Constantinople--Description--The Dogs and the Dead--Landed at
Tophana--The Masterless Dogs--The Slave Market--The Seraglio--The
Defects in the Description
The spot where the frigate came to anchor affords but an imperfect
view of the Ottoman capital. A few tall white minarets, and the
domes of the great mosques only are in sight, interspersed with trees
and mean masses of domestic buildings. In the distance, inland on
the left, the redoubted Castle of the Seven Towers is seen rising
above the gloomy walls; and, unlike every other European city, a
profound silence prevails over all. This remarkable characteristic
of Constantinople is owing to the very few wheel-carriages employed
in the city. In other respects the view around is lively, and in
fine weather quickened with innumerable objects in motion. In the
calmest days the rippling in the flow of the Bosphorus is like the
running of a river. In the fifth canto of Don Juan, Lord Byron has
seized the principal features, and delineated them with sparkling
effect.
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;
The twelve isles, and the more than I could dream,
Far less describe, present the very view
Which charm'd the charming Mary Montague.
In the morning, when his Lordship left the ship, the wind blew
strongly from the north-east, and the rushing current of the
Bosphorus dashed with great violence against the rocky projections of
the shore, as the captain's boat was rowed against the stream.
The wind swept down the Euxine, and the wave
Broke foaming o'er the blue Symplegades.
'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, you being quite at ease.
"The sensations produced by the state of the weather, and leaving a
comfortable cabin, were," says Mr Hobhouse, "in unison with the
impressions which we felt, when, passing under the palace of the
sultans, and gazing at the gloomy cypresses, which rise above the
walls, we saw two dogs gnawing a dead body." The description in The
Siege of Corinth of the dogs devouring the dead, owes its origin to
this incident of the dogs and the body under the walls of the
seraglio.
And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall,
Hold o'er the dead their carnival.
Gorging and growling o'er carcase and limb,
They were too busy to bark at him.
From a Tartar's scull they had stripp'd the flesh,
As ye peel the fig when its fruit is fresh,
And their white tusks crunched on the whiter scull,
As it slipp'd through their jaws when their edge grew dull.
As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead,
When they scarce could rise from the spot where they fed.
So well had they broken a lingering fast,
With those who had fallen for that night's repast.
And Alp knew by the turbans that rolled on the sand,
The foremost of these were the best of his band.
Crimson and green were the shawls of their wear,
And each scalp had a single long tuft of hair,
All the rest was shaven and bare.
The scalps were in the wild dogs' maw,
The hair was tangled round his jaw.
But close by the shore on the edge of the gulf,
There sat a vulture flapping a wolf,
Who had stolen from the hills but kept away,
Scared by the dogs from the human prey;
But he seized on his share of a steed that lay,
Pick'd by the birds on the sands of the bay.
This hideous picture is a striking instance of the uses to which
imaginative power may turn the slightest hint, and of horror
augmented till it reach that extreme point at which the ridiculous
commences. The whole compass of English poetry affords no parallel
to this passage. It even exceeds the celebrated catalogue of
dreadful things on the sacramental table in Tam O' Shanter. It is
true, that the revolting circumstances described by Byron are less
sublime in their associations than those of Burns, being mere visible
images, unconnected with ideas of guilt, and unlike
The knife a father's throat had mangled,
Which his ain son of life bereft:
The gray hairs yet stuck to the heft.
Nor is there in the vivid group of the vulture flapping the wolf, any
accessory to rouse stronger emotions, than those which are associated
with the sight of energy and courage, while the covert insinuation,
that the bird is actuated by some instigation of retribution in
pursuing the wolf for having run away with the bone, approaches the
very point and line where the horrible merges in the ludicrous. The
whole passage is fearfully distinct, and though in its circumstances,
as the poet himself says, "sickening," is yet an amazing display of
poetical power and high invention.
The frigate sent the travellers on shore at Tophana, from which the
road ascends to Pera. Near this landing-place is a large fountain,
and around it a public stand of horses ready saddled, attended by
boys. On some of these Lord Byron and his friend, with the officers
who had accompanied them, mounted and rode up the steep hill, to the
principal Frank Hotel, in Pera, where they intended to lodge. In the
course of the ride their attention was attracted to the prodigious
number of masterless dogs which lounge and lurk about the corners of
the streets; a nuisance both dangerous and disagreeable, but which
the Turks not only tolerate but protect. It is no uncommon thing to
see a litter of puppies with their mother nestled in a mat placed on
purpose for them in a nook by some charitable Mussulman of the
neighbourhood; for notwithstanding their merciless military
practices, the Turks are pitiful-hearted Titans to dumb animals and
slaves. Constantinople has, however, been so often and so well
described, that it is unnecessary to notice its different objects of
curiosity here, except in so far as they have been contributory to
the stores of the poet.
The slave market was of course not unvisited, but the description in
Don Juan is more indebted to the author's fancy, than any of those
other bright reflections of realities to which I have hitherto
directed the attention of the reader. The market now-a-days is in
truth very uninteresting; few slaves are ever to be seen in it, and
the place itself has an odious resemblance to Smithfield. I imagine,
therefore, that the trade in slaves is chiefly managed by private
bargaining. When there, I saw only two men for sale, whites, who
appeared very little concerned about their destination, certainly not
more than English rustics offering themselves for hire to the farmers
at a fair or market. Doubtless, there was a time when the slave
market of Constantinople presented a different spectacle, but the
trade itself has undergone a change--the Christians are now
interdicted from purchasing slaves. The luxury of the guilt is
reserved for the exclusive enjoyment of the Turks. Still, as a
description of things which may have been, Byron's market is probable
and curious.
A crowd of shivering slaves of every nation
And age and sex were in the market ranged,
Each busy with the merchant in his station.
Poor creatures, their good looks were sadly changed.
All save the blacks seem'd jaded with vexation,
From friends, and home, and freedom far estranged.
The negroes more philosophy displayed,
Used to it no doubt, as eels are to be flayed.
Like a backgammon board, the place was dotted
With whites and blacks in groups, on show for sale,
Though rather more irregularly spotted;
Some bought the jet, while others chose the pale.
No lady e'er is ogled by a lover,
Horse by a black-leg, broadcloth by a tailor,
Fee by a counsel, felon by a jailer,
As is a slave by his intended bidder.
'Tis pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures,
And all are to be sold, if you consider
Their passions, and are dext'rous, some by features
Are bought up, others by a warlike leader;
Some by a place, as tend their years or natures;
The most by ready cash, but all have prices,
From crowns to kicks, according to their vices.
The account of the interior of the seraglio in Don Juan is also only
probably correct, and may have been drawn in several particulars from
an inspection of some of the palaces, but the descriptions of the
imperial harem are entirely fanciful. I am persuaded, by different
circumstances, that Byron could not have been in those sacred
chambers of any of the seraglios. At the time I was in
Constantinople, only one of the imperial residences was accessible to
strangers, and it was unfurnished. The great seraglio was not
accessible beyond the courts, except in those apartments where the
Sultan receives his officers and visitors of state. Indeed, the
whole account of the customs and usages of the interior of the
seraglio, as described in Don Juan, can only be regarded as
inventions; and though the descriptions abound in picturesque beauty,
they have not that air of truth and fact about them which render the
pictures of Byron so generally valuable, independent of their
poetical excellence. In those he has given of the apartments of the
men, the liveliness and fidelity of his pencil cannot be denied; but
the Arabian tales and Vathek seem to have had more influence on his
fancy in describing the imperial harem, than a knowledge of actual
things and appearances. Not that the latter are inferior to the
former in beauty, or are without images and lineaments of graphic
distinctness, but they want that air of reality which constitutes the
singular excellence of his scenes drawn from nature; and there is a
vagueness in them which has the effect of making them obscure, and
even fantastical. Indeed, except when he paints from actual models,
from living persons and existing things, his superiority, at least
his originality, is not so obvious; and thus it happens, that his
gorgeous description of the sultan's seraglio is like a versified
passage of an Arabian tale, while the imagery of Childe Harold's
visit to Ali Pasha has all the freshness and life of an actual scene.
The following is, indeed, more like an imitation of Vathek, than
anything that has been seen, or is in existence. I quote it for the
contrast it affords to the visit referred to, and in illustration of
the distinction which should be made between beauties derived from
actual scenes and adventures, and compilations from memory and
imagination, which are supposed to display so much more of creative
invention.
And thus they parted, each by separate doors,
Raba led Juan onward, room by room,
Through glittering galleries and o'er marble floors,
Till a gigantic portal through the gloom
Haughty and huge along the distance towers,
And wafted far arose a rich perfume,
It seem'd as though they came upon a shrine,
For all was vast, still, fragrant, and divine.
The giant door was broad and bright and high,
Of gilded bronze, and carved in curious guise;
Warriors thereon were battling furiously;
Here stalks the victor, there the vanquish'd lies;
There captives led in triumph droop the eye,
And in perspective many a squadron flies.
It seems the work of times before the line
Of Rome transplanted fell with Constantine.
This massy portal stood at the wide close
Of a huge hall, and on its either side
Two little dwarfs, the least you could suppose,
Were sate, like ugly imps, as if allied
In mockery to the enormous gate which rose
O'er them in almost pyramidic pride.