Chapter IV: Part 4

A little more than a quarter of a mile west of the Acropolis is another rocky hill,--the Pnyx,--celebrated as the place where the assembly of all the citizens met to transact the business of the state. A large semicircular area was formed, partly by excavation, partly by building up from beneath, the bounds of which can be distinctly traced. Considerable remains of the terrace-wall at the foot of the slope exist,--huge stones twelve or fourteen feet in length by eight or ten in breadth. The chord of the semicircle is near the top of the hill, formed by the perpendicular face of the excavated rock, and is about four hundred feet in length by twenty in depth. Projecting from it at the centre, and hewn out of the same rock, is the bema or stone platform from which the great orators from the time of Themistocles and Aristides, and perhaps of Solon, down to the age of Demosthenes and the Attic Ten, addressed the mass of their fellow-citizens. It is a massive cubic block, with a linear edge of eleven feet, standing upon a graduated base of nearly equal height, and is mounted on either side by a flight of nine stone steps. From its connection with the most celebrated efforts of some of the greatest orators our race has yet seen, it is one of the most interesting relics in the world, and its solid structure will cause it to endure as long as the world itself shall stand, unless, as there is some reason to apprehend will be the case, it is knocked to pieces and carried off in the carpet-bags of travellers. No traces of the Agora, which occupied the shallow valley between the Pnyx and the Acropolis, remain. It was the heart of the city, and was adorned with numerous public buildings, porticoes, temples, and statues. It was often thronged with citizens gathered for purposes of trade, discussion, or to hear and tell some new thing.

Half a mile or more to the southeast, on the banks of the Ilissus, stood a magnificent structure dedicated to Olympian Zeus,--one of the four largest temples of Greece, ranking with that of Demeter at Eleusis and that of Diana at Ephesus. Its foundations remain, and sixteen of the huge Corinthian columns belonging to its majestic triple colonnade. One of these is fallen. Breaking up into the numerous disks of which it was composed,--six and a half feet in diameter by two or more in thickness,--and stretching out to a length of over sixty feet, it gives an impressive conception of the size of these columns, said to be the largest standing in Europe. The level area of the temple is now used as a training-ground for soldiers. Close by, and almost in the bed of the stream, which is dry the larger part of the year, issues from beneath a ledge of rock the copious fountain of sweet waters known to the ancients as Callirrhoe. It furnished the only good drinking-water of the city, and was used in all the sacrifices to the gods. A little way above, on the opposite bank of the Ilissus, is the site of the Panathenaic stadium, whose shape is perfectly preserved in the smooth grass-grown hollow with semicircular extremity which here lies at right angles to the stream, between parallel ridges partly artificial.

Northward from the Acropolis, on a slight elevation, is the best-preserved and one of the most ancient structures of Athens,--the temple of Theseus, built under the administration of Cimon by the generation preceding Pericles and the Parthenon. It is of the Doric order, and shaped like the Parthenon, but considerably inferior to it in size as well as in execution. It has been roofed with wood in modern times, and was long used as a church, but is now a place of deposit for the numerous statues and sculptured stones of various kinds--mostly sepulchral monuments--which have been recently discovered in and about the city. They are for the most part unimportant as works of art, though many are interesting from their antiquity or historic associations. Among these is the stone which once crowned the burial-mound on the plain of Marathon. It bears a single figure, said to represent the messenger who brought the tidings of victory to his countrymen.

Near the Theseium was the double gate (Dipylum) in the ancient wall of the city whence issued the Sacred Way leading to Eleusis, and bordered, like the Appian Way at Rome, with tombs, many of them cenotaphs of persons who died in the public service and were deemed worthy of a monument in the public burying-ground. Within a few years an excavation has been made through an artificial mound of ashes, pottery, and other refuse emptied out of the city, and a section of a few rods of this celebrated road has been laid bare. The sepulchral monuments are ranged on one side rather thickly, and crowd somewhat closely upon the narrow pavement. They are, for the most part, simple, thick slabs of white marble, with a triangular or pediment-shaped top, beneath which is sculptured in low relief the closing scene of the person commemorated, followed by a short inscription. The work is done in an artistic style worthy of the publicity its location gave it. On one of these slabs you recognize the familiar full-length figure of Demosthenes, standing with two companions and clasping in a parting grasp the hand of a woman, who is reclining upon her death-bed. The inscription is, _Collyrion, wife of Agathon_. On another stone of larger size is a more imposing piece of sculpture. A horseman fully armed is thrusting his spear into the body of his fallen foe,--a hoplite. The inscription relates that the unhappy foot-soldier fell at Corinth _by reason of those five words of his!_--a record intelligible enough, doubtless, to his contemporaries, but sufficiently obscure and provocative of curiosity to later generations.

There are other noted structures at Athens, such as the Choragic Monument of Lysicrates--the highest type of the Corinthian order of architecture, as the Erechtheum is of the Ionic and the Parthenon of the Doric,--but want of space forbids any further description.

THE ISLES OF GREECE.

HENRY M. FIELD.

[History and poetry alike celebrate the beauty of those charming
isles, which fill with their sunny grace and rich fertility
the seas of Greece, and on which many of the poets of that
song-girdled land were born. No work on general travels can be
complete without some description of these celebrated islands,
and we select from Dr. H. M. Field's "The Greek Islands" an
appreciative account of their aspect to the modern traveller.]

In the old picture-books there used to be a picture of the Colossus of Rhodes, which stood bestriding an arm of the sea with ships in full sail passing between his mighty legs. Though it was a picture for children, yet to some who are not children the chief association with the island of Rhodes is the place where the Colossus stood; and there are travellers still who come on deck, and look round inquiringly for some fragment of a ruin which should mark the site of that majestic figure. But not a vestige remains. Though "His Highness" lifted his head so proudly, as if he disdained the earth on which he stood, he did not hold it up very long. Pride must have a fall. He did not live even to the allotted age of man. He had been standing but fifty-six when an earthquake shook him down, and for nearly a thousand years he lay like Dagon, prone upon the ground, with all his glory buried in the dust, his _disjecta membra_ being trodden underfoot by the barbarous Turk, till at last they were sold to a Jew(!), who broke them up as men break up the hull of an old ship, and, packing them on the backs of nine hundred camels, carried them away. Such was the ignominious end of one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

But though the Colossus did not stand long, the mere fact of its standing at all--that a figure over a hundred feet high, wrought in bronze, like the column of Trajan at Rome, should have been reared nearly three hundred years before Christ--is a proof of the degree of civilization attained at that early period. It was a statue to the sun, and stood in front of the city, where its head would catch the first rays of the sunlight as it came over the hills of Asia Minor, which lay on the eastern horizon.

Rhodes is second to Cyprus (if it be second) in antiquity, and its civilization may be traced to the same sources. Its position at the mouth of the Ægean Sea, whose waters here mingle with those of the Mediterranean, invited immigration both from Asia and Africa. The Phoenicians, sailing westward, landed on its shores; while from farther south men of another race brought to it the wisdom of the Egyptians. At the same time, as one of the islands of the Greek Archipelago, it shared in the intellectual influences of Greece. It stood "where two seas met," or two civilizations. Like the Channel Islands, which look upon two kingdoms, it was joined by a chain of islands to Greece, while it was in full sight of Asia, to which it was nearer than the white chalk cliffs of Dover to the shores of France. Probably the island was settled as early as the siege of Troy, though the city was not founded until about four hundred years before Christ.

It was in the century following that Alexander the Great conquered the world, and Rhodes bowed to a power which it could not resist, and was held in awe by the terror of his name, even while he was pursuing his conquests in the heart of Asia. But as soon as he breathed his last the spell was broken. The people rose against the Macedonian garrison, and drove them out, and with recovered liberty came new and increased prosperity, and the city rose to its greatest splendor. Then was reared the mighty Colossus; and then sculptors who rivalled those of Greece filled the city with the products of their art. It was said to contain not less than three thousand statues. The famous group of the Farnese Bull--the largest antique sculpture which has been preserved to us, and which, having once adorned the baths of Caracalla at Rome, is now the pride of the museum at Naples--was the work of two sculptors of Rhodes. Such noble statues, adorning the public places of the city, showed that in the cultivation of art Rhodes, if not the equal, was at least a worthy imitator, of Athens itself.

All this has passed away. But though despoiled of its treasures; though the conquerors, who

"Brought many captives home to Rome,"

brought the sculptures of Rhodes with those of Greece; yet the island itself remains, fair as when it first rose from the bosom of the Ægean Sea. Never was it fairer than this morning, as the sunrise, flashing across the blue waters, lighted up the gray old town, with its walls and towers, which stand out from a background of hills. The island rises abruptly from the sea. Beyond the walls of the town houses are sprinkled over the hill-sides, that are covered with olive-groves, which at this season are fresh and green. Behind these lower hills are others that are higher, whose steep sides and rocky crests reminded our good Dr. Wylie of Arthur's Seat and Salisbury Crags.

The chief remains of historic interest are those connected with the Crusaders, when the island was ruled by the Knights of St. John, who took it, however, not in the advance to the Holy Land, but in the retreat. When they were driven out of Syria by Saladin, they fell back upon Rhodes, which they conquered from the Saracens, and held for over two hundred years,--from 1309 to 1522,--when Solyman the Magnificent came against it with two hundred thousand men. Then followed a siege in which men took courage from despair. The city had a garrison of but six thousand men; yet for six months, in spite of repeated assaults, it defied the besiegers,--a courage which compelled the respect of the conqueror, who after the city fell permitted its brave defenders to retire in safety. A few years later the Emperor Charles V. gave them the island of Malta, which they fortified till it was one of the strongest places in the world, and held it till the close of the last century.

No doubt to us, in this practical and prosaic age, there is something fantastic and absurd in the institution of the Knights of St. John, an order in which the profession of arms was strongly united with the profession of religion. But was it so very absurd, in an age full of oppression and cruelty, that manly strength and courage should be devoted to the protection of women against brutal tyranny? For such was the purpose of the institution of chivalry, which figures so much in the Middle Ages, where it often supplied the place of a civilized government. Or when the Moslem conquered Western Asia and threatened Europe, was it strange that men devoted to arms should band together for the defence of their faith? This order of St. John was not made up of carpet knights. No braver men ever fought on bloody fields. Now, indeed, their wars and battles and sieges are over.

"The good Knights are dust,
Their armor rust,
Their souls are with the saints, we trust."

Though the order still exists, it is not for purposes of war, but of peace. Its only war is against human misery. This, indeed, was always a part of its design. There are few things in history more touching than the solemn vow of those armed knights, which they took "as the servants of the poor and of Christ." How well that vow has been kept to this day, the traveller may see who visits the Hospital of the Knights of St. John in Beirut. True, the order remains, as it has always been, a very aristocratic one, composed largely of nobles and princes. Its Grand Master is the Emperor of Germany. But when kings and princes care for the poor and the sick, when they found hospitals and seek to relieve human suffering, they deserve the honor and gratitude of mankind.

When these gallant Knights of St. John took their sad farewell of Rhodes, they left behind them traces of their occupation which still remain in the long sea-wall which guards the city's front, to keep out an enemy as it keeps out the dashing of the waves. This castellated wall is a very picturesque object, as it not only lies along the sea, but turns at either end, winding up the sides of the hill till it has compassed the city round with its lines of defence, which did such valiant service in the memorable siege. But apart from its look of a fortified place, there is nothing warlike in the city of Rhodes. I did not see a single sentinel keeping guard on the walls, nor see a gun mounted, nor hear a drum beat. There was nothing to break the silence of the sleepy old town; and over the wall, which once swarmed with Crusaders, hurling defiance at the besieging Moslems, there are no more formidable demonstrations than those of the windmills, which brandish their long arms against invisible foes.

The "port," if such it may be called, is a diminutive little loch of water, shut in by a projecting mole, or ledge of rocks, at either end, on which stands a round tower, a picturesque object in the landscape, but not very formidable in case of war. One broadside from a man-of-war would make it a heap of ruins. Indeed, when a fort is converted into a light-house, it seems to abdicate its martial design, and to be devoted to the purposes of peace,--all that it is good for now.

It was tantalizing to lie but two or three hundred yards off, and not be able to land; but there was a high sea, the waves were dashing on the rocks, tossing their white crests in the air, and if we had gone on shore it might be difficult to get off in time for the steamer. So we lay broadside to the town for two or three hours, looking wistfully at the gates we could not enter.

But though we did not go on shore, we had visitors from the shore. The Greek boatmen are at home in any sea, and never miss an opportunity to visit a ship. They came on board to sell little boxes of olive-and lemon-wood, and other small wares, which the passengers purchased as souvenirs of Rhodes.

Apart from these petty traffickers, there was a grand old Turk, who sat gloomily in conversation with one who knew him. He was a pasha who had been high in power in Constantinople, but for some cause lost the favor of the Sultan, and was banished to Rhodes. Whether he was guilty of any crime we knew not, nor did it matter whether he was guilty or innocent. Perhaps he had been too inflexibly honest, and so encountered the ill-favor of the Grand Vizier. In either case he had to suffer. The Turkish rule knows neither justice nor mercy. However, his fate was lighter than that of many. He was not kept a prisoner, shut up in a fortress; there was no chain upon his hand; and yet we could not look upon that sad face without feeling how bitter was the bread of exile.

Leaving the city behind us, we sail along the shores of the island, and are charmed with their picturesque beauty. The long line of elevated coast sweeps in and out, projecting and receding, with bays stretching inland, at the end of which one catches glimpses of soft valleys sloping upward to the hills, behind and above which is the mountain-ridge which forms the backbone of the island. These valleys once supported a large population; but now, under the destructive Turkish rule, it has dwindled till there are not forty thousand left. A few poor villages cling to the hill-sides whose inhabitants live on their small plantations of olives, or derive a scanty living from the sea, from which they gather sponges and coral. But with a better government and increased facilities for agriculture and commerce, there is no reason why Rhodes may not recover something of its former prosperity. Its climate is still the finest in the Mediterranean; the sun shines brightly as ever; and the valleys, spite of all the waste and neglect, still retain their natural fertility. With proper culture, they would yield rich harvests, besides oranges and lemons and citrons, with the figs and raisins, which are now exported so largely from Smyrna; while the olive-trees, which grow abundantly, would pour forth "rivers of oil."

We are now in the heart of the Greek Archipelago, which has been famed for its beauty from the days of Homer. As we stood in a group on deck, entranced with the swiftly-changing scene, it was natural that we should compare it with our observation in other parts of the world. A couple of our fellow-passengers, who were on their return from the Far East, said that it reminded them of the Inland Sea of Japan. My thoughts turned to the Malayan Archipelago, where the islands hang rich with tropical vegetation, and the seas flash at night with phosphorescent splendor. But with all that is attractive in those groups of islands, I can hardly believe anything to be equal to this Greek Archipelago. It seems to me that no waters can be so beautiful as those of the Ægean Sea, although there are waters of wonderful clearness in our Western Hemisphere, notably those round the Bahamas and the Bermudas.

And then the Greek islands, so many in number, are of all sizes, large and small, from the rocky islet, fit only for a sea-gull's nest, to an island containing hundreds of square miles. All have the same general character, rising directly from the sea. The coasts are often so rocky that it seems as if a goat could hardly live upon them, and yet midway between the cliffs are little hamlets and patches of cultivation. The outlines of the higher peaks of the islands, broken and jagged, remind us, as they stand up against the sky, of Capri and Ischia in the Bay of Naples, or those African mountains which we saw from the Peninsula of Sinai, on the other side of the Red Sea. Putting all these things together, whatever may be said of the Malayan Archipelago, or of the Inland Sea of Japan, I give my voice for the Greek Archipelago as the most wonderful combination of land and sea, where the most picturesque of islands rise out of the fairest of waters.

We did not touch at Patmos. There is nothing to invite a steamer to turn aside from its course to visit it, except it were to gratify the curiosity of travellers. It has no commerce of any kind. Indeed, its few inhabitants have at certain seasons of the year to cross to other islands to procure the means of subsistence. So barren is it that it was chosen by the Roman emperors as a place of banishment, on which prisoners could be confined as to a rock in the ocean. Yet this poor little island has gathered about it a mighty tradition, for it was the place of exile of the last of the Apostles. "I, John, was in the isle that is called Patmos, for the Word of God, and for the testimony of Jesus Christ." Here he wrote the Book of Revelation, and here was erected in the twelfth century a monastery bearing his name. We thought we could just discern the outline of the island and the convent rising above it on the western horizon.

The next morning at daylight we were off Scio, that island of sad and bloody memories. Sixty years ago it was the scene of an event which made the ears of the civilized world to tingle. When the Greek Revolution broke out in 1822 it is said that the people here were reluctant to take part in it, but were stirred up by emissaries from Samos; and, perhaps because Scio had been one of the most prosperous of the Greek islands, it was to be the special mark of Turkish vengeance. A fleet anchored off the town, and without a warning of its terrible fate, soldiers were let loose upon the inhabitants. No age or sex was spared. Not only were men cut down in their homes, but their wives and children with them. Twenty-two thousand were put to the sword, and forty-seven thousand were sold into slavery. But this massacre was not to go unavenged. The Greeks had no ships of war, but they converted old hulks into fire-ships, in which they sailed with the utmost daring into the centre of the Turkish fleet, and setting them on fire, escaped in their boats. The flag-ship was burnt, and the admiral and crew perished in the flames,--a terrible retribution for the massacre of Scio. Since Greek independence was secured, it has partly recovered; but several years since the town was nearly destroyed by an earthquake, so that it seems as if the island were doomed to destruction.

But all over this wreck and ruin shines the brightness of a name that will ever give to it a place in history. It is the reputed birthplace of Homer, and as such cannot be passed by without notice by the traveller.

[From Scio, Dr. Field sailed for Asia Minor, and spent some time
among its historic cities. On his return he passed the island
of Lesbos, which has long been famous as the home of Sappho and
others of the lyric poets of Greece.]

As the afternoon drew on, we were approaching a large island,--the ancient Lesbos, now Mitylene,--and as we were on its eastern side, and the sun was sinking in the west, we were coming under its shadow, and this softer light enabled us to see it better than we could have done in the glare of noonday. The tops of the mountains stood out with wonderful clearness against the sky, while the outline of the coast winding in and out with its headlands and its bays, and the soft green valleys rising from the shore and running upward to the slopes of the hills, gave it an infinite variety and beauty. Clinging to the hill-sides were pretty villages, with groves of oak cultivated for the acorns they yield, which are used for tanning purposes and exported to Europe, while the pine-forests on the mountains furnish timber and pitch.

The valleys are very fertile, and if they are not "covered over with corn," they have large plantations of fig and other fruit-trees; while the olive-orchards, if they do not pour out "rivers of oil," yet yield it in such abundance as makes it the chief industry of the island, and furnishes a source of wealth to the thrifty inhabitants. All these varieties of vegetation were now in their perfect bloom, as it was the middle of May, when in the East the earth rejoices in the freshness of spring-time. As we sailed along these shores in the twilight, I wondered if a fairer Arcadia ever rose out of the waters of this troubled world.

The island of Lesbos has an important place in Greek history, even at its most remote period. As early as the siege of Troy it had a large population, and continued to flourish for centuries.

When Athens had its Academy, Lesbos had its schools of philosophy, which attracted the wise men of Greece. It was even more famous as the birthplace of a school of lyric poets,--

"Where burning Sappho lived and sung,"

and others whose stirring odes live in the collections of Greek poetry.

When the Romans became masters of the East they were attracted by the beauty of the Greek islands. Their fondness for a mild-tempered climate, such as is found in greatest perfection in an island lying in summer seas, where the temperature of the sea softens alike the heat of summer and the cold of winter,--which led them to choose Ischia and Capri, at the mouth of the Bay of Naples, as favorite abodes of Imperial luxury,--led them, when sent to distant provinces, to choose Lesbos, which Tacitus describes in a line as "_insula nobilis et amoena_" [a noble and pleasant island], as one of those semi-royal retreats in which a Roman governor might pass his splendid exile, and almost forget his absence from the imperial city....

On the whole, Mitylene seems to me the most important, as well as the most beautiful, island of the Archipelago, and this very beauty and fertility but increase the regret that it should be under the rule of Turkey when it ought to belong to Greece. It is nearer to Athens than to Constantinople. It lies midway between the shores of Asia Minor and the mainland of Greece, and its population is almost wholly Greek. It is Greek in religion. One coming into Mitylene sees neither mosque nor minaret. Thus it is Greek by its position, its history, and its people. If ever there comes a time of "the restitution of all things," the island will be taken from Turkey and restored to its natural place as part of the young kingdom of Greece.

THE SERAGLIO ON THE GOLDEN HORN.

EDWARD DANIEL CLARKE.

[Dr. Clarke, in his animated descriptions of the countries of
Eastern Europe, gives picturesque accounts of what is to be seen
in Constantinople and other portions of the Sultan's domain.
Perhaps the most interesting of these is his description of a
stolen visit to the seraglio, a tabooed place only to be inspected
at imminent risk of life. Our traveller managed to see it quite
thoroughly, as will be seen from his story of the dangerous
enterprise.]

I eagerly sought an opportunity to examine the interior of the seraglio; and, difficult as the undertaking may seem, soon found the means of its accomplishment. The harmony existing between England and the Porte at that critical juncture when Egypt was to be restored to the Turks by the valor of our troops, greatly facilitated the enterprise. I felt convinced that within the walls of the seraglio many interesting antiquities were concealed from observation; and I was not disappointed.

The first place to which my observations were directed was the imperial armory; and here, to my great gratification, I beheld the weapons, shields, and military engines of the Greek emperors, exactly corresponding with those represented on the medals and bas-reliefs of the ancients, suspended as trophies of the capture of the city by the Turks....

Soon after this some pages, belonging to the seraglio, brought from the Sultan's apartments the fragments of a magnificent vase of jasper-agate, which, it was said, his highness had dashed to pieces in a moment of anger. As these fragments were cast away, and disregarded, they came at last into the hands of a poor lapidary, who earned a scanty livelihood by cutting and polishing stones for the signet-rings of the Turks. In one of my mineralogical excursions, the merchants of the _bez esten_, where jewels are sold, directed me to the laboratory of this man, to obtain the precious stones of the country in their natural state. He was then employed upon the fragments of this vase, and very gladly spared the labor which he would otherwise have bestowed by consigning, for a small sum, the whole of them to me. It is hardly possible to conceive a more extraordinary proof of the genius and industry of Grecian artists than was presented by this vase. Its fragments are still in my possession; and have been reserved for annual exhibition, during a course of public lectures in the University of Cambridge. When it is stated that the treasury of Mithridates contained four thousand specimens of similar manufacture, all of which came into the hands of the Romans, and that the Turks are unable to execute anything of the same nature, it is highly probable this curious relique originally constituted one of the number, which, after passing into the possession of the Turks at the conquest of the city, had continued to adorn the palace of their sovereigns. Such a conjecture is strengthened by the mythological figure, represented in exquisite sculpture, on the vase itself. It consists of an entire mass of green jasper-agate, beautifully variegated with veins and spots of a vermilion color; so that part of it exhibits the ribbon-jasper and part the bloodstone. The handle is formed to represent the head of a griffin (carved in all the perfection of the finest cameo), whose extended wings and claws cover the exterior surface. The difficulty of working a silicious concretion of such extraordinary hardness needs not to be specified; it may be presumed that the entire life of the ancient lapidary, by whom it was wrought, could have been scarcely adequate to such a performance; nor do we at all know in what manner the work was effected. Yet there are parts of it in which the sides of the vase are as thin as the finest porcelain.

A second visit, which I made to the interior of the seraglio, was not attended by any very interesting discovery; but as it enabled me to describe with minuteness scenes hitherto impervious to European eyes, the reader may be gratified by the observations made within those walls. Every one is curious to know what exists within recesses which have been long closed against the intrusion of Christians. In vain does the eye, roaming from the towers of Galata, Pera, and Constantinople, attempt to penetrate the thick gloom of cypresses and domes which distinguishes the most beautiful part of Constantinople. Imagination magnifies things unknown; and when, in addition to the curiosity always excited by mystery, the reflection is suggested that ancient Byzantium occupied the site of the Sultan's palace, a thirst of inquiry is proportionably augmented. I promise to conduct my readers not only within the retirement of the seraglio, but into the charem itself, and the most secluded haunts of the Turkish sovereign. Would only I could also promise a degree of satisfaction, in this respect, adequate to their desire of information.

It so happened that the gardener of the Grand Seignior, during our residence in Constantinople, was a German. This person used to mix with the society in Pera, and often joined in the evening parties given by the different foreign ministers. In this manner we became acquainted with him, and were invited to his apartments within the walls of the seraglio, close to the gates of the Sultan's garden. We were accompanied during our first visit by his intimate friend, the secretary and chaplain of the Swedish mission, who, but a short time before, had succeeded in obtaining a sight of the four principal Sultanas and the Sultan mother, in consequence of his frequent visits to the gardener. They were sitting together one morning, when the cries of the black eunuchs, opening the door of the charem, which communicated with the seraglio gardens, announced that these ladies were going to take the air. In order to do this it was necessary to pass the gates adjoining the gardener's lodge, where an _arabat_ was stationed to receive them, in which it was usual for them to drive round the walks of the seraglio, within the walls of the palace.

Upon these occasions the black eunuchs examine every part of the garden, and run before the women, calling out to all persons to avoid approaching or beholding them, under pain of death. The gardener and his friend the Swede instantly closed all the shutters and locked the doors. The black eunuchs arriving soon after, and finding the lodge shut, supposed the gardener to be absent. Presently followed the Sultan mother, with the four principal Sultanas, who were in high glee, romping and laughing with each other. A small scullery window of the gardener's lodge looked directly towards the gate through which these ladies were to pass, and was separated from it only by a few yards. Here, through two small gimlet-holes, bored for that purpose, they beheld very distinctly the features of the women, whom they described as possessing extraordinary beauty. Three of the four were Georgians, having dark complexions and very long dark hair; but the fourth was remarkably fair, and her hair, also of singular length and thickness, was of a flaxen color; neither were their teeth dyed black, as those of Turkish women generally are.

The Swedish gentleman said he was almost sure they suspected they were seen, from the address they manifested in displaying their charms and in loitering at the gate. This gave him and his friend no small degree of terror, as they would have paid for their curiosity with their lives if any such suspicion had entered the minds of the black eunuchs. He described their dresses as rich beyond all that can be imagined. Long spangled robes, open in front, with pantaloons embroidered in gold and silver, and covered by a profusion of pearls and precious stones, displayed their persons to great advantage, but were so heavy as to actually encumber their motion and almost to impede their walking. Their hair hung in loose and very thick tresses on each side of their cheeks, falling quite down to the waist, and covering their shoulders behind. Those tresses were quite powdered with diamonds, not displayed according to any studied arrangement, but as if carelessly scattered by handfuls among their flowing locks. On the top of their heads, and rather leaning to one side, they wore each of them a small circular patch or diadem. Their faces, necks, and even their breasts were quite exposed, not one of them having any veil.

The German gardener, who had daily access to different parts of the seraglio, offered to conduct us not only over the gardens, but promised, if we would come singly, during the season of the _Ramadan_, when the guards, being up all night, would be stupefied during the day with sleep and intoxication, to undertake the greater risk of showing us the interior of the charem, or apartments of the women,--that is to say, of that part which they inhabit during the summer; for they were still in their winter chambers. We readily accepted this offer. I only solicited the further indulgence of being accompanied by a French artist of the name of Preaux, whose extraordinary promptitude in design would enable him to bring away sketches of anything we might find interesting, either in the charem or gardens of the seraglio. The apprehensions of Monsieur Preaux were, however, so great, that it was with the greatest difficulty I could prevail upon him to venture into the seraglio, and he afterwards either lost or secreted the only drawing which his fears would allow him to make while he was there.

We left Pera, in a gondola, about seven o'clock in the morning, embarking at Tophana, and steering towards that gate of the seraglio which faces the Bosporus on the southeastern side, where the entrance to the seraglio gardens and the gardener's lodge are situated. A bostanghy, as a sort of porter, is usually seated, with his attendants, within the portal. Upon entering the seraglio, the spectator is struck by a wild and confused assemblage of great and interesting objects. Among the first of these are enormous cypresses, massive and lofty masonry, neglected and broken sarcophagi, high-rising mounds, and a long, gloomy avenue, leading from the gates of the garden between the double walls of the seraglio. This gate is the same by which the Sultanas came out for the airing before alluded to, and the gardener's lodge is on the right hand of it. The avenue extending from it towards the west offers a broad and beautiful, although solitary, walk, to a very considerable extent shut in by high walls on both sides. Directly opposite this entrance of the seraglio is a very lofty mound, or bank, covered by large trees, and traversed by terraces, over which, on the top, are walls with turrets. On the right hand, after entering, are the large wooden folding doors of the Grand Seignior's gardens, and near them lie many fragments of ancient marbles, appropriated to the vilest purposes; among others, a sarcophagus of one block of marble, covered with a simple though unmeaning bas-relief.

Entering the gardens by the folding doors, a pleasing _coup d'oeil_ of trellis-work and covered walks is displayed, more after the taste of Holland than that of any other country. Various and very despicable _jets d'eau_, straight gravel-walks, and borders disposed in parallelograms, with the exception of a long greenhouse filled with orange-trees, compose all that appears in the small spot which bears the name of the seraglio gardens. The view on entering is down the principal gravel-walk, and all the walks meet at the central point, beneath a dome of the same trellis-work by which they are covered. Small fountains spout a few quarts of water into large shells, or form parachutes over lighted bougies, by the sides of the walks. The trellis-work is of wood, painted white, and covered by jasmine; and this, as it does not conceal the artificial frame by which it is supported, produces a wretched effect. On the outside of the trellis-work appear small parterres, edged with box, containing very common flowers, and adorned with fountains. On the right hand, after entering the garden, appears the magnificent kiosk, which constitutes the Sultan's summer residence; and farther on is the orangery before mentioned, occupying the whole extent of the wall on that side.

Exactly opposite the garden gates is the door of the charem, or palace of the women belonging to the Grand Seignior; a building not unlike one of the small colleges in Cambridge, and enclosing the same sort of cloistered court. One side of this building extends across the upper extremity of the garden, so that the windows look into it. Below these windows are two small greenhouses, filled with very common plants, and a number of canary-birds. Before the charem windows, on the right hand, is a ponderous, gloomy, wooden door; and this, creaking on its massive hinges, opens to the quadrangle, or interior court of the charem itself.... We will keep this door shut for a short time, in order to describe the seraglio gardens more minutely; and afterwards open it, to gratify the reader's curiosity.

Still facing the charem on the left hand is a paved ascent, leading, through a handsome gilded iron gate, from the lower to the upper garden. Here is a kiosk, which I shall presently describe. Returning from the charem to the door by which we first entered, a lofty wall on the right hand supports a terrace with a few small parterres: these, at a considerable height above the lower garden, constitute what is now called the upper part of the seraglio; and, till within these few years, it was the only one.

Having thus completed the tour of this small and insignificant spot of ground, let us now enter the kiosk, which I first mentioned as the Sultan's summer residence. It is situated on the sea-shore, and commands one of the finest views the eye ever beheld, of Scutari and the Asiatic coast, the mouth of the canal, and a moving picture of ships, gondolas, dolphins, birds, with all the floating pageantry of this vast metropolis, such as no other capital in the world can pretend to exhibit. The kiosk itself, fashioned after the airy fantastic style of Eastern architecture, presents a spacious chamber, covered by a dome, from which, towards the sea, advances a raised platform surrounded by windows, and terminated by a divan. On the right and left are the private apartments of the Sultan and his ladies. From the centre of the dome is suspended a large lustre presented by the English ambassador. Above the raised platform hangs another lustre of a smaller size, but more elegant. Immediately over the sofas constituting the divan are mirrors engraved with Turkish inscriptions; poetry and passages from the Korân. The sofas are of white satin beautifully embroidered by the women of the seraglio.

[Our traveller proceeds to describe the various apartments
visited, including the rooms devoted to the women of the
seraglio, and the charem (or harem) itself. Passing through large
dormitories, the great chamber of audience of the Sultan mother
was reached, an apartment theatrical in adornment, and giving "a
striking idea of the pomp, the seclusion, and the magnificence of
the Ottoman court."]

Beyond the great chamber of audience is the Assembly Room of the Sultan, when he is in the charem. Here we observed the magnificent lustre before mentioned. The Sultan sometimes visits this chamber during the winter, to hear music and to amuse himself with his favorites. It is surrounded by mirrors. The other ornaments display that strange mixture of magnificence and wretchedness which characterize all the state chambers of Turkish grandees. Leaving the Assembly Room by the same door through which we entered, and continuing along the passage as before, which runs parallel to the sea-shore, we at length reached what might be termed the _sanctum sanctorum_ of this Paphian temple, the baths of the Sultan mother and the four principal Sultanas. These are small, but very elegant, constructed of white marble, and lighted by ground glass above. At the upper end is a raised sudatory and bath for the Sultan mother, concealed by lattice-work from the rest of the apartment. Fountains play constantly into the floor of this bath from all its sides; and every degree of refined luxury has been added to the work which a people, above all others best versed in the ceremonies of the bath, have been capable of inventing or requiring.

Leaving the bath and returning along the passage by which we came, we entered what is called the Chamber of Repose. Nothing need be said of it, except that it commands the finest view anywhere afforded from this point of the seraglio. It forms a part of the building well known to strangers, from the circumstance of its being supported, towards the sea, by twelve columns of that beautiful and rare _breccia_, the _viride Lacedoemonium_ of Pliny, called by Italians _Il verde antico_. These columns are of the finest quality ever seen, and each of them consists of one entire stone. The two interior pillars are of green Egyptian breccia, more beautiful than any specimen of the kind existing.

[An apartment overlooking the gardens was now reached, on
attempting to leave which for the garden, they found to their
consternation that the door had been locked since their entrance.
A slave had entered to feed some turkeys, and fortunately the
noise made by these birds enabled them to force back the lock
without being heard and escape.]

We now quitted the lower garden of the seraglio and ascended by a paved road towards the chamber of the Garden of Hyacinths. This promised to be interesting, as we were told the Sultan passed almost all his private hours in that apartment, and the view of it might make us acquainted with occupations and amusements which characterize the man, divested of the outward parade of the sultan. We presently turned from the paved ascent towards the right, and entered a small garden, laid out into very neat oblong borders, edged with porcelain or Dutch tiles. Here no plant is suffered to grow except the hyacinth, whence the name of this garden and the chamber it contains. We examined this apartment by looking through a window. Nothing can be more magnificent. Three sides of it were surrounded by a divan, the cushions and pillows of which were of black embroidered satin. Opposite the windows of the chamber was a fireplace, after the ordinary European fashion; and on each side of this, a door covered with hangings of crimson cloth. Between each of these doors and the fireplace appeared a glass case, containing the Sultan's private library, every volume being in manuscript, and upon shelves, one above the other, and the title of each book written on the edges of its leaves.

From the ceiling of the room, which was of burnished gold, opposite each of the doors and also opposite to the fireplace, hung three gilt cages containing small figures of artificial birds; these sung by mechanism. In the centre of the room stood an enormous gilt brazier, supported, in a ewer, by four massive claws, like vessels seen under sideboards in England. Opposite to the entrance, on one side of the apartment, was a raised bench, crossing a door, on which were placed an embroidered napkin, a vase, and basin for washing the beard and hands. Over this bench, upon the wall, was suspended the large embroidered _porte-feuille_, worked with silver thread on yellow leather, which is carried in procession when the Sultan goes to mosque or elsewhere in public, to contain the petitions presented by his subjects. In a nook close to the door was also a pair of yellow boots, and on the bench, by the ewer, a pair of slippers of the same materials. These are placed at the entrance of every apartment frequented by the Sultan.

The floor was covered with Gobelin tapestry, and the ceiling, as before stated, magnificently gilded and burnished. Groups of arms, such as pistols, sabres, and poignards, were disposed with very singular taste and effect on the different compartments of the walls, the handles and scabbards of which were covered with diamonds of very large size; these, as they glittered around, gave a most gorgeous effect to the splendor of this sumptuous chamber.

We had scarce ended our survey of this costly scene when, to our great dismay, a bostanghy made his appearance within the apartment, but, fortunately for us, his head was turned from the window, and we immediately sunk below it, creeping upon our hands and knees, until we got clear of the Garden of Hyacinths. Thence, ascending to the upper walks, we passed an aviary of nightingales.

The walks in the upper garden are very small, in wretched condition, and laid out in worse taste than the fore court of a Dutchman's house in the suburbs of the Hague. Small as they are, they constituted, until lately, the whole of the seraglio gardens near the sea, and from them may be seen the whole prospect of the entrance to the canal and the opposite coast of Scutari. Here, in an old kiosk, is seen a very ordinary marble slab, supported on iron cramps; this, nevertheless, was a present from Charles the Twelfth of Sweden. It is precisely the sort of sideboard seen in the lowest inns of England; and, while it may be said no person would pay half the amount of its freight to send it back again, it shows the nature of the presents then made to the Porte by foreign princes. From these formal parterres we descended to the gardener's lodge, and left the gardens by the gate through which we entered.

I never should have offered so copious a detail of the scenery of this remarkable place if I did not believe that an account of the interior of the seraglio would be satisfactory, from the secluded nature of the objects to which it bears reference, and the little probability there is of so favorable an opportunity being again granted to any traveller for its investigation.

ZERMATT AND ITS SCENERY.

STANLEY HOPE.

[They who would see Swiss scenery at its best will not fail to
visit Zermatt, and thither went the traveller from whom we now
quote. What he saw there, and what makes Zermatt worth visiting,
we leave it to him to relate.]

It has been said that one may ascend the Gorner Grat a hundred times and yet not obtain a clear view of the mountains. If this be true, I was exceptionally fortunate in the day I selected for the ascent. Four days of perfectly unclouded weather followed my advent in the marvellous valley of Zermatt, and as the district is somewhat removed from the more frequented tracks, and has, perhaps, been less often described, I venture on a slight record of what I saw in the short time at my disposal.

For, in spite of the facilities of travel in these days of railways and steamboats, in spite of all that has been written on the subject, Switzerland is still a _terra incognita_ to the great mass of English people. The majesty of its mountains, the fragrance of its pine forests, the richness of its valleys, are still as a sealed book to the multitude. A great proportion even of those who have the means are content to live and die without gazing on these most marvellous works of God's hand, although they may become acquainted with them for a sum which a man would willingly pay for a quarter cask of dinner sherry, or a woman for a new silk dress.

Zermatt, the crowning glory of the Alps, is somewhat difficult of access. Coming from England, it is best to go by rail straight to Sierre, and thence by diligence or private conveyance to Visp, some seventeen miles farther up the Rhone valley. Here it is better to shoulder one's knapsack, for there is no carriage road for the first twelve miles of the Visp-Thal, which leads to Zermatt, though the mule-path is exceptionally good.

Visp itself is an interesting spot. It is beautifully situated in the Rhone valley at the point where the river, bearing the same name, comes foaming down from the Gorner glacier, twenty-seven miles away. The river flows into the Rhone near this point with a volume almost as great as the Rhone itself. The little town was once a place of great importance. The houses on the heights, which still bear traces of the earthquake of 1855, were formerly the palaces of the princes of the Valais. The church, which stands on an eminence above the river, is a most interesting building, sadly neglected by guide-books, and, consequently, by tourists. It is built on the remains of a Roman temple. There is a picturesque Roman gate-way, with time-worn marble columns, which certainly ought not to be passed over; and in the charnel-house, exposed to the church-yard, is a ghastly array of many hundred human skulls ranged in tiers against the inner wall.