as well as
piles of the waste flung from the shafts centuries ago. At Chalki stands
the monastery of the Trinity, probably so named from the fact that it
occupies one of the three headlands for which the island is remarkable.
It was once very extensive, but was nearly destroyed by fire; the wing
containing the chapel is, however, still perfect, and its porch is an
object of great curiosity to travellers, from the fact of its containing
an extraordinary and somewhat grotesque representation of the Last Day.
On a second height stands another convent, dedicated to the Virgin;
and approached by a very fine road, commanding glorious views of the
surrounding landscape, and fringed with arbutus, cistus, myrtle, and
pine trees, among which the convent is embosomed.
The first resident British Ambassador at the Ottoman Court retired to
this island in order to recruit his health, which had suffered from
the climate, and ultimately died here. His tomb is now destroyed,
and the inscription-stone is inserted sideways in the wall above the
entrance-gate of the monastery, whence it cannot be removed without an
Imperial firman.
Four noble lines of cypress trees, sweeping downward to the shore, lead
to a splendid palace, formerly belonging to Prince Mavroyeni, who after
serving in the Turkish army against Russia, was decapitated by the Grand
Vèzir for some alleged offence; which proved, however, so inadequate
in the eyes of the Sultan, that he struck off the heads of the Vèzir
and his son, and bestowed the palace and gardens of the unhappy victim
upon the family of Affendooli, whose representative was executed at
the commencement of the Greek revolution. The house was sacked by the
Turks, and then became for a time the summer residence of the Austrian
minister, Baron Ottenfels; but it is now a favourite resort of the
Sultan, who has caused it to be fitted up in the most costly manner; and
who occasionally, during his sojourn on the island, gives sumptuous balls
in the European style to the respectable Greek inhabitants and visitors.
Next comes Prinkipo, celebrated for the cruelties and subsequent exile
of Irene, the widow of Flavius Leo, who gave its name to the island,
which is the largest and most populous of the group. The town, seated on
its eastern shore, contains upwards of three hundred inhabitants; its
circumference is about eight miles, and the remains of a convent still
exist, which was formerly tenanted by a sisterhood of fifty nuns. A
monastery in a state of dilapidation, dedicated to the Transfiguration,
and now occupied by a solitary monk, gray with age, stands on the summit
of one of the heights; while another, crowning the loftiest hill on the
island, and inscribed to St. George, is celebrated for its sanctity, and
much frequented by the Greeks.
The two remaining islands of Neandros and Antirovithi are mere rocks,
wholly uninhabited, and only occasionally visited for the purposes of
sport, as they abound with sea-fowl and rabbits.
On the verge of the horizon rises Mount Olympus, with its crown of snow,
and mantle of vapour; while far away stretches the rocky coast of Asia,
hemming in one of the noblest scenes of earth and water under the wide
canopy of heaven.
A TURKISH APARTMENT.
“The moveables were prodigally rich:
Sofas ’twas half a sin to sit upon,
So costly were they; carpets every stitch
Of workmanship so rare, that made you wish
You could glide o’er them like a golden fish.”
BYRON.
Nothing can exceed the beautiful cleanliness of a Turkish harem, save
its order: not a grain of dust, nor a footmark, sullies the surface
of the Indian matting that covers the large halls whence the several
apartments branch off in every direction; while the furniture of the
rooms themselves is always fresh, and scrupulously arranged. The ceilings
are elaborately ornamented; and in the houses of the rich, where the
apartments are of great size, a curtain of tapestry is frequently used
as a mean of reducing their extent. The windows are always closely set
together, and very numerous; and where the room chances to be situated in
an angle of the building, the three unconnected sides have very much the
appearance of a lantern.
[Illustration: A TURKISH APARTMENT IN THE FANAR.
_L’APPARTEMENT TURC, DANS LE FANAR._ _EIN TÜRKISCHES ZIMMER IM FANAR._
W. H. Bartlett. E. Challis.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1839.]
The interior chosen by the artist as the subject of his sketch is a
fair specimen of the higher order of domestic architecture, and belongs
to a house once inhabited by one of the Greek princes, which will
account for the ample hearth,—an accessory never found in an apartment
originally designed by a Turk; in every other respect it is precisely the
description of room common to every handsome harem.
At the lower end of each apartment are large closets for the reception of
the bedding (for none are appropriated exclusively as sleeping chambers),
and the slaves of the household no sooner ascertain that the visitor has
risen, than half a dozen of them commence removing every vestige of the
couch, and depositing within the closet the mattrasses of embroidered
satin, the sheet of gauze, or worked muslin, the half dozen pillows of
brocaded silk, and the wadded coverlets, rich with silver fringe, and gay
with party-coloured needle-work, which have formed the bed. A low sofa
or divan runs round the other three sides of the apartment, luxuriously
supplied with cushions, and richly covered with cut velvet or embroidered
satin; and the floor is invariably spread with soft and handsome carpets.
It is an amusing fact, that an idea of impropriety is attached by
Europeans who have never visited the East, to the very name of a harem;
while it is not less laughable, that they can never give a reason for
the prejudice! How little foundation exists for so unaccountable a fancy
must be evident at once, when it is stated that the harem, or women’s
apartments, are held so sacred by the Turks themselves, that they
remain inviolate even in cases of popular disturbance, or individual
delinquency; the mob never suffering their violence to betray them into
an intrusion on the wives of their victims; and the search after a
fugitive ceasing the moment that the door of the harem separates him from
his pursuers.
It is also a fact, that although a Turk has an undoubted right to enter
the apartments of his wives at all hours, it is a privilege of which he
rarely, if ever, avails himself. One room in the harem is appropriated
to the master of the house, and therein he awaits the appearance of
the individual with whom he wishes to converse, and who is summoned to
his presence by a slave. Should he, on passing to this apartment, see
slippers at the foot of the stairs (a token that a female visitor is
in the harem), he cannot, under any pretence whatever, intrude himself
into her presence; it is a liberty which every woman in the empire
would resent; and when guests are on a visit of some days, he sends a
slave forward to announce his approach, and thus gives them time and
opportunity to withdraw.
Every good harem has a commodious bath, and a garden gay with flowers and
fountains attached to it, where the women may wander at will among the
leaves and birds, or dream away the sultry hours in their pretty kiosques
overhanging the Bosphorus; where from behind the shade of their latticed
casements they can breathe the cool air from the water, and mark the
arrowy speed of the graceful caïques, as they fly along the channel.
The amusements of the harem are few and simple;—the bath is its greatest
luxury, the remainder of the day being spent in lounging on the divan,
listening to the music of the zebec, played by one of the slaves, and
accompanied by the voices of others; in the arrangement of the jewels
worn upon the turban; in playing with the birds whose gilded cages
glitter upon the walls; in spoiling all the children within reach; in
eating sweetmeats, and drinking water; or amid the cool shadows of the
garden, hearkening to the fall of the fountains and the whisperings of
the leaves, or listening to the wondrous tales of the Massaldjhe,[43]
ever a welcome guest in the harem, where her marvellous narrations are
received with a deep attention and a perfect faith eminently inspiring.
Then there is the _namaz_, or prayer, five times a day, never neglected
by Turkish women; when deeply veiled, as unworthy to appear before Allah
with a bare brow, they spread their prayer-carpet, and turning their
faces Mecca-ward, they humbly and earnestly perform their devotions.
These are their home-occupations; but it is a great fallacy to imagine
that Turkish females are like birds in a cage, or captives in a cell;—far
from it; there is not a public festival, be it Turk, Frank, Armenian,
or Greek, where they are not to be seen in numbers, sitting upon their
carpets, or in their carriages, surrounded by slaves and attendants,
eager and delighted spectators of the revel. Then they have their gilded
and glittering caïques on the Bosphorus, where, protected by their veils,
their ample mantles, and their negro guard, they spend long hours in
passing from house to house, visiting their acquaintance, and gathering
and dispensing the gossip of the city.
All this may, and indeed must appear startling, to persons who have
accustomed themselves to believe that Turkish wives were morally manacled
slaves. There are, probably, no women so little trammelled in the world;
so free to come and to go unquestioned, provided that they are suitably
attended; while it is equally certain that they enjoy this privilege
like innocent and happy children, making their pleasures of the flowers
and the sunshine; and revelling like the birds and bees amid the summer
brightness, profiting by the enjoyment of the passing hour, and reckless
or thoughtless of the future.
THE SLAVE-MARKET.
“Veritatis simplex oratio est.”
SCHOOL CLASSICS.
The fables which have been both written and painted on the subject of
the _Yesèr Bazār_, or Slave-Market of Constantinople, with a tenacity of
error perfectly extraordinary, have tended to excite in Europe a feeling
of horror and disgust, totally uncalled for by the aspect of the place
itself. This is no arena for controversy; nor has the writer of these
sketches either wish or intention to defend a traffic utterly revolting
to every principle of our nature; but justice to the Turkish nation
calls for a contradiction of those absurd and indelicate episodes with
which the active and wonder-creating imaginations of certain writers and
artists have laboured to render the name of the Yesèr Bazār odious, not
only inferentially, but actually. A sentimental chapter is easily woven
of the tears and terror of a fair and fainting girl, torn from her home
and her kindred, and exposed to the gaze of a coarse and ribald crowd;
a pretty picture may be readily produced when the formal quadrangle of
the market is relieved by groups of beautiful Georgians or Circassians,
habited in flowing draperies of white muslin, and unveiled by the coarse
hands of the dealer to gratify the whim of every lounging passenger; but
surely if the creators of these flimsy prettinesses were to reflect for a
moment that they are not only violating good taste in their own persons,
but moreover libelling a whole people, and distorting truth at the same
time, they would consent to sacrifice a sentence, or to dispense with an
effect, in order to be at once more decent, more veracious, and more just.
[Illustration: THE MOSQUE OF OSMANIÈ. (From the Slave-Market.)
_MOSQUÉE D’OSMANIÈ, VUE DU MARCHÉ._ _DIE MOSCHEE OSMANIÈ, WIE SIE SICH
ZEIGT VOM SCLAVENMARKTE._
W. H. Bartlett. H. Griffiths.
London. Published for the Proprietors, by Geo: Virtue, 26, Ivy Lane,
1839.]
It is only those who look superficially at the East,—the travellers
against time, who make deduction serve for experience, and inference
for fact,—who fall into such gross errors as these; and Turkey is not a
country to be described on inference and deduction. Not one of those who
have spread the fallacy which we are now deprecating, ever witnessed the
revolting spectacle born of their own fancy. How does Dr. Walsh speak
of the Yesèr Bazār? And we quote him, not only because he was resident
in Constantinople many years, looking deeply and earnestly into its
institutions, but because the whole tone and tendency of his work must at
once acquit him of any leaning to the Turkish people:—
“Here decorum is no further violated than in the act of sale. It consists
of a quadrangular building, with an open court in the middle. Round this
are raised platforms, on which black slaves sit; behind are latticed
windows, lighting apartments where the white and more costly women are
shut up till they are sold; and there is a certain decency and propriety
observed in the purchase.”[44]
The wanton exposure, therefore, which has been represented as a
concomitant of the sale of slaves in the Yesèr Bazār, did not originate
with the Turks; to whom Dr. Walsh (certainly not their most lenient
historian) thus concedes the merit of “decency and propriety.”
We have been somewhat prolix on this point, because it is one which has
been deeply and painfully felt by many individuals of the calumniated
nation; and also because it is an useless and cruel misrepresentation
of facts, of which common justice demands the refutation. There is
always a painful and a revolting association connected with the idea of
slavery, and an insurmountable disgust excited by the spectacle of money
given in exchange for human beings; but, beyond this, (and assuredly
this is enough!) there is nothing either to distress or to disgust in
the slave-market of Constantinople. No wanton cruelty, no idle insult is
permitted: the slaves, in many instances, select their own purchaser from
among the bidders; and they know that when once received into a Turkish
family, they become members of it in every sense of the word, and are
almost universally sure to rise in the world if they conduct themselves
worthily. The Circassians and Georgians are generally brought there by
their parents at their own request; preferring a youth of ease, and a
future of probable luxury, to labour in the fields, and the life of
household drudgery, which must be their lot if they continued in their
own mountain-homes. These voluntary slaves occupy the closed apartments,
and are only seen by such individuals as are likely to purchase them;
care being taken to protect them against gratuitous annoyance, and the
gaze of the idlers who throng the court. The utmost order, decency, and
quiet prevail; and a military guard is stationed at the entrance to
enforce them, should the necessity for interference occur, which is,
however, very rarely the case.
The Negro slaves squat in groups upon their mats all over the court; some
laughing, jesting, and devouring huge slices of _pastek_,[45] or clusters
of purple grapes; others sleeping; and some again looking anxious, or
sulky, or sad, according to their mood; but nothing takes place around
them which can embitter their position: the Turks never make either a
sport or a jest of human suffering, or human degradation; they have not
yet discovered that it is witty to do so; and accordingly they drive
their odious bargain seriously and quietly, and lead away the slaves whom
they purchase without one act of wanton cruelty or tyrannical assumption.
The Yesèr Bazār is situated in the immediate vicinity of the Tchernberlè
Tasch, or Burnt Pillar; and commands a view of the mosque of Osmaniè, or
“the Light of Osman;” a splendid temple of pure white marble, beautifully
covered with carpets of bright and rich colours, and having the _Mihrab_,
or niche at its eastern extremity, guarded by a gilded railing. Like
almost every mosque in the city, it is embosomed in fine maple-trees,
which, springing from amid the marble pavement of the court, spread
their leafy branches far and wide, and afford a sweet and refreshing
resting-place for the eye, which has been pained by immediate contact
with the interior of the Slave-Market.
PETIT CHAMPS DES MORTS, PERA.
“Come, wander with me in the place of graves—
The tall trees wave a welcome, and the wind
Sighs like soft music through the clustered tombs.
Come, wander with me there, where thousands rest;
We shall not waken them—theirs is the sleep
Which, dreamless, knows no waking.”
There is certainly nothing which more impresses the mind or fills
the imagination of the traveller in Turkey, than the appearance and
situation of the burial-places. The sunniest spots, where all is gaiety
and gladness, yet find room for a grave, without being saddened by the
partial occupancy of death. The gardens of the great are open to the
remains of those who have been dear to them in life, and the lovely
_Acacia Gul-ibrasim_, or “silk rose,” is often gathered from the tomb
of a dead beauty to adorn the hair of a living one; nor does the soft
wind which sighs through the branches of the pensile willow by which it
is overshadowed seem more sad, nor its cool shade less welcome to the
survivor, because they are the accessories to a grave.