Chapter IV: Preface (4)

Around the fountain is the great market, the most busy and populous spot on the peninsula of Pera. It is held between the gate of Galata on one side, and the manufactory of pipes on the other: above is the descent from Pera to the Bosphorus, and below the crowded place of embarkation, so that the confluence of people from these several resorts, creates an almost impassable crowd. Among the articles of sale, the most numerous and conspicuous are usually gourds and melons, of which there are more than twenty kinds, called by the Greek _Kolokithia_, and by the Turk _Cavac_. They are piled in large heaps, in their season, to the height of 10 or 15 feet. Some of them are of immense size, of a pure white, and look like enormous snow-balls−-they are used for soups: others are long and slender−-the pulp is thrust out, and the cavity filled with forced-meat. This is called _Dolma_, and is so favourite a dish, that a large valley on the Bosphorus is called _Dolma Bactche_, or the gourd garden, from its cultivation. Another is perfectly spherical, and called _Carpoos_. It contains a rich red pulp, and a copious and cooling juice, and is eaten raw. A hummal, or porter, may be seen, occasionally, tottering up the streets of Pera, sinking under the weight of an incredible load, and overcome by the heat of a burning sun. His remedy for fatigue is a slice of melon, which refreshes him so effectually, that he is instantly enabled to pursue his toilsome journey. The Turkish mode of carrying planks through their streets is attended with serious inconvenience to passengers. The boards are attached to the sides of a horse in such a manner, extending from side to side of the narrow streets, that they cannot fail of crushing or fracturing the legs of the inexperienced or inactive that happen to meet them. Neither are the dogs, nor their most frequent attitude, forgotten in our illustration. The market-place is their constant resort: there they quarrel for the offals; and a Frank, whose business leads him to that quarter, has reason to congratulate himself, if he shall escape the blow of a plank from the passing horse, or the laceration of his flesh by an irritated dog.

ROUMELI HISSAR, OR, THE CASTLE OF EUROPE.

ON THE BOSPHORUS.]

The supposed origin of the Bosphorus is connected with the most awful phenomena of nature; and the lovely strait, which now combines all that is beautiful and romantic, grateful to the eye, and soothing to the mind, owes its existence to all that is fearful and tremendous.−-At its eastern extremity, and above the level of the Mediterranean, there existed an inland sea, covering vast plains with a wide expanse of waters, several thousand miles in circumference. By a sudden rupture, it is supposed, an opening was made, through which the waters rushed, and inundated the subjacent countries. For this supposition there are strong foundations of probability. The comparatively small sheets of water now partially occupying the space which the greater sea once covered, under the names of the Euxine, Azoph, Caspian, and Aral seas, are only the deeper pools of this great fountain, which has, in a succession of ages, been drained off, leaving the shallower parts dry land, with all the marks of an alluvial soil. The spot where the great rupture is supposed to have taken place is indicated by volcanic remains: basalt, scoriæ, and other debris of calcination, lying all around. The strait itself bears all the marks of a chasm violently torn open, the projections of one shore corresponding to the indentations of the other, and the similar strata of both being at equal elevations, while the bottom is a succession of descents, over which the water still tumbles with the rapidity of a cataract. The opinions of antiquaries accord with natural appearances. The first land which this mighty inundation encountered was the continent of Greece, over which it swept with irresistible force. Tradition has handed down to us the flood of Deucalion; and ancient writings have assigned as its cause, “the rupture of the Cyanean rocks:” so that both poets and historians concur in preserving the memory of this awful event.

After the first effects of this inundation had ceased, a current was still propelled by the Danube, the Borysthenes, and other great rivers, which pour their copious streams into the Euxine, and have no other outlet: hence it still runs down with considerable velocity. In some places, where the convulsion seems to have left the bottom like steps of stairs, this is dangerously increased. It is possible that the continued attrition of the water, for thousands of years over this rocky surface, has worn it down to a more uniform level; still three cataracts remain, one is called _shetan akindisi_, or “the devil’s current:” it is necessary, from its laborious ascent, to haul ships up against it with considerable toil. To the ancients it was accounted a perilous navigation, when the broken ledges were still more abrupt. Among the acts of daring intrepidity was deemed the navigation of this strait. Hence Horace says−-

“To the mad Bosphorus my bark I’ll guide,
And tempt the terrors of its raging tide.”

There is not a promontory or recess in all its windings, that is not hallowed by the recollection of either fictitious mythology or authentic history. The ancient name of Bosphorus signifies “the traject of the ox;” the passage being so narrow that such animals swam across it, and hence it is sometimes spelled Bosporos. But the fanciful mythology of the Greeks assigned a more poetic derivation of the name. They assert that Iö, having assumed the form of a cow, to escape the vigilance of Juno, in her solitary wanderings swam across this strait, and consigned to fame the tradition of the event by the name it bears. One promontory preserves the name of Jason, who landed there in his bold attempt to explore the unknown recesses of the Euxine. Another retains that of Medea, for there she dispensed her youth-giving drugs, and conferred upon the place that reputation of salubrity which still distinguishes it. The narrow pass, that divided Europe from Asia, was also the transit chosen by great armies. Here Darius crossed, when the hosts of Asia first poured into Europe, and the rage of conquest led the gorgeous monarch of the East, from the luxuries and splendour of his own court, to penetrate into the rude and barbarous haunts of the wandering Scythians. Here it was that Xenophon, and his intrepid handful of Greeks, crossed over, to return to their own country. Here it was that the Christian crusaders embarked their armies, to rescue the holy sepulchre from the infidels; and here it was that the infidels, in return, entered Europe, and destroyed the mighty Christian empire of the East.

The accompanying illustration exhibits the scene of these events, and so commemorates the deeds of remote and recent ages. The strait is here not more than seven stadia, or furlongs, across; and, as Pliny truly says, “You can hear in one orb of the earth, the dogs bark and the birds sing in the other; and may hold conversation from shore to shore when the sound is not dispersed by the wind.” In particular seasons, during the migration of fish, boats are seen, extending in a continued line, and forming a bridge from side to side. The rock on which Darius sat is still pointed out; and, if a stranger occupy the rude seat at such a moment, it will powerfully recall to his imagination those times when mighty armies crossed and recrossed on a similar fragile footing.

The events connected with Roumeli Hissar, or the Castle of Europe, are of surpassing interest. When the fierce Mahomet determined to extinguish the feeble Roman empire, and transfer the Moslem capital to a Christian soil, he found two dilapidated towers, one in Asia, and the other in Europe, which had been suffered to fall into utter decay. He re-edified that on the Asiatic shore, and, having been allowed to do this without opposition, crossed over and rebuilt the European castle also, so as completely to command the navigation of the straits, by occupying two forts on the most prominent points of the nearest parts of it. When the emperor remonstrated against this violation of his territory, he was tauntingly but fiercely answered, that “since the Greeks were not able to protect their own possessions, he would do it for them;” and he threatened to slay alive the next person who came to remonstrate. To establish his usurped right, he prohibited the navigation of the strait by foreigners. The Venetians refused to comply with this arbitrary mandate, and attempted to pass; but their vessel was struck by a ball from one of those enormous cannon which Mahomet had caused to be cast for the destruction of the Greek empire: the crew were beheaded, and their bodies hung out of the castle, to deter others from similar attempts. The castle was thence called _Chocsecen_, “the amputator of heads;” and such is the immutability of Turkish ferocity, that, with reason, it retains the name at this day.

Roumeli Hissar consists of five round towers, connected by massive embattled walls, ascending the slope of the hill. It is now useless as a fortress, but is applied to other more characteristic and equally important Turkish purposes. In the wall which fronts the Bosphorus, there is a low doorway concealed behind a large platanus: this is the postern of death. The fortress had for many years been converted into a prison, and may well bear the inscription which Dante read on the infernal portals,

“Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate.”

No prisoner is ever known to repass the gate of death; hence the Turks call their dismal fortress, the “towers of oblivion,” adopting the appellation given to them under the despotism of the Greek empire, when the castles were named “Lethé,” and for a similar reason.

During the struggles of the present sultan with the janissaries, it was his constant practice to have his opponents secretly arrested, and conveyed to this place. Every morning some Oda missed their old officers. They had been conveyed to this place after it was dark, entered the low doorway, and were seen no more. During this period, some Franks, who had taken a caïque to Buyukderé, where they were detained longer than they intended, were returning late. Boats are not permitted to pass the fortresses after sunset, and the signal-gun is fired: so they had to make their way secretly along, under cover of the shore. When arrived near the castles, they saw a large caïque advancing from Constantinople, and, to avoid detection, remained close under a rock, not far from the fatal gate. The strange boat approached, and landed just before it. Two distinguished-looking men, wrapped up in their pelisses, disembarked; they were held up by the arm on each side. One of them passed on in silence; the other sighed heavily as he approached, turned round, and seemed to cast a lingering look upon the world he was about to leave for ever. He then stooped his head, and disappeared, with his more impassive companion, under the fatal arch; the gate, groaning on its rusty hinges, closed behind them. The caïque returned immediately to Constantinople. The Franks then slipped past, and arrived without being stopped. The next morning it was known that two Binbashis, or colonels, who had great influence on their respective Odas, and strongly opposed the nizam geddite, were missing. They never re-appeared.

The navigation of the Bosphorus is the most lovely that ever invited a sail. Its length, in all its windings, is fifteen miles; and when the caïque glides down with the current, there is something exquisitely beautiful and grateful to the senses in every thing around. Nothing can exceed, in picturesque scenery, the whole coast on each side. It affords a continued succession of romantic wooded promontories, projecting into the stream, and presenting, at every winding of the strait, new and diversified objects. As you pass each headland, some placid bay opens to your view, in whose bosom a shaded village reposes. These are so numerous, that twenty-six occur from the Euxine to the Propontis; and in one line of coast there is a continuity of houses for six miles. From the centre of each village an enormous platanus generally rears its lofty head, and expands its wide extent of foliage: round its gigantic stem the houses are clustered, over which it forms a vast canopy, so that large villages are often covered with the shade of a single tree.

THE GREAT CEMETERY OF SCUTARI.]

Among the first objects that present themselves to a stranger entering Turkey, are the groves of cypress extending in dark masses along the shores. These are the last resting-places of the Turks; and their sad and solemn shade, far more gloomy than any which Christian usage has adopted, informs the traveller that he is now among a grave and serious people. The Turks permit the Jews, Armenians, Greeks, and Franks to plant their cemeteries with other trees, but reserve the cypress exclusively to themselves.

The cypress has, from early ages, been a funereal tree; the ancient Greeks and Romans so considered it; and the Turks, when they entered Europe, adopted it. Its solemn shade casting a dim religious light over the tombs it covers−-its aromatic resin exuding from the bark, and correcting by its powerful odour the cadaverous smell exhaled from dissolving mortality−-and, above all, its evergreen and unfading foliage, exhibiting an emblem of the immortal part, when the body below has mouldered into dust and perished,−-have all recommended it to the Mussulman, and made it the object of his peculiar care.

It is an Oriental practice, to plant a tree at the birth, and another at the death, of any member of a family. When one, therefore, is deposited in the earth, the surviving relatives place a cypress at the foot, while a stone marks the head of the grave; and the pious son, whose birth his father had commemorated by a platanus, is now seen carefully watering the young tree which is to preserve the undying recollection of his parent. Thus it is that the cemetery extends by constant renovation. Whether it is that the soil is naturally congenial to these trees, or that it is enriched by the use to which it is applied, it is certain the cypress attains to majesty and beauty in these cemeteries, which are seen nowhere else; their stems measuring an immense circumference, and their pointed summits seeming to pierce the clouds, exhibit them as magnificent specimens of vegetable life. Sometimes they assume a different form, and the branches, shooting out horizontally, extend a lateral shade. These varieties have been by travellers mistaken for pines, which the Turks never admit into their cemeteries.

But of all “the cities of the dead” in the Turkish empire, that of Scutari in Asia, at the mouth of the Bosphorus, is perhaps the most striking and extensive. It stretches up an inclined plain, clothing it with its dark foliage, like a vast pall thrown over the departed. It extends for more than three miles, and, like a large forest, is pierced by various avenues, leading to different places. Such is its size, that it is said the area it encloses would supply the city with corn, and the stones which mark its graves would rebuild the walls. Among the causes assigned for this increase, one is, that two persons are never buried in the same spot, so the graves are constantly expanding on every side; another, a prepossession unalterably fixed in the mind of a Turk: he considers himself a stranger and sojourner in Europe, and the Moslem of Constantinople turns his last lingering look to this Asiatic cemetery, where his remains will not be disturbed, when the Giaour regains possession of his European city; an event which he is firmly persuaded will sometime come to pass. Thus the dying Turk feels a yearning for his native soil; like Joseph in the land of Egypt, he exacts a promise from his people that “they would carry his bones hence,” and, like Jacob, says, “bury me in my grave which I have in the land of Canaan.”

Among the objects which distinguish a Turkish necropolis, is the stone placed to mark the grave. The island of Marmora, contiguous to the city, affords an inexhaustible supply of marble at a cheap rate, so that the humblest head-stones are of this valuable material. They are shaped into rude representations of the human form, surmounted by a head covered with a turban, the fashion of which indicates the rank and quality of the person: on the bust of the pillar is an Arabic inscription, containing the name of the deceased, without any enumeration of his virtues: the Turks never indulge in such panegyrics: the letters are in high relief, generally gilded with such skill, that they remain a long time as perfect and beautiful as embossed gold. The stones which designate the graves of women have no such distinction: they are marked with a lotus leaf, and surmounted with a knob like a nail, and this is said to be an intimation of the disbelief in the immortality of a female’s soul, as connected with their want of intellect.

Notwithstanding the doubt thrown upon the subject, the living female supposes that, in this life at least, she is permitted to hold communication with those who have passed to another, and render such service as may please them. In our illustration, a woman is represented enveloped in her yasmak and feridgē, performing this duty. On the grave is usually a trough or cavity, for the reception of plants or flowers, offerings of pious affection to the dead. Sometimes lattices of gilt wire form aviaries over the grave of a beloved person. Flowers and birds are among the elegant and innocent enjoyments of a Turk; and the amiable superstition of the survivor hopes to gratify her departed friend by the odour of one and the song of the other, even in his grave.

In the distance is a Turkish funeral, winding its ways through the solitude of this cypress forest. It is a group of men, for such processions are rarely attended by women, except those hired to lament the dead: as it is a belief that the body is sentient after death, and suffers torment till committed to the repose of the tomb, funerals are generally hurried, and sometimes with indecent haste: so, in this as in other things, the Turk is entirely opposed to European habits; the only hurry in which he is ever seen, is when going to his grave.

THE CISTERN OF BIN-BIR-DEREK.

CALLED, THE THOUSAND AND ONE PILLARS.]

The shores of the Black Sea, among the forest-covered ramifications of the great Balkan, is a region of constant showers and copious streams, filling, naturally, small reservoirs in the mountains. Wherever such rills poured down, and became confluent, they were stopped by a mound thrown across the valley, and in this way formed into various triangular lakes at an elevation above the summit-level of the city. These reservoirs, called _Hydralea_, were highly prized by the Greek emperors. The embankments were faced with marble, adorned with sculpture, and dignified by the name of the sovereign who formed them. They were deemed so sacred, and of such vital importance to the city, that severe edicts were enacted to preserve them; some regulating the planting of trees, some the abstraction of water, and one exacting a penalty of an ounce of gold for every ounce of the crystal fluid. As water is more precious to the Turks than it was to the Greeks, they watch these reservoirs with even more anxiety and vigilant precaution. They call them _Bendts_, and have increased the number left by the Roman emperors. One of the largest and most magnificent is called _Valadi_ Bendt, from the mother of the present sovereign, at whose expense it was erected.

From these reservoirs the water is conducted by pipes, formed of cylindrical tiles jointed together, and so conveyed to the city a distance of about fifteen miles. The ravines, that break the intervening country, are crossed by aqueducts, some of vast dimensions, striding the valleys, and towering above the forests. They are whitewashed at stated intervals, and form striking objects in distant prospects, strongly relieved by the dark woods above which they rise. One of them terminates the view up the great valley of Buyukderé, and seems, to mariners passing on the Bosphorus, like the battlements of a large city, on the distant horizon.

Besides these, there are others of more peculiar structure. They are insulated hydraulic pillars, called _Souterrais_, standing in long rows, like slender square castles or watch-towers. The water ascends one side of each, is received into a small square reservoir on the summit, and from thence descends the other. It climbs the next in a similar manner; and by this contrivance, for which the Turks are indebted to the Arabs, the vast expense of aqueducts is saved, and the water conveyed by many channels over various hills and valleys, in continued and never-ceasing streams, to its magnificent reservoirs in the city.

When the water arrived here, it had the same irregularity of surface to oppose, its seven hills to surmount, and seven valleys between them to cross. This was effected by a second series of aqueducts, which are described by the Byzantine historians with all the inflated language of astonishment. They are represented as “subterranean rivers” conducted through the air over the city, while the people gaze in wonder from below. Of these, but one remains to attest what they were. This is the aqueduct of Valens, stretching from hill to hill, and seen in almost every direction. Its erection was the completion of a singular prophecy: On the ramparts of Chalcedon was found a stone with an occult inscription, implying that “the walls of the city should bring water to Constantinople.” To extend these walls across the sea, seemed altogether an impossibility, and the oracular announcement was despised. But Chalcedon having incurred the resentment of the emperor, its walls were pulled down, the stones conveyed to Constantinople for building, and, among other erections formed of them, was the aqueduct of Valens, thereby accomplishing the oracle.

By means of this aqueduct, the waters were deposited in various cisterns; some open, and some covered, so that the whole city was excavated into exposed or subterranean reservoirs. One great inconvenience attended those that were exposed. The city and vicinity of Constantinople abounded in storks; they were supposed to convey serpents, and drop them in the water, by which it was poisoned, and rendered fatal to those who drank it. The celebrated impostor Apollonius of Tyana, who was reputed to work such powerful miracles, was applied to, by the reigning emperor, for a remedy. By his directions, a pillar called Pelargonium was erected, on the summit of which were three storks fronting each other; and by this talisman the kindred birds were immediately expelled the city, and the salubrity of the waters restored. To commemorate the event, the following epigram was inscribed on the base of the pillar.

On sculptur’d column stands the mystic charm,
And guards the fainting citizens from harm.
Far fly the storks, to seek the distant wood;
And snakes no longer taint the wholesome flood.

These cisterns were afterwards filled up with earth, and are now converted into gardens, where the storks, no longer the cause of evil, are invited to return. The Turks evince a particular attachment for them, and erect frame-work like cradles on the tops of their houses, which the birds inhabit and breed in.

Of the covered cisterns, but two remain. One is called _Yéré Batan Seraï_, or the “Subterranean palace,” and is still filled with water. It resembles a vast subterranean lake, out of which issue rows of 336 marble pillars, of various orders of architecture, supporting an arched roof. The memory of this magnificent watering-palace was altogether lost; the streets passed over it, and the houses above were supplied from it with water, while the inhabitants knew not whence it came. After it had remained unknown to the Turks since the capture of Constantinople, it was discovered by Gillius more than three hundred years ago. A second time it fell into oblivion among this incurious people, till it was searched for, and again found a few years since. It was formerly in total darkness, but part of the wall has fallen down, and sufficient light is admitted to examine it. A boat, or raft, is moored to one of the pillars, in which strangers are permitted to embark, and explore its dim recesses; and marvellous stories are told by the Turks of the fatal end of those bold adventurers.

The second cistern is no longer employed as a reservoir for water. It lies beneath an open area in the vicinity of the Atmeidan, and is converted into a silk manufactory by a number of industrious Jews and Armenians. The Turks have named this subterranean palace _Bin-bir-derek_, in allusion to its supposed original number of columns, 1001, although 212 are all that can now be distinguished. Each column is said to consist of three shafts with their respective capitals, but the lowest is, at present, buried beneath the material of the flooring. The whole enclosed area occupies 20,000 square feet, and is capable of containing 1,237,000 cubic feet of water, a quantity sufficient to supply the population of Constantinople for fifteen days.

The pillars of this cistern are distinguished by monograms deeply cut on the shafts and capitals, like hieroglyphics on an Egyptian obelisk, and so obscure as equally to puzzle the learned. One of them consists of the Greek initials for _Euge philoxene_, “Hail, thou strangers’ friend.” This cistern, under the Greek empire, was decreed to be public for the use of all strangers, and was therefore called _philoxenos_.

THE SOLIMANIE, OR MOSQUE OF SULTAN SOLIMAN.

FROM THE OUTER COURT.]

The Franks have so changed the terms of the Turkish language, that they are hardly to be recognized. _Moslem_, which signifies a “professor of the true faith,” they have corrupted into _Mussulman_; _and Mesjid_, the temple in which he worshipped, into _mosque!_

When the Turks appropriated to themselves the great Christian church of Santa Sophia, they made it the model of all their future religious edifices. The general outline is a Greek cross, enclosed in a quadrangle. This is surmounted with a large dome in the centre, to represent, as the modern Greeks say, the great wound in our Saviour’s side; the four smaller domes at the angles, depicting the smaller wounds in his hands and feet. This form the Turks usually observe, without any reference to its origin; but they have added members peculiar to themselves. They hold bells in abhorrence, and invite their congregations to prayer by the human voice only. For this purpose certain slender towers shoot up from the angles of the edifice, where the _Muezzim_ ascends by interior stairs, and from a circular gallery round the shaft calls together the faithful. These towers are denominated _Menar_ or _Minareh_, an Arabic word which signifies a “beacon or light-house” to guide the true believer. The Muezzim puts his hands behind his ears, and from the hollow of his palms shouts out his invitation, walking round and repeating to the four points of the compass, “There is but one God, and Mohammed is his prophet:−-come to prayers−-come to salvation.” This cry, called the _Ezan,_ is repeated five times a day at regular intervals; and as it issues from every minaret, and perhaps two thousand mouths at the same moment, it fills all the air with a solemn and supernatural sound, and regulates all the arrangements of the people, who have no public clocks to direct them. Besides the common mosque of the city, there are thirteen eminently distinguished. They are called _Djami Selatyn_, or “Imperial mosques,” because they have been erected by some sultan as the highest act of piety. They are always distinguished by their magnitude, magnificence, and the number and beauty of their minarets. While the smaller mosques have but one, they have never less than two, and generally four. But of all these Djami, that erected by Soliman II. is the most splendid among the mosques, as its founder was among the sultans. He was called “the magnificent,” and his temple justifies the appellation. The Christian church of Saint Euphemia, at Chalcedon, in which the grand council had been held, was celebrated for its size and architectural ornaments. It contained on that memorable occasion 630 bishops in its nave, and was the most distinguished of Christian churches after Santa Sophia: when that edifice was dedicated to the Prophet by his predecessor, Soliman could not appropriate any of its parts to his new erection; so he dilapidated the church of St. Euphemia for the purpose, and built his mosque with its materials. It was commenced in 1550, and took five years to build it.

It would be difficult to convey, by any description, a perfect idea of a building so vast and complicated. A notice of its prominent features must suffice. It is a quadrangle, 234 feet long, and 227 wide. The great dome by which the edifice is surmounted, is flanked or supported by two hemispheres, one on each side, and over each aisle are four smaller ones. A broad flight of marble steps leads to the great door, before which is a façade, which particularly distinguishes this temple. It consists of six pillars of Egyptian porphyry, of immense size and singular beauty. Attached to the edifice are four minarets in front and rear, having galleries ornamented with tracery; and by a singular irregularity, two, having but two galleries, are shorter than the others which have three. Beside it are splendid mausolea, surmounted with domes, under which repose the bodies of the founder and his Sultana. At the head stands a knob covered with his turban, richly ornamented with precious stones, and near it is suspended the Alcoran, from which an Imaum reads a daily portion, for the consolation of him whose ashes repose in the tomb, and who is supposed to hear it. Over one of the gates is an inscription recording its erection. It states that it was built by “the glorious Vicar of Allah, existing by the authority of the mystic Koran, the tenth of the Ottoman emperors, for the faithful people who served the Lord.” It concludes with a prayer, “That the imperial race may never be interrupted on earth, and enjoy eternal delights prepared in paradise.”

This mosque, like most others, is surrounded by two areas; one of which, planted with trees, is a common thoroughfare usually filled with groups of people. Here soldiers sometimes encamp, and men of war pitch their tents within the precincts of the mussulman’s God of peace. Here, also, small merchants expose their wares, and no one casts out those who “buy and sell.” Here even a Giaour may pass unobstructed, and the infidel hat be seen mixed with the sacred turban.

THE MOSQUE OF SULTAN ACHMET.]

The monarch who erected this mosque, ascended the throne in the year 1603, and at the age of fifteen. He was immediately afterwards seized with the small-pox, and, in order that the janissaries might not avail themselves of his illness, he caused his own brother to be strangled, having first put out his eyes. His object was to deprive the turbulent soldiers of every pretext for dethroning him, as they were disposed to do, when there existed no another of the line of Mohammed to succeed him. His next act was to build a mosque, as fratricide is no impediment to Turkish piety; and it is remarkable, that in this mosque, two centuries afterwards, was the utter extirpation of these janissaries effected.

He was determined that it should exceed in beauty that of Santa Sophia, or the great Solimanie, so he ordered that it should be distinguished by six minarets. When this design was communicated to the Mufti, he represented to the Sultan the impiety of such an act, as the mosque of the Prophet at Mecca had but four, and no sacred edifice since built had presumed to exceed that number. Achmet assured the Mufti that he must be mistaken, and immediately summoned a Hadgee, who had just made the pilgrimage to Mecca, into his presence, who affirmed that he had himself seen and reckoned the six minarets; and, to satisfy entirely the Mufti’s scruples, a caravan of pilgrims were directed to proceed to the tomb and temple of the Prophet, and make their report. Meantime the Sultan despatched a Tatar, who was to travel night and day, with orders to the Sheik Islam, that two new minarets should be immediately added to the temple; and when the slow caravan arrived, they found the number to be what the Sultan had stated−-and reported accordingly. Achmet now pushed on his building with indefatigable activity, and in order to expedite it, he worked at it himself with his own hands, devoting one hour every Friday after prayers to the employment, and then paid his fellow-workmen, every man his wages, in order by his personal example to stimulate their exertions.

The site he selected was the most admirable and commanding which the city afforded. It forms one side of the Atmeidan, and is separated only by an open screen from this extensive area, one of the few open spaces within the walls of Constantinople. From this it is seen to great advantage on one side; while on the other, towering over the gardens of the Seraglio, and surmounting the lofty hill on which it stands, it is the most conspicuous object presented to a stranger approaching from the Sea of Marmora, and gives the first and most favourable view of those imperial edifices. The materials selected were of the most costly kind, in so much, that it is affirmed that every stone in the edifice cost three aspers. It stands in an open space, which forms round it an extensive ambulatory, from the latter of which the edifice arises, and is seen to more advantage than any other in the city.

The first objects that strike the spectator are the six beautiful minarets, with their elegant and slender forms ascending to an immense height, and seeming as it were to pierce the clouds with their sharp-pointed cones. Round each run three capitals or galleries for the Muezzim, highly ornamented in fretted arabesque. Above these appears the majestic edifice swelling into domes and cupolas, and covered with light tracery and fancy fretwork, forming a strong contrast to the comparatively heavy, dark, and dismal dome of Santa Sophia, which rises at no great distance beside. This juxtaposition strikes a stranger. He sees with surprise that the genius of a dull and ignorant Turk should produce an edifice so superior in beauty and elegance to this chef-d’œuvre of Grecian art. Architects of that nation had been employed in erecting the imperial mosque of Mohammed II. and Selim II., but this of Achmet is exclusively Turkish or Arabic architecture.

The summit of the edifice is distinguished by thirty cupolas, from whence ascends the great dome, flanked by four semi-domes. The mosque is entered by massive brazen gates, embossed in high relief, and the interior presents a view of the dome supported by four gigantic columns, fluted and filleted, round which are inscribed, in bands, sentences from the Koran. The walls are richly painted in fresco with more variety than regularity, and gilded tablets on them every where display Arabic inscriptions. The light is admitted by windows of stained glass, thickly studded in small compartments, which look exceedingly rich, casting a soothing and a religious, but yet ample light; for this mosque is distinguished above all others in this respect, that by the construction and arrangement of the casements, the interior is fully illuminated, which forms a strong contrast to the dim and doubtful twilight admitted into most other religious edifices of the East.

Between the pillars is a large circle of wire-suspended lamps, which does not add to the general effect; globes of glass, ostrich eggs, and other frivolous and mean ornaments, frequently deform the interior of those noble buildings, and mark the genius of a Turk−-at once puerile and magnificent. There is, in other respects, a noble simplicity, a naked grandeur, well befitting a worship from which all idolatrous representations are excluded. The interior of a mosque resembles the nave and transept of St. Paul’s, with the exception of its statues−-grand and noble by its vastness and vacuity.

The occasion chosen by the artist, in the illustration, exhibits a display of the most important circumstance that has occurred since the Osmanli established themselves in Europe. It was the moment when it was to be decided, whether they should remain the rude and obstinate barbarians that first crossed the Hellespont, or be illumined by the lights and amalgamated with the nations of Europe, and when the reforming Sultan, struggling for life and empire, was compelled to have recourse to the last expedient left him. The janissaries having the whole population of the city entangled in their connexion, and enlisting all its prejudices on their side, were accumulating such a vast force, as would soon bear down all opposition: but Mahmoud, at once, determined on that course which could alone counteract their influence. He ordered the _Sandjak sheriff_, or sacred standard of the Prophet, to be taken from its repository in the imperial treasury. This sacred object was only seen on the most solemn and important occasions, and was now, for the first time for half a century, exhibited, and brought with great pomp to the mosque of Achmet. When this was rumoured abroad, there was no man who professed the true faith, that dared to resist the call: thousands and tens of thousands were seen rushing from all quarters to this temple; and when it was filled by the multitude, the standard was displayed from the lofty pulpit of the Imaum. On the steps stood the Sultan, exhorting the people, by the faith they owed the Prophet, now to rally round the sacred ensign. A deep murmur of assent, the strongest display of Turkish feeling and determination, filled the lofty dome. They all fell prostrate in confirmation of their resolve, and from that moment the cause of the janissaries became desperate.

TOPHANA−-ENTRANCE TO PERA.]

Tophana literally signifies, the place where cannon are deposited, and here are the great foundry and arsenal where they are made and laid up. This establishment is represented on the right of the illustration, by an edifice with pointed windows, admitting light through a number of apertures, and having its roof crowned with cupolas. In front is a spacious quay, constructed along the Bosphorus, and always lined with several ranges of ordnance, which are here scaled and proved, and occasionally used on days of rejoicing, like those formerly on the Tower-wharf at London. There is nothing, perhaps, in which a Turk more delights, than in the discharge of a cannon. It is, therefore, the sound that is heard every day, and almost all day long. It announces the rising and setting of the sun; the birth of a child, and the death of a traitor; the movement of the Sultan in all directions; the opening and closing of the Ramazan and Bayram, and other religious periods. In time of war, the arrival of noses and ears to be piled at the gate of the seraglio, is proclaimed by these cannon; and on occasion of any success, however trifling, the two peninsulas of Pera and Constantinople are shaken to their centre by the explosions.

At the commencement of the Greek revolution, this wharf was nearly fatal to Pera. One of those fires which so constantly devastate the city, broke out here, and extended to Tophana. Towards midnight, the city of Scutari was assailed by showers of balls, and it was instantly rumoured that the fire was caused by the Greeks, who had seized on this depôt, and were directing its cannon against different places. This news was spread to Constantinople, and an immediate insurrection of the janissaries took place. They rushed down to the water to the number of 10,000, and were about to seize the caïques, and pass over to assist their countrymen. They had long waited for an opportunity or pretext for plundering the Greeks; and had this body of exasperated, armed men rushed into a town on fire at midnight, it is probable that not a Frank or Greek would have been left alive in “infidel Pera.” Fortunately, their aga had the water-gates closed in time, and he persuaded them to wait till messengers were sent over to ascertain the fact. They found that all the cannon on the wharf had been left loaded with ball, which the Turks never thought of drawing, and when the fire reached them, they discharged their balls of themselves, which passed across the Bosphorus to Scutari on the other side.

Behind the Tophana is the _Eski Djami_, or old mosque, to distinguish it from the _Yeni Djami_, or new one, lately erected by the present Sultan in this district; and on the left, crowning the summit of the hill, are the heights of Pera, covered with the residences of European ministers and merchants; whose houses, the finest in the city, command a magnificent view on all sides of the Bosphorus and Sea of Marmora. These edifices are situated in a street ascending the spine of a ridge, like the High-street of Edinburgh, and approached only by steep narrow passages, like the Wynds of that town. They are so precipitous, that it is necessary to form them into broad steps, to enable a passenger to reach the top.

The Turks are not fond of multiplying names, so they often make one serve for a whole district. Tophana, therefore, includes a large space, altogether unconnected with the cannon foundry. At the base of Pera hill is a low alluvial flat, once overflowed, perhaps, by the waters of the Bosphorus. This has been enlarged by casting upon it all the offals of the cities of Pera and Galata, so that it has encroached upon the harbour. Here are heaps and hillocks of all manner of decaying vegetable and animal substances, festering and dissolving, which continually exhale a cadaverous odour. This attracts the foul animals of the region; packs of savage dogs like wolves or jackals, flocks of kites and vultures in their season, and at all times flights of gulls and cormorants, who almost cover and conceal these heaps with their multitudes, and deafen the ear with their howling and screaming. When gorged with their foul meal, these harpies light upon the roofs of the houses, where they exhibit a singular spectacle−-sleeping off the effects of repletion, and waiting again to attack their prey. They enjoy among the Turks such perfect security, that they often light on a caïque, and dispute the possession of it with the passengers.

But what has rendered Tophana so distinguished is, that it is the great point of embarkation, either for the Bosphorus or the Sea of Marmora. In a country where there are no carriages, nor, properly speaking, roads to run them upon, water is the great medium of conveyance. This then is the resort of a continual moving mass, of all nations and costumes. Along the shore, beside a modern slip and platform, light caïques, and the heavier barges of the Princes’ Islands, are in constant attendance. Above is a range of coffee-houses, where the caïquegees sit over their coffee and chiboque till a passenger appears, and they are invited to attend him. The characteristic traits of the people are here strongly marked. The Greek, bustling and shouting, almost forces you into his caïque; the Turk, grave and decorous, seldom utters a word, but merely points to his boat just covered with a rich and fresh carpet. A Hadgee, with a green turban, grey beard, badge, and silver-headed baton, interposes, and lets you choose for yourself, never giving a preference to his own countrymen.

Among the vessels seen here are those singular ships from the Black Sea, before mentioned; their lofty prows and sterns, towering above the water to an extraordinary height, reminding you of the extreme antiquity of their shape, when

High on the stern the Thracian raised his strain,
And Argos saw her kindred trees
Descend from Pelion to the main.

The bold Argonauts brought the first model of a ship into those remote waters, where it has ever since been preserved and imitated.

“STATE PRISON OF “THE SEVEN TOWERS.”]

At the extremity of the land-wall of Constantinople, where it meets the sea of Marmora, rises an enclosure flanked by battlemented towers. It is the first object seen by Frank ships, and thus the stranger is presented with a prospect that reminds him of the most striking and singular usage of Turkish despotism. This enclosure, and the towers, existed under the Greek empire, and were called “Heptapurgon,” from the number of the castles included. They were first erected by Zeno, and enclosed by the Comneni, and were employed as a prison for state offenders. When the Turks took possession of the city, the Sultan appropriated them as a secure place to deposit his plunder. They afterwards reconverted them to their original purpose of a state prison, and added a feature peculiarly their own. The character of an ambassador, held sacred by all other nations, was here violated. The first symptoms of a rupture between the Turks and a foreign state, was, to seize the resident minister, and incarcerate him in this prison; and the European states, instead of revolting against this barbarous outrage on the laws of nations, quietly submitted to it, as they did to the oppression of the Barbary pirates, because each rejoiced, and felt itself elated, at the degradation of the other. Mr. Beaufeu, a French minister, confined there, made his escape; and the Sultan was so enraged, that he immediately caused the governor to be strangled in his own prison. Since then, the Turks are not disposed to admit strangers, lest they might discover the secrets of their prison-house. This barbarous custom continued so late as the year 1784, when the Russian envoy was sent there, as the first act of hostility. The lights and usages of civilized Europe began immediately after to dawn on the East. The just and amiable Selim discontinued the practice, and the present Sultan has abolished it altogether. It was generally supposed the custom would be renewed, and the Sultan would think himself justified in imprisoning the ambassadors of all the powers leagued against him at Navarino, in retaliation for that wanton and unprovoked attack; but he suffered them quietly to depart, and set an example of moderation, and scrupulous regard to the law of nations, which European states might do well to imitate.

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 Princes’ Islands, on one side, and on the other, the promontory of Scutari.

CONSTANTINOPLE END PETIT CHAMP DES MORTS.

FROM THE HEIGHTS OF PERA.]

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.