Constantinople and the Scenery of the Seven Churches of Asia Minor

While used as this extraordinary prison, the strangest tales of mystery were whispered about, and are still told to visitors. A cavity is shown, called “the well of blood,” which imagination still pictures as overflowing with human gore, and its stained and darkened sides countenance the tradition. In another place is “the cavern of the rock,” where confession was extorted from the unhappy prisoners. A number of low arches are also pointed out, into which the wretched victims were compelled to force themselves, too low to admit their bodies through the aperture, and from whence they could not again extract them−and there they were left to perish with hunger. Places, too, are still shown, where skulls were piled so high as to rise above the surrounding walls.

The towers were originally seven in number, but are now reduced to four. Three of them were thrown down by the great earthquake in 1786. They were never rebuilt by the Turks; yet they still call them “yedde-kule,” or the seven towers. The buildings themselves are exceedingly unsightly. They are octagonal with conical roofs. The most conspicuous, represented in the illustration, was somewhat of a better order. It is that in which the foreign ambassadors were confined, and the apartments assigned to them were not very inconvenient.

Connected with this edifice was the celebrated “Chrysopule,” or golden gate, so renowned for its splendour under the Greek empire. It opened into the area, and was one of the entrances to the Seven Towers. It was covered with some beautiful sculptures in basso-relievo, which were considered chef-d’œuvres of art, and among them Venus holding her torch over the sleeping Adonis, to examine his beauties. Its position is on the right of the illustration. In the distance is the romantic archipelago of the Princess’ Islands, on one side, and on the other, the promontory of Scutari.

CONSTANTINOPLE END PETIT CHAMP DES MORTS.

FROM THE HEIGHTS OF PERA

T. Allom. W. J. Cooke.

It is remarked by travellers, that the Turks pay more attention to the accommodation of the dead than of the living; and hence the number and extent of the places they provide for their reception. Their city is scarcely approached at any side but through receptacles for the dead. Besides the vast cemetery at Scutari, there are several beyond the walls of Constantinople; and two, of great extent, on the peninsula of Pera. The first object of a Turk’s attention, in forming a cemetery, is a beautiful site; hence they all occupy positions commanding the best prospect, either of the Bosphorus or the Golden Horn. The isthmus which connects Pera with the country, is entirely covered with tombs, where Greeks, Armenians, Franks, and Turks repose in their respective burying-grounds, which are but continuations one of the other. The Jews alone preserve their exclusive character, and even in death will not approximate to other people. Their grave-yard lies at Hasskui, at a considerable distance. Overhanging the Bosphorus, on the isthmus, is one great cemetery of the Turks, embosomed in cypress, which the rays of the sun never penetrate, and resembling in every particular that at Scutari. On the other side is a second, overhanging the harbour, and, though called by the French Petit Champ des Morts, and by the English, after them, the “Little Burying-ground,” is of immense extent, covering an area nearly as great as either of the former. It is not, however, distinguished by the same solemn characteristics. Lying between the various suburbs of Pera, it is intersected by avenues, which are constantly thronged by passengers like public streets; and this moving picture of life abstracts much from the solemnity of death, which the secluded solitude of others so strongly impresses. Here it is, therefore, that Franks often witness the ceremonies of Turkish funerals, without that intrusion so offensive to Turks in the less public cemeteries.

Near the centre of the burial-ground is a small edifice, to which the bodies are brought. Here ablution is performed, and all the decencies of respect shown to the mortal remains, before they are consigned to decay. From hence they are removed to the pit prepared for them: they first burn incense round the spot, to keep off evil spirits; they leave a small lock of hair on the scalp, and then sew up the body in a sack of cloth just its length, and open at both ends. A Turk believes that his corpse will be subject to a strict examination by two angels, to ascertain his fitness for paradise, and the grave is constructed with accommodation for the purpose. It is arched overhead, that the body may have room to sit up; when the angels arrive, they seize him by the lock of hair, and draw him through the open end of the sack. He then sits between the examiners, and answers such questions as may be propounded. The arch is frequently constructed with fragments of marble pillars, but more usually with the planks of the coffin, which is taken to pieces for the purpose. The attendants on the funeral quietly sit round, often smoking their chibouques, and an Imaum sometimes reads a passage from the Koran. The Turks are particularly anxious that the tombs be not desecrated, or the posture of the bodies unsettled. They imagine some part is to remain undecayed, as the nucleus of their future resurrection. The particular member, called by them al-aïb, is not yet ascertained by their theologians, and they are careful that no part be disturbed. The general impression, however, is, that it is that portion of the pelvis connected with the lower extremity of the spine; so they are more careful of it after death, than of any other bone in the body.

This cemetery is marked, like others, by an appearance of great dilapidation. The marble head-stones are broken; and a negligence is displayed about their preservation, which one is surprised to see in the burying-place of an Osmanli. But this is the effect of design. When the janissaries were extirpated, the vengeance of the Sultan pursued them even to their tombs. Many of them were reported to be vampires, their graves were opened, and their bodies pinned to the earth by stakes, to prevent their rising to suck the blood of the faithful; while all the emblems that appeared above ground, to designate them, were destroyed. The stones that marked their graves were distinguished by their turbans. Even these were decapitated, and the marble heads cast about the ground, where they now lie.

The views from the different avenues leading through the cemetery, are very beautiful, particularly the higher part, in so much so, that it has become the great promenade of the Franks, who here assemble every evening, to enjoy the air and prospect; and by a singular anomaly, the cypress shades are converted into myrtle bowers, and gay groups of laughing Franks desecrate the last resting-place of the solemn Turks. The dogs, however, avenge this insult to the Moslem graves; there is no place where these hateful animals give such annoyance. Crouched among the decaying bodies, and attracted, perhaps, by the foul odour, they rush furiously at the passing Frank who comes to disturb them. It seems a strange contradiction in the Turks, that these carnivorous animals should be permitted to burrow among the remains of the dead, which they are so anxious to preserve, as the Oriental dogs have been, from the earliest times, the last consummaters of human vengeance,−as they are now of human justice. The bodies of criminals are left weltering in the streets, with a view that the dogs may tear them. Their howl at night, issuing from the graves, adds much to the dismal solemnity of the field of tombs.

The illustration presents a view of a fine fountain. It was surmounted by a roof of correspondent beauty, but it fell a victim to the great fire that ravaged Pera in the year 1823, and destroyed all the European palaces, including the English. Near the fountain is a sacgee, or water-man, with his leathern vessel, and beside it are women in the common walking-dress of the country: this consists of a ferridgé and yasmac; the first is a wide misshapen garment, that totally conceals the form of the person; and the other is composed of two veils, drawn over the upper and lower parts of the face, and meeting at the ears, leaving open a small triangular space, through which the nose and eyes protrude. In the perspective is, the city of Constantinople, displaying its most conspicuous objects−the Mosque of Solimanie, and the Aqueduct of Valens. In the centre is the new bridge which the sultan has erected across the harbour.

GATE OF ENTRANCE TO THE RECEPTION ROOM OF THE SERAGLIO

T. Allom. T. Barber.

This magnificent palace occupies the apex of the triangle on which the city is built, including nearly the whole of ancient Byzantium. It was appropriated, under the Greek empire, as a college for the numerous priests of Santa Sophia, which is close beside it; but when Mahomet converted that edifice into a mosque, the convent was fixed on as the site of his own palace, and exceeds in beauty any other spot he could have chosen, even in his recent conquest. He added new buildings, and extended its area: his successors made further additions, and it now includes a space four miles in circumference; washed on one side by the sea of Marmora, and on the other by the Propontis, while the rapid current of the Bosphorus sweeps round its walls with a pure and limpid stream. It is filled with a gorgeous display of palaces, baths, mosques, kiosks, gardens, and cypress groves, laid out by the Greeks, and preserved by their Turkish successors. Here is also an armoury, containing the various weapons used by the crusaders in their attack on Constantinople; and the library of the Greek emperors, which was supposed formerly to contain all the classical literature of the ancient world, and many of the lost works of the classic writers,−but it has been explored by Franks, and whatever remains of classical literature were once there, have now disappeared.

The principal entrance of the Seraglio is on the summit of the hill. There is the large and lofty gate called Babu Humayun, which literally signifies, “the high door,” and from thence the diplomatic phrase adopted by the Franks, who call the Turkish government “the Sublime Porte,” because all political business is supposed to be here transacted. It was erected by Mahomet II. On each side are deep niches in the thickness of the wall, and here the heads of inferior delinquents are exposed. Within is a large area of an irregular shape, containing the Taraphanay, or mint, built on the site of the Greek church dedicated to St. Irené. In the centre is a low marble pillar, destined for the exposure of the heads of pashas, and offenders of rank in the Turkish empire. Here they are displayed upon a large dish for the inspection of the curious; while a Bostangee stands by with a rod, with which he points to each head, and enumerates the offences of the sufferers. On the wall beside is usually a paper called a yafta, containing the titles of the criminal and other particulars, all strongly reminding us of the permanency of Oriental usages. In the first court, though it is thronged with the officers of the palace, a strict silence prevails, and the breach of it is attended with corporal chastisement. Passing through this, you enter the second gate. Here sits the chief executioner with his assistants, and on the walls are suspended various implements of punishment. Foreign ambassadors, proceeding to an audience, were formerly delayed in this spot for a considerable time, as if to exhibit the superiority of the Osmanli, and proud contempt for the infidels, who were meet associates for the public executioner of the empire. Beyond this is a more spacious and secluded court, planted and laid out in walks. On one side is an extensive range of kitchens, each appropriated to the respective officers in the seraglio. On the other is the divan, where the grand council is held, the troops paid, law-suits decided, and where foreign ambassadors used formerly to be washed, fed, and clothed, before they were admitted to the presence of the Sultan. It is a small edifice containing two compartments, surmounted with domes. Inside are sofas round the walls, which are called divans, and hence the name of the building. Behind, projecting from the wall above, is a small lattice-work gallery, capable of containing one person, entirely concealed from view. This has been compared to the Ear of Dionysius, where the tyrant sits unseen, and hears the opinions of those below. He sometimes applies his eye to a small aperture, through which it is seen gleaming like that of a basilisk, fascinating and paralyzing the speaker on whom it lights.

Beyond this, and opposite the entrance, is the gate represented in our illustration. It is decorated with the most gorgeous display of Turkish sculpture, covered with large semicircular projections, supported on a colonnade of pillars. The embossments are of gold on blue and green grounds, and the whole is in a style perfectly Oriental. To add to this effect, the gate is usually thronged with eunuchs, both black and white. The sallow aspect, beardless chin, and disproportioned bodies of these creatures, dressed in satin robes of bright green, have an unnatural appearance that is quite revolting. The time chosen, is a procession of the grand vizir to visit the Sultan, attended by guards in the costume of the seraglio. The practice of salutation, by drawing the hand or garment in the dust, and placing it afterwards on the forehead, is observed as the vizir is passing. Here it is that the foreign ambassadors and their suites were seized by the collar, and dragged, as it were, down the passage leading to the reception-room of the Sultan. This apartment is dark and mean, dimly lighted by a single window; and the throne is a dingy platform, very much resembling a four-post bed.

Beyond this, all is veiled in impenetrable mystery; and no Frank can enter, except at the hazard of his life. Some travellers have described the imminent peril they encountered in attempting to explore these forbidden haunts. From the secrecy observed, many suppose the word seraglio to be derived from “serrare,” to lock up, but seraï signifies simply a palace, or hotel, and is indiscriminately applied to any large building. Here begins the harem, or women’s apartments, in which are kept five hundred females, devoted exclusively to the Sultan’s pleasure. On his accession, he is presented with a number of virgin slaves, from whom he selects six, called afterwards “Kadina,” from whom alone are born heirs to his crown; she that first provides one, obtaining the superiority over the rest, is called “Hassekir Sultana.” The Sultan uses no such ceremony as throwing his handkerchief at the female whom he selects; she is simply conducted to him by the kislar aga, or chief eunuch, when he has made his choice.

From the gardens of the harem, gates open on the sea of Marmora, with kiosks of various Turkish character. One is the “yali kiosk,” where a suspected vizir, or other high officer of the seraglio, is ordered to retire to await his destiny. A venerable man, with a long beard, is sometimes observed, by passing boats, sitting in this kiosk, smoking his chibouque. He is a dismissed favourite, quietly waiting his doom; and when the door opens behind him, does not know whether the chaoush who appears, is the bearer of a bowstring to strangle him, or a pelisse to invest him with new honours. Near it is a window, from whence the bodies of the strangled are thrown into the sea at night; and the number of the victims as they drop into the water, is announced by a correspondent discharge of the cannon below. The seraglio is inhabited by six thousand persons, including the corps of bostanjee, or gardeners, who are distinguished by a very peculiar costume.

BRUSA AND MOUNT OLYMPUS.

ASIA MINOR

T. Allom. J. C. Bentley.

This city, sometimes called Boursa, retains, with little corruption, its primitive name, and commemorates the king of Bithynia more celebrated for his illustrious guest than for any achievement of his own. When Hannibal fled from the persecutions of his inveterate enemies, the Romans, he retired into Bithynia, and was received with apparent kindness by Prusias, its king. In return for this hospitality, the accomplished Carthaginian introduced into the more barbarous regions of his host, the arts and sciences of Tyre and Phœnicia, and, in the year 220 before Christ, evinced his taste and judgment by building a city for him on the most beautiful spot that Asia Minor or any other country could afford, the side of Mount Olympus. The effeminate Oriental, however, had not the fortitude to continue the protection he had afforded. Terrified by the threats of the implacable Romans, he was preparing to surrender his persecuted guest to his enemies; but he anticipated his intention by poison, which historians say he carried in his ring for that emergency. He was closely besieged in a house in Brusa, where he swallowed the draught, and he was buried in Libyssa on the Propontis, where a monumental tumulus at this day marks the spot; and the first object a traveller to Brusa sees on landing, is the last resting-place of its illustrious founder. When he enters the city, he is shown a fortress, as the military work of that great master in the art of war, which has stood for 2058 years.

When the crusaders sacked Constantinople, and established their usurped authority in the capital of the Greek empire, they seized on all its dependent cities in Asia Minor, and Brusa formed part of the dynasty of Lascaris. It finally fell into the hands of the Turks when they expanded themselves over the region of Bythinia in 1327, and Othman made it the capital of the young Turkish empire. It continued to enjoy this distinction till the increasing power and ambition of the Osmanli led them into Europe, and they seized on Constantinople itself. Their seat of empire was then transferred to the great capital of the Greeks, and Brusa remained a provincial town.

It has, however, numerous local attractions, which will always render it a delicious residence to any people; and some of so peculiar a character, as to endear it particularly to a Turk. It is situated on the side of a magnificent mountain, embosomed in lofty forests behind, and having before it, on a gentle declivity, the richest tract in nature. Issuing above the forest scenery, are conspicuous the abrupt and rugged ridges of the mighty mountain, covered with eternal snows, glittering in the sun, and forming a strong contrast with the dark and dense foliage below them. The rays of summer acting for nine sultry months on the frozen surface, send down perennial torrents of pure and limpid water, tumbling over the sides of the mountain in a thousand streams. As they rush along, some of them are conducted through the city, and every street is permeated by a meandering rill of the coolest water, under a heated atmosphere, when the thermometer stands at 96°. From the streets it is led through mosques, bazaars, shops, and private houses, so that almost every edifice in the city has a marble reservoir in the centre, where the living waters leap and gurgle, and beside this the daily repast is spread. After thus imparting freshness and coolness to the city, the currents ripple into the plains below, where they form streams and rivulets, giving to the favoured spot a surprising verdure and fertility, when all beyond is parched and arid. Nor is this the only recommendation that endears this place to the followers of the Prophet. Besides these copious means of cold ablution, there are others which they still more highly prize. In the midst of those frigid solutions of snow, the soil contains hot water, which issues forth in strong currents, at a boiling temperature. These are collected into marble reservoirs of great extent, surmounted with lofty domes, and forming the most noble baths in the world. With such local and permanent attractions for a people whose most indispensable and unremitting duty is washing the body, it is not surprising that this should escape the fate of other deserted capitals. It has been remarked “that Nature seems to have created Brusa for the Turks.” It is, therefore, at this day a more beautiful city than when their sultan abandoned an Asiatic for an European capital. It is still resorted to as the most delightful residence in the Turkish dominions; and many of the sultans, as if to compensate for their abandonment when living, directed that their bodies should repose here in death. It is distinguished by many imperial tombs; and among the rest, that of Orchan, who first penetrated into Europe, but returned here to die.

Brusa stands upon an area of eight miles in circumference, and contains a population of 75,000 people, of whom 11,000 are Jews, and Christians of the Greek and Armenian Church. The most striking objects the town presents are, the mosques and spires, which seem to bear a larger proportion to the size of the place than in any other Mohammedan city: some travellers estimate them at 300. In fact, the whole surface seems swelling into domes, and bristling with tall and taper minarets. The tree whose foliage gives a distinctive character to the vicinity of the town is the mulberry, which is every where planted for the nourishment of silk-worms, the management of which forms the employment of the whole population. The web manufactured from their spinning is highly prized; and Brusa silk is not only famous all over the East, but it is one of those articles which the Asiatic traveller sends home to his friends among his Oriental curiosities.

But the circumstance which gives Brusa its greatest interest, is the mighty mountain on whose side it is built. Olympus, which literally means “all-shining,” was a name by which many mountains were distinguished amongst the ancients, from their conspicuous appearance; but it seems to be applied to this vast and glittering object with peculiar propriety. It stands on a base of seventy miles in circumference, rising by itself from the plain in single and solitary grandeur. Situated in the immediate vicinity of Troy, it is by some supposed the place assigned by Homer,

“Where Jove convened the senate of the skies;”

and poetic fiction adds its interest to the beauty and magnificence of nature.5 Ascending from the city, the traveller penetrates an immense forest, with trees of surprising magnitude. This is intersected by ravines of immeasurable depth, and his way leads along the edges of precipices of awful grandeur. He at length emerges on an extensive plain of the richest verdure, intersected with considerable rivers, rushing from the snowy ridges, which now rise before him like a vast wall. These rivers are distinguished for nourishing fish, which are nowhere else to be found in Asia Minor: congenial to the cool streams of this region, they perish and cease to exist when carried down by the currents into the heated climate below. When the venturous traveller climbs through the barrier of snow which lies before him, he issues at length upon a clear and open summit, which the region of snow girdles as with a broad belt. From the point of this cone, 10,500 feet above the level of the plain, he commands a magnificent prospect of Asia and Europe; the Euxine and the Egean, with the strait and seas that unite them, winding like rivers just below him; and feels that “the wide-seeing Jupiter” could not have selected a more judicious point to overlook the affairs of the nether world. A singular object marks this summit,−a circle of twelve large stones, resembling what we call druidical remains; but, from the Oriental region in which they are found, they recall the memory to the usages of a still more remote antiquity, when Moses “builded an altar under the hill, and twelve pillars,” and Joshua set up “twelve stones” in the midst of Jordan, and ordered twelve more to be carried on men’s shoulders, to be “set up in their lodging-place.”6

The snow of this mountain constitutes a considerable part of the treasures of the Turkish empire, as it does of its comforts and its luxuries. It is the exclusive property of the sultan, who farms it out to tenants, who vend it as more valuable than any produce of the soil. They are bound to supply the seraglio with a certain quantity, and the rest is disposed of to the population of Constantinople. It is sent down from the mountains cut into cuneiform wedges, and packed in felt, and caravans of mules are continually descending with such loads. It is brought to a promontory near Moudania, called from thence Booz Bournou, or “the Cape of Ice,” whence it is embarked for the capital, and in such abundance, that the poorest hummal cools his sherbet with it during the hottest season of the year.