Chapter IX: Preface (9)

The conversion of Niobe, not into a fountain, but a rock, was an opinion so universally received by the ancients, that Pausanias affirms, he himself, in ascending the hill, saw the statue with his own eyes. This indurated memorial of the tear-dissolved mother, is yet to be seen as Pausanias saw it 2,000 years ago. On the side of the hill is the rude fragment of a rock, bearing a semblance to a human form, which a lively imagination may easily convert into a Niobe. The person represented, however, has been disputed; some have taken it for the colossal statue of Cybele, the tutelar deity of the place.

The face of the mountain, ascending from the city, presents the remains of very extensive fortifications, once occupied by soldiers of various nations, but at present in a state of entire dilapidation. Its cannon were removed to Smyrna, and now protect its ancient ally. A more modern edifice, surrounded by well-timbered woods, attracts more attention. This is the residence of the present Ayan, or proprietor of the soil, whose family has been long distinguished in this region. When the Osmanli made their first inroads on Christian possessions, they secured them, by establishing, as they advanced, a feudal system. They left the acquired territory under some military chief, who portioned it out among his Moslem followers, on the terms of military service when called upon. These were named Deré beys, or “Lords of the valleys;” and the rich plains of Asia Minor were divided among them. They were classed as _Zaims_ or _Timariots_, according to the number of spahis or cavalry they were bound to supply; and were the only hereditary nobility in the Turkish empire−-few in numbers, but the petty and brutal tyrants of their respective territories. To these, however, was one distinguished exception: the family of Cara Osman Oglou preserved a high character for many generations, and every traveller who visited Magnesia spoke of them as liberal and enlightened benefactors of the territory over which they presided. This nobility is now extinguished; the energetic Mahomed, in his reforms, reduced this small but tyrannic oligarchy to the general level, and united, and confined to his own person, the whole nobility of the empire. The last descendant of the Oglous was invited to the capital, where he now employs his time and revenues in mechanical pursuits. He is a cunning shipwright, and has built a man-of-war, to serve in the Turkish fleet.

The present population of the city is estimated at somewhat more than 30,000, of which 20,000 are Turks, and the remainder Jews and Christians. The former have twenty mosques, whose bristling minarets are seen in our illustration. There are three Greek and Armenian churches, and two synagogues. In the foreground is represented one of those Oriental wells, which from the earliest ages were “digged” in the East, and which now form a conspicuous object in every landscape. A long horizontal beam of wood is divided into two unequal lengths, and supported and turned on a perpendicular. On the short arm is placed a weight which counterpoises the longer and the bucket and cord attached, when it descends into the well, and is very easily raised by means of this lever. One of these machines is seen erected in every garden, and, as irrigation is constantly required in an arid soil, it is always in motion, and its dull and drowsy creaking is the sound incessantly heard by all travellers.

INNER COURT OF THE MOSQUE OF SULTAN OSMAN.]

Mahomet III. was distinguished by vice and imbecility; but his reign was embellished by learned and upright men. Risman Ben Ac Hissar wrote a treatise on government for the use of his master, which, notwithstanding the excellent precepts contained in it, seems to have but little improved his weak and vicious sovereign. The treatise has come down to us, with many sage maxims. One was−-“that it is the duty of a prince to govern with equity, for his own interest is concerned in it: justice is the support of the throne, and Allah requires that those persons only should be entrusted with power and dignity, who show themselves worthy of exercising them.” Another, more shrewd, declares that “a thousand friends are too few, and one enemy too many;” but the only injunction that seems to have had any weight with the heedless monarch was, that “he should not only honour and respect the Ulemah (men of the law,) but promote all his undertakings by securing the aid of their prayers, for they have the inheritance of the gifts of the Prophet.” Influenced by this advice, he determined on building a mosque, and adding another imperial Djami to the capital: in order to make it more splendid than that of any of his predecessors, he sent architects to collect the models of the Christian cathedrals in Europe, that his mosque might be constructed from the perfections of them all. This heterodox intention, however, was opposed by the Ulemah, who denounced it as a desecration of a temple dedicated to the Prophet; and while he hesitated in his architectural plans, and before he had matured the whole design, death overtook him, and he left his mosque unfinished.

It was reserved for Osman, or Ottoman, to complete it. His vizir died immensely rich, and, by the maxims of the Turkish empire, his wealth reverted to the sovereign. “The Sultan,” says the law, “never loses his inheritance to wealth, for, cast it upon the ocean, and let it sink to the bottom, it wall again rise to the surface, and become visible.” Enabled, it should appear, by this accession of means, he set about completing the unfinished mosque of his predecessor. This he effected, though his pious work did not propitiate Allah to alter his decrees with respect to his own fate; it was very miserable. He was seized by Daud, his rebellious vizir, and sent a prisoner to the Seven Towers; here, at the age of nineteen, in the prime of life, vigour of youth, and bloom of beauty, he was strangled, his features mutilated, and one of his ears cut off, and sent as a grateful present to his successor.

Notwithstanding the intentions of its first architect, the design of the mosque of Osman is purely Oriental; yet it has an elegant appearance. The approach is by an arcade, supported by a colonnade of light and lofty pillars, enclosing the court. The whole of the interior is covered by an expansive dome, without any visible support of columns. Our illustration represents the court with the congregation gathering for prayers, and some of them engaged in the usual preparations. Nothing can be more grave and solemn than these. The people seem impressed with their pious purpose before they enter the house of prayer. They divest themselves of their gayest apparel, because they suppose humility of appearance is required before God. As they approach, the groups appear to be more than usually serious and silent, as if meditating on what they were about to do. When arrived at the reservoir of water provided for ablution, they wash their face, hands, and feet, from a feeling that personal purity is indicative of purity of the mind. When ascending the steps leading to the entrance, they deposit their shoes, from a conviction that the place they are about to enter is holy ground; and before the gate they sometimes prostrate themselves in reverence to the tomb of the Prophet, whose relative direction and position is always designated in every mosque. Before the door is suspended a curtain, which it is necessary to push aside on entering, and it immediately falls back, to screen the congregation from profane eyes. The floor is generally covered with carpets, on which the people kneel, and then fall prostrate on their faces, resuming occasionally their erect position. During their prayer there is no turning of the head, no wandering of the eye, to mark any abstraction of thought, but every faculty both of mind and body seems wrapt and bound up in the solemn act they are performing. Travellers who have noticed this total engagement of the attention of a Turk when he supposes himself in the presence of his Maker, and contrasts it with the languid and careless inattention so often observed and complained of in our churches, have remarked, “that Christian men might take a lesson from men who were not Christians, in what manner they should worship their common God.”

METROPOLITAN CHURCH OF MAGNESIA, ASIA MINOR.

INSTALLATION OF THE BISHOP.]

The existence of the Greek church, and the religion of the Gospel, among its bitterest enemies, has evinced, at different periods when it seemed doomed to destruction, a preservation as unexpected as it was extraordinary. When the conqueror of Constantinople had suffered his followers to glut their worst passions on the Christians, and their total extinction was expected, he made a show of unexpected moderation, and, to the astonishment of all, he sent for the patriarch Gennadius, appointed him to his Christian pastoral office by placing in his hand a staff of ebony, and, to do him further honour, after the military manner of a Turk, he placed the meek minister of the Gospel on a war-horse richly caparisoned. He then divided the churches equally between the two sects; half being reserved to the former use, and the other to the use of the Prophet.

This apparent indulgence was of short duration. The extirpation of Christianity in the Turkish empire was resolved on, and his successor, like another Diocletian, issued his decree, for the purpose; it ordained that all the Greeks, subject to the spiritual authority of the patriarch, should conform to the religion of Mahomed. It was then that an extraordinary trait in the Turkish character displayed itself. The patriarch affirmed that he could not, consistently with his duty, comply with the firman, without first stating his reasons before the mufti and the divan. This was pronounced to be reasonable. A Turk, in his fiercest determination, tries to preserve an appearance of equity and justice; so the patriarch was allowed to appear before the assembled divan. He there affirmed that “not only a compact was made on the surrender of the city, that the Greeks should enjoy the free exercise of their religion in half the churches, but that all the gates should be thrown open at Easter for three days, in order that those without may have an opportunity of going to them at this solemn season.” The Turks admitted no evidence but living witnesses; so they demanded if the patriarch had any such, to prove the fact. Aware of the circumstance, he had provided them. Two very old and grey Janissaries, who had been engaged for a large sum of money, were produced, who testified that they were present when the compact was made, though it was notorious it had happened before they were born. The divan was satisfied with this impossible evidence. The mufti pronounced a fetva, that the attestation of living witnesses could not be gainsaid, and the extirpation of Christianity was for that time averted.

Again, when the Greeks, instigated by the intrigues of Russia, endeavoured to throw off the Turkish yoke, and put themselves under the protection of their fellow-Christians, it was resolved in the divan that the whole population should be exterminated, and orders were issued for that purpose. Their fate now seemed inevitable, and the gospel was to be suppressed in Turkey by the extinction of all its professors. The sagacity of one enlightened Turk saved them. The Capitan Pasha, Gazi Hassan, was distinguished by his rough and energetic, but humane character. “If,” said he to the ferocious divan, “you extirpate the Greeks of the empire, who will remain to pay the haratch?” The haratch is a capitation-tax, laid on the rayas, or Christian subjects, which, when paid, ensures to them the permission to wear their heads for another year. This tax had produced annually 49,000 purses, or about £542,000; so this appeal to the cupidity of the Turks again saved the Christians.

After various similar menaces and perils, during which the Greeks adhered to their religion with the most inflexible constancy, their church has finally established itself, with some modifications, under its own independent government, while that portion of it under the Turks retains its old form. It is superintended by four patriarchs, in Asia, Africa, and Europe; viz. Antioch, Jerusalem, Alexandria, and Constantinople. They are elected by a body composed of the clergy and laity forming a synod; but in reality the situation is a mere matter of purchase from the Turkish government. Every patriarch, on his election, pays a large sum to the Porte; on many occasions the demand has amounted to 250,000 dollars. When the exigency of the state requires such a sum, the existing patriarch is deposed or strangled, and his successor pays it on his election. This causes a constant succession; the tenure of a patriarchate seldom exceeds a year or two. On payment, however, of the money required, a written diploma, called _Berat_, is given, securing to the patriarch the full and free exercise of his functions. This is strictly observed by the Turks, till they seek occasion to depose him, and appoint another.

Under the Greek empire, the number of bishops was unsettled. They now amount to 150, of whom 60 are suffragans, and three claim independence of any superior ecclesiastical authority in their own sees. Both patriarchs and bishops are judges in right of their office, not only in matters of faith and discipline, in their church, but also in civil and criminal cases. They are assisted by a synod composed of laics and ecclesiastics, and administer justice in their courts with the same formalities as Turkish functionaries, with attendants, formerly Janissaries, who are bound to execute their decrees. The code of laws by which they decide is that of Justinian, and they have the power of condemning delinquents to prison or exile. Such is the reputation of those courts, that Turks and Jews are known to appeal to them in preference to their own tribunals.

As the office of patriarch is purchased from the Porte, that of prelate is purchased from the patriarch; the amount paid is proportionate to the value of the sees, and varies from 18,000 to 150,000 piasters. This, with various other sums paid on different occasions, both by clergy and laity, form a common chest, out of which all the expenses of the Greek church are defrayed. This is managed by a κοινον, or public community, composed of members taken from all classes; for, notwithstanding the state of slavery and depression in which the nation lives under their Turkish masters, they preserve a semblance of freedom, and manage their own affairs by popular assemblies, like their republican ancestors.

The clergy, as in the Western church, are divided into regular and secular: the first are called Kaloyers, literally, “good old men,” the latter Papas, or “fathers.” The kaloyers are generally men of better education; they are not allowed to marry, and, as the dignitaries of the church are all taken from this class, neither patriarch nor bishop is permitted to have a wife. So rigidly is this regulation enjoined, that from some convents cows, hens, and all females of inferior animals, are excluded, as infringing on monastic discipline. They inhabit numerous edifices, scattered all over the Turkish empire. They are very strongly built, resembling fortresses, and in fact are retreats to which people retire from the outrages of pirates and robbers. They are seen the most conspicuous objects on hills and islands by land and sea; the most remarkable are those of mount Athos in Europe, and mount Sinai in Asia. The papa, or secular priest, is generally a married man; he is allowed to take one wife, and not marry another after her death; he has no fixed residence, is generally very illiterate, poor, and humble, and but little respected.

The dress of the clergy under the Lower Empire was not remarkable; and under the first year of the Ottoman sway, it retained its indistinct simplicity; but in the reign of Soliman an alteration took place. A deputation of the patriarch and his prelates issued from Adrianople, to do him homage; and the Turks seeing this mass of people approaching, and not recognizing them by any dress, supposed their intention hostile, and prepared to attack them, when they discovered their mistake. To prevent the recurrence of such a thing, the clergy were ordered to assume a particular and conspicuous dress, by which they could be recognized at a distance; they, therefore, adopted one on the other extreme: bright hats of crimson velvet, adorned with glittering crosses of gold. This is now laid aside, and one extremely humble, but sufficiently distinctive, is substituted. That of the dignitaries was adopted from the monks of mount Athos−-a black crape veil thrown over a plain black cap, and falling down the shoulders. The dress of the papas is a plain tunic of blue cotton, and a felt hat without a brim, but broader on the top than below. When he is a married man, his state is indicated by a narrow band of white muslin round his black cap. All wear beards, which they cherish till they grow to a venerable length. Their vestments, when performing service in their churches, are rich and gaudy.

Our illustration represents the installation of a bishop in the metropolitan church of Magnesia: the throne is before a screen which separates the nave from the sanctuary, into which none are allowed to enter but the clergy. This screen is profusely adorned with pictures of saints,−-an essential part of the decorations of every Greek church. Among the priests and elders who assist at the ceremony, is one who holds a triple taper, to represent the Trinity; with this emblem, patriarchs and bishops confer their blessing, waving it over the heads of the congregation while they pronounce the benediction. During this, one finger is carefully bent, so as to separate the little finger from the first and second, to intimate that peculiar dogma of the Greek church, “the procession of the Spirit from the Father only.”

Among the display of the Greek church are banners, borne on festival days, representing favourite saints, to whose representation they attribute extraordinary qualities. A remarkable superstition of this kind prevails at Magnesia: St. George, the patron of England, is in high esteem there, and at Easter his banner forms the most distinguished object in the procession. It has the important property of distinguishing and punishing a sinner; it is borne to church always by a priest, who of course passes the ordeal uninjured and with credit; but on returning, it is given to some unfortunate layman, who bears to the grave the marks of the chastisements inflicted on him for his sins. He is violently beaten by some persons appointed for the purpose, while the blows are faithfully believed to proceed from the image of our pugnacious saint.

THE RUINS OF HIERAPOLIS, FROM THE THEATRE.

ASIA MINOR.]

Nothing marks so strongly the genius and propensities of the ancient Greeks, as their theatres. As these edifices were the most interesting and most attractive, so they seemed to have engaged their greatest attention, and to have called forth all their skill, to render them the most permanent and beautiful of the buildings they erected. We have already remarked, that every town, inhabited by Greeks, or the descendants of Greeks, seems to have had one, as essential to its well-being; and they were not erected with the fragile and perishable materials with which the modern edifices of the same kind were constructed. Their seats were not wooden benches enclosed with slight walls and covered with slender roofs, or their decorations flimsy painted paper and canvass; they were built with solid blocks of marble, roofed with the canopy of heaven, adorned with statuary and sculptured ornaments of imperishable materials; and their remains, at the present day, are as durable as the rock on which they were generally erected. When every other vestige of an ancient city is obliterated, its theatre is the only building that remains, to determine its site; and when ruins had concealed it, or the lapse of time had covered it with soil, accident or design has detected it under the mass, as perfect in some of its parts as when it was frequented by a crowded audience. The beautiful theatre in the small and comparatively obscure Island of Milo had disappeared for ages, till unexpectedly discovered by agricultural labourers, in a solitary spot, where no other evidence existed but itself, of the city to which it had belonged. Its materials were solid blocks of beautifully sculptured marble; the angular mouldings seemed as sharp, and the workmanship as recent, as when the chisel had first struck them; and though probably not less than 2,000 years erected, looked as fresh, said a traveller, “as if the masons had just gone home to their dinner, and you expected them to return every moment, and put the last hand to their work.”

As these characteristic structures form so prominent a feature in ancient Greek cities, and at this day are generally the most striking objects emerging from their ruins, a brief notice of their structure will be the best accompaniment to our illustration. The inventor of dramatic entertainments was Thespis, who lived about 550 years before the Christian era. His theatre was as simple as his exhibition was rude; it was an ambulatory machine, moving from place to place, like the booth of an English fair. On the cart, a stage was erected; the dramatic representation was confined to two performers, whose faces were smeared with lees of wine, and who entertained the audience with a dialogue of coarse and rustic humour. This movable edifice was improved by being fixed, and the spectators accommodated with wooden benches, raised one above the other; but the fondness of the Greeks for such exhibitions was so great, and the throng so pressing, that frequent accidents occurred from the breaking down of these frail structures, and the loss of life was so serious, that it was necessary to accommodate the people with more durable edifices. The name of Æschylus is immortalized as well by his mechanical as his literary genius; he not only fixed the drama by the composition of forty regular plays, in which the characters were dressed in suitable costume, but he gave his representations in a regular and permanent edifice, the arrangement of which was the model on which all others were afterwards built.

The building was a semicircle whose extremities were limited by a right line; this was divided into three parts, each having its own appropriation. The theatre, properly so called, from whence the spectators “saw” the exhibition, filled the semicircle, where the people were accommodated with benches rising one above the other. The upper were allocated to females. The seats were confined to a particular number in each row, in all theatres they were eighteen inches high and three feet broad, so that the people sat at their ease, the feet of those above never incommoding those below. Behind each row were galleries, formed in the walls, by which the spectators entered from without, and, from the crowds that issued from them, they were called “vomitories;” from them were passages through the seats in a right line tending to a common centre, and, from the shape of the enclosed spaces, broad above and narrow below, the portions into which the benches were divided, were called “wedges.” As the actor’s voice would be insufficient to fill the vast space enclosed by some theatres, which contained 40,000 people, the sound was augmented, and rendered distinct, by hollow vessels of copper, dispersed under the seats in such a way as to reverberate the words distinctly to the ear of every individual.

The right line, in front, was occupied by the orchestra, so called because it was originally intended for the exhibition of “mimes and dancers;” it afterwards admitted other exhibitions. In one of its compartments, the chorus acted, which from its square form was called thymele, or “the altar;” another received a band of music, and, from its position at the bottom of the theatre, was named “hyposcene;” behind this was the stage, divided also into three parts; the largest, properly called the “scene,” extended across the theatre. Here was suspended the large curtain, which fell, not rose, when the exhibition commenced; the next was the proscene, or “pulpit,” where the performance was carried on; and the last the parascene, or green room, the place “behind the stage,” where the performers retired to dress, and the machines were kept and prepared.

The bland and beautiful climate of the country inhabited by the Greeks, require for the greater part of the year no shelter. The theatre, therefore, had no roof, and all the exhibitions were in the open air; when a passing shower required it, there were porticoes to which the audience retired in winter; in summer, the rays of the sun were to be guarded against in a warm climate, and machinery was provided, by which canvass awnings were drawn across over the theatre. The degree of sultriness which this caused among a crowd in confined air, was mitigated by an artificial rain. Reservoirs of scented water were formed above the porticoes, from whence it descended to the statues and other sculptured ornaments, and was suffered to exude through certain pores in the marble, and filled the covered space not only with grateful coolness but fragrant exhalation.

The fondness of the Greeks in general, and of the Athenians in particular, for such dramatic exhibitions, is not to be expressed; it was not only the medium through which the music of their poetry, the refinement of their sentiments, the display of their taste, and their moral impressions, were conveyed, but it was the great channel of their political opinions. Every sense and faculty was engaged in these exhibitions: the eye, the ear, the imagination, the understanding, were appealed to, and gratified; but what rendered it so deeply interesting was, that it became the arena upon which the public affairs were exhibited, the channel through which public sentiments were conveyed; and the great interests and transactions of the republic, in which every man felt a personal interest, were discussed in mimic representations. When an event or character was introduced in the drama, its parallel was immediately found, and its application was made to some passing circumstance or person. When a passage in Æschylus was uttered, that Amphiaraus “had rather be great and good, than seem so,” it was instantly and simultaneously applied by the audience to Aristides, and they rose up spontaneously to salute him. It was thus, that not only in Athens, their vast theatre, capable of holding 30,000 people, was constantly crowded, but in every city inhabited by the Greeks, either in the islands or on the continents of Asia and Europe, theatres were erected among their first public edifices; and there is scarcely a town, however obscure or little noticed, where one is not found at this day among the most perfect part of the ruins.

The theatre of Hieropolis, given in our illustration, is the least dilapidated among its existing remains; it is an extensive and sumptuous structure, even in its present ruinous state; it retains perfectly its semicircular form, and part of the proscene is still standing in good preservation; the wedge-form rows of benches still afford seats to the traveller; and the arched vomitories, opening upon the passages to admit spectators, are still perfect; but the centre is filled up with heaps of broken cornices, fragments of fluted shafts, and almost perfect capitals of pillars, tumbled from their elevation, and indicating, by their number and the excellency of their workmanship, the skill and labour bestowed upon the theatre of this provincial town. On a low semicircular screen, dividing the seats, is still legible an inscription in which “Apollo the Archegetes,” or manager of the theatre, is entreated to be “propitious to the performers;” and on another is a panegyric on the city of Hieropolis, in which it is called “the city of gold.” The perspective in the background exhibits the remains of stadia, baths, and other edifices before mentioned.

The circumstance which most strongly impresses a traveller in visiting these ancient theatres, is the dismal contrast presented by their first and present state. These crowded scenes of life and enjoyment are now the most dismal and desolate spots among the ruins; they seem to be the place to which every thing that is foul and venomous repair, attracted perhaps by the shelter and concealment their more perfect state affords. “The busy hum of men” is exchanged for the serpent’s hiss and the eagle’s scream−-the crowded seats

“Are now the raven’s bleak abode,
Are now the apartment of the toad.”

Snakes are everywhere seen gliding through the rubbish, or rustling among the thicket of shrubs that grow among them. Their exuviæ are found deposited in every crevice, and the alarmed traveller starts back, supposing that to be a living reptile, which he finds is only the spotted skin from which the renovated serpent had extricated itself, and just left behind. Jackals and wolves drag here their prey, as to a congenial spot, to devour them; and vultures, “scenting their murky quarry from afar,” are heard screaming in the air, and seen hovering over the carcase, ready to alight, and snatch it from their rapacious rivals. Such is the almost universal aspect that every ancient theatre we have visited presents to the traveller.

THE PRINCESS’ ISLANDS.

FROM MONASTERY OF THE TRINITY/PRINKIPO IN THE MIDDLE DISTANCE.]

The two straits by which Constantinople is approached, are marked at their entrance by clusters of islands. The traveller, before he enters the Dardanelles, passes through the Cyclades; as he approaches the Bosphorus, he finds himself among a similar group, forming an Archipelago in the Propontis, if not so extensive, yet still more lovely than that in the Egean.

The Cyclades of the Propontis was anciently called Demonesca, or the “islands of spirits;” but under the Lower Empire they assumed another denomination. Irené, the widow of Fl. Leo, had put out the eyes of her son, in order that she herself might reign in his place; for this she was banished by his successor, to these islands; and, having built a monastery on one of them, to atone for her guilt, and erected edifices where females of the imperial family were educated, the group was called, therefore, after her, the “Princes’ Islands.” They are nine in number, of different sizes, and are distinguished by Greek names, indicating some peculiarity of each.[5] The four smaller are uninhabited; they lie between the European and Asiatic coasts, about 10 miles from each, and the same distance from the mouth of the Bosphorus; and to the houses of the streets built on the eminences, both of Pera and Constantinople, exhibit a picturesque and striking prospect.

The water which flows round them is not less pure than the air is balmy; they seem to float in a sea of singular transparency, so clear and lucid that objects are distinctly seen at the greatest depths; and the caïque which glides over it seems supported by a fluid less dense than water, and nearly as invisible and transparent as air. From various circumstances, it is conjectured that the islands were originally one mass, and torn asunder by some convulsion of nature; abrupt promontories in the one correspond with bays and indentations in the opposite, and the space between is so deep, that the large ships of Admiral Duckworth’s fleet anchored everywhere among them with perfect safety, when they passed into the Propontis, to menace the capital. Fish of many kinds abound in the streights, and their capture is one of the employments and amusements of the residents. The fishing carried on by night is very picturesque. The boats proceed with blazing faggots lighted in braziers of iron projecting from their bow and stern; and at certain times the shores are illuminated every night, by innumerable moving lights floating round them.

The islands labour under two disadvantages; one is, the want of water: there are no streams, and the springs found are impregnated with mineral ingredients, everywhere mixed up with the soil, particularly in the island of Chalki. To remedy this, the houses, and particularly the convents, have deep excavations, forming reservoirs into which the rain is received; so sacred is this deposit, that the wells are covered with iron stopples, carefully locked, and only opened with great caution at stated times. On the smaller deserted islands, deep cisterns of former times exist, where passing ships and boats at this day draw up water.

The next is, the sudden hurricanes to which they are subject in the most calm and beautiful weather. The air seems to stagnate, and a death-like stillness succeeds; then a dark lurid spot appears near the horizon, which suddenly bursts, as it were, and an explosion of wind issues from it, which sweeps everything before it. The doors and windows of the houses are instantly burst open, and every thing on land seems splitting to pieces; the sea is raised into mountains of white foam; and the only hope of safety for ships is to drive before it. The boats of the islands are sometimes overtaken thus in their passage to the capital: the boatmen at once lose all power of managing their caïques, and throw themselves on their faces in despair, crying out “For our sins, for our sins!” In this state the vessel turns over, and goes down with all her passengers. Accidents of this kind happen every year.

The islands are exceedingly beautiful and salubrious; unlike many of their kindred in the Egean, there is nothing bare or rugged in their aspect. They are generally crowned with arbutus, pine, cypress, myrtle, and different kinds of oak, particularly the kermes or evergreen, so that they preserve their leaves unchanged at all seasons, and render the islands at all times verdant and romantic. The arbutus grows with such luxuriance, that it ripens its berries into large mellow fruit, which is sold in the markets, and furnishes a rich dessert; they are eaten as strawberries, which they nearly resemble in shape, colour, and taste. There are, besides, various other trees, which, though deciduous, seldom lose their foliage; such as the terebinth or cypress turpentine, which yields a resinous aroma, so that a stranger, in making his way through these romantic thickets, as he presses aside the branches, is surprised at the grateful odours exhaled about him: but the shrubs which most abound, are the various species of the gum-cistus; they cover large tracts, and sometimes so tint the surface of the hills, that the islands are suffused with a rich hue from their bright blossoms. The fragrance of these spots is exceedingly rich and grateful. As the traveller moves through the low shrubs, and disturbs them with his feet, a dense vapour of odoriferous particles ascends, and the air seems loaded, as it were, with a palpable fragrance.[6] This gratification of the senses has conferred upon the islands the character of luxurious enjoyment, which has at all times distinguished them; they were, therefore, considered the Capreæ of the Lower Empire, and became the Capua of the Turks; when their rude military energy degenerated, they retired there, to gratify themselves with indulgences which were prohibited even in the license of the capital. Whenever the plague rages, they are crowded with Frank and Raya fugitives, who escape to this asylum from the pestilential atmosphere of the city.

By a prescription, some time established, the islands have been entirely abandoned to the Greeks, and no Turk is allowed to take up his residence there, except temporarily, on official business. Even the aga who superintends them, resides on the opposite coast of Asia, and never visits them except to collect the haratch. No mosque or other Moslem edifice was allowed to raise its crescent-head; but the larger islands had one or more Greek monasteries crowning their summits, and forming the most conspicuous objects. They were erected in the time of the Lower Empire, and were the asylums to which the sovereigns retired when compelled to abdicate the throne: many of them were the retreats of those who were mutilated or blinded by their successors; many were the receptacles where guilt and remorse sought, by solitude and penance, to atone for past crimes. Some of these monasteries are now in ruins, and their “ivy-mantled towers” add to the picturesque scenery; some are still kept in good repair, and the residence of Caloyers, having chapels eminent for their sanctity, to which not only the people of the islands, but many families of the Fanal, resort, and celebrate their festivals with much pomp and devotion.

On the greater islands are towns called by the same names. They possess fleets of caïques of a larger size than ordinary, which keep up a daily communication with the capital in conveying goods and passengers. Every morning these fleets leave the islands at sunrise, and return by sunset. The merry disposition of the people is nowhere more displayed than in these passage-boats, which the gravity and taciturnity of a Turk, who is an occasional passenger, cannot suppress. It sometimes happens that this levity is severely punished: on a charge of some real or supposed delinquency, the crews are cited before the cadi, when they land at Tophana. His carpet is spread on the ground, and where he sits cross-legged smoking his nargillai, the laughing culprits are brought before him, and he dispenses justice in a summary manner. He waves his hand−-the delinquent is seized by two men who throw him on his back, while two more raise his feet between poles, presenting their soles. Executioners then, provided with angular rods as thick as a man’s thumb, lay on the shrieking wretch till he faints, or the cadi, by another wave of his hand, intimates to them to cease: this punishment of the unfortunate caïquegees of the islands, is very frequent, and sometimes is inflicted on the whole of the boats’ crews. It often happens to be so severe, that the legs swell as high as the hips, and the victim is in danger of dying of a mortification; notwithstanding, it is soon forgotten by the sufferers. On their return, they only laugh at each other, and the next day repeat the fault for which they were punished.

During the Greek revolution, these islands were made the prison of the suspected. The families of the Fanal were sent here, to be kept in sale custody till their fate was decided in the capital; every day some unfortunate victim was taken away, and never re-appeared, yet this seemed to make little impression on the survivors. They were constantly seen in groups under some favourite trees, playing dominos, chess, or other games, and entering with as much earnestness and disputation into the chances, as if they were in a state of perfect security. Sometimes a caïque was seen approaching, and the turbaned head of a chaoush appeared over the gunwale−-he landed, approached the groups of players, and laid a black handkerchief on the shoulder of one of them; the doomed man rose from his seat, followed the chaoush to the caïque, and never returned again. His place was supplied by another, and the game was continued as if nothing extraordinary had happened. The bouyancy and reckless character of the Greeks, during the perils of their revolution, was nowhere, perhaps, so displayed as on these occasions; they saw their friends daily taken from the midst of them, and knew they were led away to be strangled or decapitated, yet it seemed but little to affect the careless hilarity of the daily decreasing survivors.

Among the suspected shut up in one of these insular prisons was the venerable and learned archbishop of Mount Sinai. After the execution of the patriarch and his prelates, he hourly expected his mortal summons; yet it never affected his cheerfulness: he was engaged in a work on the ancient and modern state of Constantinople, and his only wish, unfounded then on any hope, was, that he might be allowed to live and finish it. His wishes, contrary to his expectations, were fulfilled. I left him in his Patmos, every day looking for death; and I found him, on my return to Turkey, some years after, elevated to the patriarchal throne. His susceptibility to the beauties of nature that smiled here in his prison, was not impaired by any dismal apprehensions. In his work, since published, he describes with enthusiasm the view presented from his island: “The prospect from hence,” said he, “formed by the circle of lovely objects around, is inimitable on the earth; it stands like the varied representations of some grand amphitheatre, and the astonished and delighted eye, at sunset, sees the exceeding splendour of nature’s scenery.”

The view in our illustration is taken from the monastery of the Triades, or Trinity, in the island of Chalki. This edifice was erected by the patriarch Photios, who was named “the man of ten thousand books.” He called it Zion, but its name was afterwards changed. His ten thousand books were deposited in a library: the greater part was destroyed by fire, which consumed nearly the whole edifice, and the rest by time and neglect, so that not one now remains. The present edifice, inhabited by the Caloyers, is but a wing of the original building. In the foreground, on a platform, is a kiosk, from whence is seen one of those lovely views which almost every eminence of the island presents. Attached to every monastery is such an edifice; it is kind of coffee-house, open to strangers, in which they repose, enjoying the beauty of the scenery, and are seen with pipes, coffee, and sweetmeats by the good monks. The view from this kiosk of the Triades, comprehending Europe and Asia, is particularly eulogized and described by the archbishop. The splendid city of Constantinople rising on its seven hills, with its gilded domes and glittering minarets; the sweeping shores of Thrace; the Bithynian chain of mountains, in the midst of which Olympus raises his head, covered with eternal snows; the whole circle of islands, floating below on the bosom of the placid sea−-form an unrivalled panoramic picture.

Just below lies the varied face of the island, with its shrubs and trees; a range of gigantic cypresses leads, along the ridge of a sloping hill, to an edifice on the sea-shore; this was erected by an opulent Greek tchelebi, in the palmy days of their prosperity. He was suspected, apprehended, and executed, and his splendid mansion, containing all the requisites of modern Greek luxuries, was occupied by various Franks, who left the sultry heats of the capital for the refreshing breezes of the islands. Along the shore below run the streets of the capital of Chalki, with its fleet of small-craft lying in the harbour. Among the edifices are some which present an unusual sight in these islands: on a promontory, a minaret raises its taper head; and on the hill behind, is a Turkish kisla, or barracks. When the insurrection broke out, the immunities of the islands were withdrawn, and Moslem edifices and Moslem people are now seen mixed with the hitherto exclusive Greek population.

THE MONASTERY OF ST. GEORGE OF THE PRECIPICE.]

There is no saint in the Oriental calendar held in more estimation, both by Moslems and Christians, than St. George of Cappadocia. The Greeks and Armenians dedicate many churches to him, and the legends they tell and believe of him correspond with those that are current in England of its patron saint. The Orientals do not reproach their favourite, as some incredulous historians do among us, with being the son of a fuller, becoming a parasite, a bacon-merchant, and a cheat, who was torn to pieces by his townsmen for his manifold crimes and vices, in the reign of Julian the Apostate. They represent him as a Christian hero, who suffered martyrdom for his inflexible adherence to Christianity in the persecution of Diocletian, but, before that, had distinguished himself by deeds of high heroic reputation. One of them seems a version of Perseus and Andromeda; and, as in many other instances, fables of pagan mythology are appropriated by Christian saints. After various achievements against Paynims and Saracens, he came to the land of Egypt in search of new adventures. He here found a winged dragon devastating the country with his pestiferous breath, and devouring those whom he had preserved. The wise men were called together, and a compact was made with the monster, that he should be content with devouring a virgin every day. They were all eaten, except the daughter of the soldan, and her weeping friends had just led her to the sacrifice, when St. George arrived. He attacked and slew the monster, and liberated the virgin. This legend, which corresponds with that of the old English ballad, is commemorated in this church of St. George, by a picture in the portico: the saint is depicted on horseback, piercing a winged dragon with a spear, exactly as he is represented on our coins and armorial blazonry; and so he is displayed in every one of the numerous churches dedicated to him in the East.

This fable, which is a popular legend both in the East and West, is, however, explained allegorically. The dragon is the devil, represented under that form in the Apocalypse; and subduing him, and trampling him under foot, by the saint, is emblematic of the faith and fortitude of a Christian. The Greeks call St. George the Megalomartyr, and his festival is a holiday “of obligation.” Constantine the Great built a church, which stood over his tomb in Palestine, and erected the first to his memory in the metropolis, where there were afterwards five more dedicated to him. Justinian, in the sixth century, introduced him into the Armenian calendar, and raised a temple to him. At the entrance into the Hellespont is a large and celebrated convent of his order, which gives his name to the strait; and the pagan appellation of Hellespont merged into the Christian one of “the Arm of St. George.” He was the great patron of Christian knights, and none went to battle without first offering to him their vows.

When Richard Cœur de Lion laid siege to Acre, the saint appeared to him in a vision, and the Crusaders attributed their victories to his interference and aid. The great national council, held at Oxford in 1222, recognized him, and commanded his feast to be kept as a holiday; and in 1330, Edward III. instituted an order of knighthood to his name in England, one of the oldest in Europe, and so he has become the patron-saint of England. His festival is celebrated on the 23d of April, in the Greek church; and the English ambassador at Constantinople, as if to identify our patron-saint with that of the Greeks, gives a splendid entertainment on the same day at the British palace, where St. George is held “as the patron of arms, chivalry, and the garter.”

But our saint has immunities and privileges which do not appear to be allowed to any other in the Greek calendar. At the early period of the reformation in the Oriental church, statues were everywhere torn down by the Iconoclasts, and excluded from their worship as idolatrous, though pictures were allowed to remain; adhering literally to the Commandment of making “no graven images,” but, by a singular anomaly of Greek refinement, venting their religious horror on wood and stone, and bowing down without scruple to paint and canvass. This distinction continues in all its strictness to the present day: the churches are profusely daubed with gaudy pictures of saints, to which profound adoration is paid, and the most extraordinary miracles are attributed; while no statue, or sculptured or graven representation, of the same persons, are tolerated: but to our saint alone an indulgence is extended. His image in some churches is formed on graven silver plates attached to a wooden block, which they affirm had miraculously escaped from the destruction of the Iconoclasts, and has peculiar faculties conferred upon it, corresponding with the pugnacious propensities of the character whose person it represents; and to its wonder-working powers many miracles are attributed.

In the monastery of St. George, in one of the islands of the Archipelago, is a statue of this kind, which is highly serviceable to the Caloyers. If any one is indebted to the convent, and does not pay his dues−-if a penitent omits to perform the penance, or violates the strict abstinence imposed upon him during the many seasons of fasting−-above all, if he neglects to perform any vow made to the saint−-the image immediately finds him out. It is placed on the shoulders of a blind monk, who trusts implicitly to its guidance, and walks fearlessly on without making a false step. It is in vain that the sinning defaulter tries to hide himself. The image follows him through all his windings with infallible sagacity, and, when at length he is overtaken, springs from the shoulders of his bearer to the neck of the culprit, and flogs him with unmerciful severity till he makes restitution and atonement for all his delinquencies. A French writer, who was a firm believer in the miracles wrought by the images of saints in the Latin church, in recording these absurdities of St. George, adds with great naïveté: _Les Grecs sont les plus grands imposteurs du monde._

In the church of the convent is a picture highly prized as a _chef d’œuvre_ of Grecian art; it represents the last day, a subject which the Greek Caloyers are fond of impressing on their people. In some, the punishments of a future state, as painted on the walls, are hardly fit to be looked at. Devils riding ploughshares, and driving them through naked bodies of men, and serpents twining round the limbs of offending women. This picture, however, is less exceptionable; it depicts the Deity on the summit, dressed in sumptuous robes, and crowned like a king, having an expanded book before him, in which the fate of every mortal is recorded: below, on one side is a garden, having various departments like the pews of a church, in each of which is enclosed some celebrated individual. In one, Abraham with Lazarus in his bosom,−-in another, the penitent thief with his cross on his shoulder. Immediately below, are the extended jaws of a vast monster, into which demons are casting the souls of the condemned, among whom are all the apostates and persecutors of Christianity−-Judas, Julian, and Diocletian; with sundry Turks. Among the condemned, one is surprised to see a Greek with his calpac; he had been a dragoman of the Porte, who had offended the artist, and he took this not unprecedented mode of avenging himself on his adversary.

GUZEL-HISSAR, AND THE PLAIN OF THE MEANDER.

ASIA MINOR. ]

The river Meander is perhaps the most celebrated of all antiquity, and has been made a generic term, in most languages, to designate a winding stream; poets and historians equally commemorate it. It rose near the ancient city of Celene, and, increased by various tributaries, it fell into the Ægean between Miletus and Priene. So tortuous was its course, that it was counted to have made 600 windings in its progress to the sea. It afforded Dædalus the model for his labyrinth, and travellers have discovered in many parts the various accurate outlines of some of the most convoluted letters of the Greek alphabet. It was remarkable for the alterations it caused in the countries through which it wound its way−-obliterating old, and adding new tracts. This was so frequent, and attended with such damage, that an indictment lay against the river; and the person who suffered was remunerated out of the tolls of the bridges which passed over it.

This constant undermining of its banks, and the fall of them into its current, was the probable cause of its devious course. The soil, obstructed in one place, was deposited in another; while the great quantity held in suspension, was suffered to fall when the waters, meeting the obstructions of the sea, no longer supported it in the current. In its mouth it formed great bars, and threw up new lands. The changes thus made were celebrated by the ancients as so many mythological and preternatural metamorphoses:−-

“The magic river in its tortuous wheel
Defrauds the mariner; and where his keel
Plough’d up the pliant wave−-the rustic’s share
Delves in the soil, and plants his harvest there.
The moving waves to fixed furrows rise;
The sportive kid the dolphin’s place supplies.
The shepherd’s pipe delights the grazing sheep,
Where the hoarse sailor’s voice outroared the boisterous deep.”