_The Palaces_
No features in the Sultan's city are more prominent than the
cloud-capped towers and the gorgeous palaces. The two towers of Galata
and of the Seraskerat have a very practical meaning. Perpetual watch
is kept in them, and warning sent when the fires which have so often
devastated both Pera and Stambûl are seen to have begun. The great
tower of the Seraskerat, built by Mohammed II., standing in the large
open space in front of the War Office, gives the best detailed view of
Stambûl, and one sees how truly it is not only a city of gardens but a
thoroughly Oriental city. The bazaars, the khans, the mosques, and
here and there an old Byzantine house can be clearly distinguished;
and the seven hills, so puzzling to the traveller on foot, stand out
plainly in the forest of building.
The tower of Galata dates back, in foundation at least, to the fifth
century; and when the Genoese made their settlement in the suburb it
became their chief fortress. It was rebuilt and increased in the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. The roof has been often burnt, and
the present arrangement of four circular chambers, diminishing as they
ascend, is that of Abdul Mejid. Seen from the street below the Petit
Champ des Morts, it is picturesque and imposing. From it is the
splendid view over the whole city and far into Asia and the range of
Olympus.
Between these towers, so plain and practical, and the luxurious
palaces of the Sultans, the public offices form a convenient link.
Some are modern of the modern, comfortable, and even comparatively
clean, like the great building of the Ottoman Debt, on the finest site
in Stambûl, with magnificent views of the city and the harbour. Some,
like the Sublime Porte, have a certain leisurely dignity, as of the
eighteenth century in Italy, but tawdry and decaying. Some, like the
Ef-kaf--the ministry of religious foundations, close to S. Sophia--are
mere collections of rooms, half ruined, the abode of countless
officials and petitioners, of squalor and dirt.
[Illustration: TOWER OF GALATA FROM BRIDGE]
How long will it be before the group of buildings now called the Old
Seraglio follow in the same way? Already the outer court, with the
tree of the Janissaries, and the Church of S. Irene, bear a desolate
unkempt appearance, such as one soon learns to associate with
everything that belongs to Turkish officialdom. There are few spots in
Europe that have a longer or more tragic history. This once was the
Akropolis of Byzantium. When first the Turks took the city the Sultan
lived in the Eski Seraï, the "old palace," which was on the site now
occupied by the Seraskierat. But in 1468 Mohammed began to build here
a summer palace, which after much enlargement became under Suleiman I.
the chief palace of the Sultans, and was occupied by them till in 1839
Abdul Mejid finally removed to Dolma bagtché.
The outer court can be freely visited; though during the last year
entrance has been several times refused to me at the most convenient
approach, the Bâb-i-Humayûn, a tiresome restriction which is no more
than an inconvenience, as one may walk freely through the lower gate.
In niches on each side of the Bâb-i-Humayûn were often placed the
heads of viziers whom the Sultans had sacrificed to their own jealousy
or to the demands of the Janissaries. Above is a small square room
where Mahmûd waited all day on the fateful 16th of June 1826, for news
of the fight raging in the streets against the Janissaries. Above the
gate is an inscription placed by Mohammed the Conqueror: "God shall
make eternal the glory of its builder. God shall strengthen his work.
God shall support his foundations." In the bare space between the
outer and inner gates there is nothing to notice except the fateful
tree, and the splendid sarcophagi outside S. Irene, which are said to
have come from the Church of the Holy Apostles. Thence we go through
an avenue up to the Middle Gate, Orta Kapou.
Coming the other way, through the lower gate, Teheshmeh Kapou, we
leave the Museum Chinili Kiosk to the left. To the right of the
Bâb-i-Humayûn is the Gül Kkâneh Kiosk, where Abdul Mejid issued his
great _hatti sherif_ in the presence of representatives of all the
religions of the empire (see above, p. 219).
Beyond the Orta Kapou no one may pass except by special irardé from
the Sultan. This can only be obtained through the Embassy. Of recent
years it is rarely refused; but it is usual to make a party, for the
expense is large. Some five pounds or so must be given in presents.
The visitors are treated as the Sultan's guests, are placed under
charge of an imperial aide-de-camp, are refreshed with coffee and
roseleaf jam in one of the kiosks, and taken on, usually, to the
modern palaces of Dolma bagtché and Beylerbey. The Orta Kapou is
strictly guarded. Here one must walk, for only a Sultan may enter on
horseback. On the right was the room in which the Christian envoys
waited till the Sultan pleased to send out clothes in which alone they
might appear before him. As they came forth the Janissaries, ranged in
military order, "darted like arrows" at the food placed before them in
their kettles, a quaint custom intended to impress the foreigner with
the feeling that he was in the power of a still savage people. At the
left was the room where Viziers were beheaded.
[Illustration: APPROACH TO THE OLD SERAGLIO]
The court of the divan, now neglected, is the place where the
ministers discussed, and the Sultans, when they would, listened from a
latticed window. To the right were the vast kitchens. Then comes the
Bâb-i-s'âddet, Gate of Felicity, which leads to what was once the
Serai, the royal palace with its harem, which the Italians called
Seraglio. It was through this gate that Murad IV. in 1632 walked alone
to face the rebels, and hushed them to obedience, and that in 1808 the
dead body of Selim III. was thrown out to the Pacha Baraicktar (see
p. 201), and that a few days later the corpse of his murderer, Mustafa
IV., was carried forth to burial.
Within, we are among a maze of small buildings, without dignity but
not altogether without beauty. They represent the caprice of sultan
after sultan, and of their ladies. First we see the Arz Odassi, the
throne room, built by Suleiman I., where on a large couch, like a
great bed, the Sultans reposing on cushions received their ministers
and the foreign envoys. Here the first French ambassadors were
received by Suleiman, and here in 1568 Elizabeth's envoy sought
assistance against Spain. Here again is a lattice behind which the
Sultan could sit, if he would assume the state of the unapproachable
Oriental.
[Illustration: A CORNER OF THE OLD SERAGLIO]
Next we cross a deserted garden, and pass through neglected courts
till we reach the library, a single room, built by Mustafa III., with
a beautiful bronze door, in which are many unknown MSS. treasures.
Next is the Khazna, the treasury, which is opened only by the second
in authority of the imperial eunuchs, while a crowd of black-coated
and fezzed officials stand on each side. It were idle to enumerate
the treasures. The visitor rarely has time properly to examine them.
But one cannot fail to note the Persian throne of gold, set with
hundreds of precious stones, and the beautiful Turkish divan which
belonged to Ahmed I. On the staircase leading to the gallery which
contains this last treasure are medallion portraits of the Sultans,
interesting enough but perhaps of the same historic value as, though
of far superior artistic excellence to, the portraits of the Scots
Kings at Holyrood. Of similar interest and closer authenticity are the
fine state costumes of the Sultans from Mohammed II. to Mahmûd the
Reformer. The robes are exquisite examples of the richest eastern work
in brocade and silk, and the weapons are of the finest design. Cases
on the walls contain splendid collections of jewels, and some
magnificent armour, notably that worn by Murad IV. at the capture of
Belgrade in 1638.
There are three buildings within this part of the grounds which no one
may approach. The one contains the relics of the prophet. We see the
entrance with its massive door and elaborate tiles. We know that
inside are the mantle, the sacred standard, the beard and a tooth of
the prophet, and an impression in limestone of his foot. Beyond this
again is the old harem, now unused. And not far off is the Kafess, the
luxurious retreat of dethroned sultans, which has often been mentioned
in these pages--the scene perhaps of the worst and vilest crimes of
the Ottomans.
It is with kindlier associations that we approach the beautiful kiosk
of Bagdad, whose walls, with their beautiful tiles, doors of the
finest inlaid work, and carpets of the richest design, place us in an
ideal Eastern scene. It is a copy, they say, of a kiosk Murad IV. saw
at Bagdad. Pity that it is now only a show. Here or in the Mejidiyeh
kiosk looking on the Marmora and up the Golden Horn, comes the
refection, and we fancy ourselves again, but for the officials in
their to us most inappropriate costume,[65] in the Arabian Nights.
So back again and we drive round at break-neck pace, the driver
shouting and cracking his whip all the way, across the Galata Bridge,
along that wretched dirty lane called the "grande rue de Galata," past
Top-haneh and the modern Valideh Mosque, to the palace of Dolma
bagtché. It is the work of Abdul Mejid. It is vast, white, elaborate:
it has aroused enthusiasm among personages who might have been
expected to know better: it was from this gorgeous abode that Abdul
Aziz was hurried across to the old Seraglio at his deposition: some
state functions are still performed here. That is really all that one
would like to say. The bewildering, dazzling, costly decorations, the
pictures that Abdul Aziz so much admired, the mirrors and candelabra,
the abundance of everything that is ugly and expensive, represent
nothing in the world but a taste which has tried to graft on
orientalism the worst ideas of the early Victorian age and the Second
Empire.
Of Cheragan, where Abdul Aziz died and perhaps the last Sultan still
lingers, I cannot speak. No one is now admitted. Let the enthusiastic
de Amicis express, in his account of it, what we feel as we leave
Dolma bagtché.
"Nothing of all the splendour remains in my memory except the Sultan's
bath, made of whitest marble, sculptured with pendent flowers and
stalactites, and decorated with fringes and delicate embroideries that
one feared to touch, so fragile did they seem. The disposition of the
rooms reminded me vaguely of the Alhambra. Our steps made no sound
upon the rich carpets spread everywhere. Now and then an eunuch
pulled a cord, and a green curtain rose and displayed the Bosphorus,
Asia, a thousand ships, a great light; and then all vanished again, as
in a flash of lightning. The rooms seemed endless, and as each door
appeared we hastened our steps; but a profound silence reigned in
every part, and there was no vestige of any living being, nor rustle
of garment save the sound made by the silken door-curtains as they
fell behind. At last we were weary of that endless journey from one
splendid empty room to another, seeing ourselves reflected in great
mirrors, with the black faces of our guides and the group of silent
servants, and were thankful to find ourselves again in the free air,
in the midst of the ragged, noisy denizens of Tophane."
The present Sultan, as all the world knows, lives in Yildiz Kiosk, a
building erected by himself, on the hills above the Bosphorus. He has
gradually restricted his public appearances within the narrowest
limits possible to a Sultan. Only once a year does he now cross to
Stambûl, to pay, on the 15th of Ramazan, homage to the Prophet's
mantle in its chamber in the old Seraglio. Once a week, on Friday, he
goes to the mosque he has built just outside his palace grounds. A
card from the Embassy admits to a house provided by the Sultan which
gives a good view of his ceremonial procession to his official
prayers. As a survival, or as the modern expression of the power and
obligation of the Khalif, the Commander of the Faithful, it is a sight
not to be missed. The massed thousands of splendid troops, as fine a
body of men as any soldiers in the world, the pilgrims from the far
East, the holy men of the Mohammedan faith, admitted to the best
positions and treated with the most profound reverence, the gathering
of ladies from the harem in closed carriages surrounded by eunuchs,
and of little princes in gay uniforms, at last the coming of the
Sultan himself, in the most prosaic of European costumes, surmounted
by a fez, with his officials preceding and following his
carriage--that is the ceremony to-day which centuries ago foreigners
watched rarely and with awe, if not with terror. The times have
changed; and the man.
[Illustration: SCUTARI POINT AND LEANDER'S ISLE]
FOOTNOTES:
[65] It is simply that of an English clergyman with high waistcoat and
straight collar--and a fez!