Constantinople and the Scenery of the Seven Churches of Asia Minor

APARTMENT IN THE PALACE OF EYOUB, THE RESIDENCE OF THE ASMÉ SULTANA

T. Allom. T. A. Friar.

In the delightful region of Eyoub, not far from the tomb of the Ansar, and close upon the waters of the Golden Horn, is an imperial residence recalling the memory of the unfortunate Selim, who selected this quiet and delicious retreat for his sister, to which he might occasionally retire in pursuit of that tranquillity his gentle spirit was not doomed to enjoy, among the perils and tumults that disturbed his reign. It bears the impress of his hand. Though inclining to and beginning to adopt European usages, his taste was still Oriental. Unlike the bold and uncompromising character of Mahmoud, he halted between two opinions; and, while the new palace of the one exhibits on the shores of the Bosphorus a noble specimen of European architecture, the new palace of the other is no improvement on Eastern barbarism; the palace is perfectly Turkish.

On passing along the arabesque front, the gaudy glare of the gilded apartments within are reflected through any open casement with an almost painful and dazzling lustre, particularly if the sun shines, so as to repel the gazer. The reception-room, or salaamlik, the only part given in our illustration, is remote from the harem, from whose mysterious recesses all strangers are utterly excluded: it is entered by a close curtain or screen drawn across the door, and immediately falling behind the person who passes, and gives a kind of mysterious and jealous precaution even to this permitted room. Here a balustrade of pillars runs across, leaving a passage in the centre which is ascended by steps, so that the upper end is raised like the dais of our Gothic halls. This portion of the apartment is covered over with gilding; the walls are pierced with various niches and circular recesses, ornamented with pendent members like icicles, and recall the mind to the cloistered sculpture of our old churches, and, notwithstanding the bright glare, convey the impression of gilding on a coffin. The panels are decorated with embossed festoons, glittering with burnished gold on a frosted surface. The ceiling, which in a Turkish apartment is always highly ornamented, is enclosed in an octagonal moulding with a central embossment, from which issue to the circumference radiating decorations; the ground is azure blue studded with gilded stars.

This spacious apartment, like every other room, is entirely divested of furniture. The only seats are cushions of a divan, like a sofa, running round all the walls, on which a man of elevated rank sits cross-legged, smoking a chiboque, whose long tube extends many yards on the floor below, where it is received into a gilded vase, and renovated by a kneeling attendant. Persons of inferior rank recline on carpets spread on the floor; beside the balustrade stand the mutes and black slaves, ready to do the behests of their master; and, as every person is admitted, he makes a profound salaam, nearly touching his forehead to the ground, on which he lays his hand, and then raises it to his head as if to scatter dust upon it. Such is the general description of every salaamlik, or hall of salutation, of which this imperial one is a model.

The edifice is appropriated to the Asmé Sultana, or sister of the reigning sovereign. The former tenant, for whom it was erected by Selim, was one of whom the scandalous chronicles of Pera reported many delinquencies: she was said to be of a perverse and implacable character, very different from her gentle brother; she was in the habit of fixing her affections on every one who struck her fancy, and allowed no restraint upon her will, which it was equally fatal to refuse or comply with. It was the agreeable recreation of all classes, Turks, Rayas, and Franks, to proceed either by land or water to some of the lovely valleys opening on the Bosphorus, and pic-nic on the grass; here she used to repair, and her approach among the various groups was described to be like the appearance of some bird of prey among the feeble flocks of smaller fowl. Every man trembled, lest she should fix her ominous glance on him. A dragoman of the English mission, who possessed a comely face, one day attracted her notice: a slave notified to him that a lady wished to speak with him, and he followed her, nothing loth. When arrived at where a group of Turkish women were seated, he recognized with horror the too-well-known countenance of the sultan’s sister, through the disguise with which she had covered it. After some refreshments, which were handed to him, he retired, but was followed by the slave, who intimated to him to repair, at a certain hour at night, to her palace: instead of doing so, the dragoman immediately left the city, and proceeded to Smyrna, where he concealed himself. Meantime the rage of the disappointed lady became furious: suite and pursuite were made after him by her emissaries; nor was it till another object had attracted her volatile regards, that he ventured to return to his employment; and even then he lived in considerable anxiety. Another instance occurred soon after, which justified his apprehension. A man in the humble rank of a musician, attached to a band who were occasionally sent for to play at the seraglio, attracted her notice, and was selected as the fated object of her regard; he afterwards, in some way, incurred her displeasure, and he, and the whole company to which he belonged, were sacrificed. A caïque was sent for them from the seraglio to the Princess’ Islands, where they resided, and they went as usual, without apprehension; the next day the caïque returned without them, but brought back their clothes to their distracted families; it was then learned that they had been all cut to pieces for the imputed offence of one man, and their bodies cast into the sea.

The sister of Sultan Mahmoud, the Asmé Sultana, who now possesses the palace, and occasionally visits it, is the widow of an officer of high rank, and conducts herself with discretion: she regulates her domestic affairs with strict propriety, and affords a protection to her dependents, which even her terrible brother, the sultan, dared not violate. Among the young ladies of her establishment was one who, without any high degree of personal charms, had attracted the notice of Mahmoud in one of his visits, and he immediately proposed to receive her into his harem; to his astonishment, this flattering proposal was declined by the girl. She resisted his offers, and preferred an humble attachment founded on mutual affection, to all the splendour that awaited her in the imperial seraglio. The sultan, rendered only more importunate by her opposition still persisted in his proposal, but was finally and firmly rejected; and he, whose look was death, whose nod consigned 40,000 formidable Janissaries in one day to utter annihilation, was unable to overcome the reluctance of a timid girl, and dared not violate the sanctity of that protection which the Asmé Sultana had afforded her; so she was ultimately allowed to follow the bent of her own inclination, and select a lover for herself.

REMAINS OF THE CHURCH OF ST. JOHN−PERGAMUS.
ASIA MINOR

T. Allom. J. Tingle.

Among the first edifices, erected by Constantine the Great to Christianity, in his new city, was one dedicated to St. John the Evangelist, whom the Greeks hold in the highest veneration, and distinguish by the appellation of “The Great Theologian.” It was situated in the Hebdomum, or great plain, and was one of its most striking ornaments. In the subsequent reign of Theodosius the Great, the heart of St. John the Baptist, or, as the Greeks call him, the Prodromus, or “fore-runner” of Christ, was discovered, and the precious relic solemnly deposited in this church of his namesake by the emperor. He then directed other edifices to be built to the great theologian in the cities where his churches of the Apocalypse were founded, and one of extraordinary dimensions at Pergamus.

This church was, next to that of Santa Sophia, the best model of a Greek Christian edifice. Its remains at this day are of gigantic proportions, and afford a melancholy memorial of the vast Christian population that required so large an edifice, where now the existence of Christianity is hardly known. It stands near the great khan of the city, and rises above all the other buildings, on which it seems to look down. The length of the ruin is 225 feet, and its height about half its length. It is built of layers of Roman brick and masses of marble; and everywhere abounds in the fragments of architectural ornaments, which seem to have been drawn away from other edifices to adorn it. Two rows of granite columns still stand, dividing it into two aisles, and supporting the gallery designed for females. In the Greek church they are always separated. An Oriental feeling secludes them behind close lattices above, while men only occupy the body of the church below. The altar still stands in a semicircular recess, flanked by copolas on either side, forming a spacious area of 160 feet in circumference, crowned with domes 100 feet in height, towering far above the external walls. The doors are very lofty, fronting a spacious curve in the opposite wall, which leads to a vaulted apartment supported by a massive pillar.

The Turks entertain for the name of St. John a considerable respect and veneration. He is recognized in the Koran as the son of Zacharias, and the account of him resembles that in the Gospel. His father was promised a child, and, from the age of his wife, he doubted the fulfilment of it; as a token and punishment, he was struck dumb, and was unable to speak for three days. The Turks, who do not seem to make any distinction between the Evangelist and the Baptist, suffered this edifice to continue its Christian worship after they had overrun Asia Minor, and taken possession of this city of the Apocalypse; but on the subjugation of Constantinople, when Santa Sophia was assigned to the worship of Mahomet, this great Christian church shared its fate, and was converted into a mosque; but tradition says that a miracle caused it to be abandoned. To mark its appropriation to the Prophet, a minaret was built at one of its angles, as was done at Santa Sophia, where the muezzin ascended, and called the faithful to pray in it. In this minaret was a door which pointed to the west or setting sun, a proper orthodox aspect: when the muezzin returned next day to invite the people to morning-prayer, he could not find the door; and after an examination as to the cause of its disappearance, it was discovered that the tower had turned completely round on its base, and opposed an impenetrable wall to the entrance of the Islam priest: this was considered a plain indication of the will of Allah; so the edifice was restored to its former worship. This continued long after, till the decline and total decay of its Christian congregation; and still the semblance of it is faintly displayed. The traveller, in exploring his way through the ruins, is attracted by the light of a dim and dingy lamp, which he finds is placed before a dirty, tawdry picture of the panaya, stuck on the naked wall behind it. The poor Greek, his guide, as he passes it, first kisses it with affectionate respect, then kneels and bows his head to the ground, and offers up a short prayer to this his favourite picture. He then “goes on his way rejoicing,” but never presumes to pass without this tribute of devotion to the Virgin, though he probably knows nothing of the Evangelist to whom the church was consecrated. Other parts of the building are applied to the meanest uses; a portion of it is converted into a manufacture of coarse earthen ware, and filled with heaps of mud, and rude and barbarous pottery.

As an appropriate object in our illustration, the stork is seen crowning the summit of a tower with its slender form and elongated limbs. This bird has been in all ages a never-failing inhabitant of Oriental towns, noted and celebrated for its qualities, which have conferred upon it its name; it is called in Hebrew chesadao, which implies “mercy or piety,” and alludes to the known tenderness and attachment of the bird to its parents, whom it is reported never to desert in advanced age, but feeds and protects even at the hazard of its own safety: its emigrating qualities are noticed by the most ancient writers: Jeremiah says, “Yea, the stork in the heavens knoweth her appointed time;”²³ and nothing can be more striking than their appearance at the approaching period. They collect together in large detachments, and are seen wheeling about at an immense height in the air, above some lofty eminence, before their forward progress commences, like scouts sent out to reconnoitre the way; their white bodies, long-projected red legs, and curved necks turning to every point of the compass as if examining the road, give them a singular picturesque appearance, while the light, reflected from their bright colours, causes them to be distinctly seen at a great distance in the air.

When they do depart for distant regions, their vigilance and precaution have been extolled by many writers; their leader appoints certain sentinels, to watch where they alight for repose; this they must do standing on one leg, while they hold a stone grasped in the claw of the other. If they are known to have dropped the stone, it is a presumption they have slept on their post, and are punished accordingly; when they arrive at the place of their destination, they take note of the loiterer who comes last, and he also suffers, as an example to the negligent. To the ingenious pictures of ancient writers and others, which tradition has handed down to us, the moderns have added many more.−The Psalmist says, “As for the stork, the fir-trees are her house,”²⁴ and here they build at the present day, and seem to take under their protection a multitude of small birds, who make their nests among the materials of the larger ones, and form a numerous community. It is pleasing to see the harmony and affection that subsist between them; and the sense of security the smaller evince under the protection of their larger friends. Many of these are birds of passage also, but their size, and the feebleness of their flight, seem to preclude the possibility of a long journey; yet they all disappear together, so the Turks affirm that the storks take their little friends upon their backs, and every one carries as many as he can stow between his wings. It is certain, that when the storks disappear in the night, on the next day not a small bird is to be seen left behind them. From a belief in this and similar tales, the Turks confer a sacred character on the bird; and besides their general indisposition to hurt any animal in a state of nature, they peculiarly inhibit the destruction of a stork. Whoever injures one, incurs considerable personal danger. For this feeling, there is some reasonable foundation:−the marshes abound with reptiles of all kinds, generated in immense numbers in the rank slime of the soil. They are providentially the food of the stork, and, but for their consumption in this way, would so increase as to render the country uninhabitable by man. It appears from Pliny, that their utility for this purpose was so felt, that the penalty of death was decreed against any man who destroyed a stork.

Though the bird is seen in great numbers in all Oriental towns, Pergamus seems its favourite haunt; the inhabitants feel for it a fraternal regard, call it by endearing names, and affirm their attachment is so mutual, that it follows the Moslem people into whatever part of the globe they emigrate. They erect on their houses frame-work of wood, to induce the stork to build there; the public edifices are covered with them; the mosques and their minarets are full of their nests, and on every “jutting pier, buttress, and coign of “vantage” is seen their “procreant cradle.” Below, they strut about the town with perfect familiarity, and are never disturbed by those they meet; and their tall, slender heads are seen rising among the turbans and calpacs of a crowded street. So jealous are the Turks of the friendship of this bird, that they affirm it never builds on an edifice inhabited by any but a Mussulman. It is certain they are seldom seen in the Greek and Armenian quarters; it is probable the timid Christians, from the apprehension of exciting the envy of their masters, discourage or repel the stork whenever it approaches their habitations.

MOSQUE OF SANTA SOPHIA, AND FOUNTAIN OF THE SERAGLIO.
CONSTANTINOPLE

Drawn by Leitch. Sketched by T. Allom. Engraved by J. Sands.

This is another view of the same objects as were given in a former illustration; but their are presented under a different aspect. In the centre of the front is the Fountain built by Achmet, with its rich display of gilded arabesque, on a bright blue and red ground; on the left are the various edifices connected with Santa Sophia, the vast aërial dome swelling above them, and intended to represent a section of the concave firmament; and on the right is the Babu Humayun, or, “Sublime Porte,” already described.

From this gate is seen, in perspective, descending the hill, the turreted and battlemented walls of the Seraglio gardens, running down to the harbour, and supposed to be the remains of that very ancient fortification which marked the city of Byzantium, and cut off the apex of the triangle which it occupied. The street below it is the great avenue leading from the lower parts of the city to the Seraglio, and many characteristic displays of Turkish manners are exhibited in it.

When an audience is granted by the sultan to a Frank ambassador, it is notified to him by the dragoman, and a very early hour is appointed for the purpose. Horses, richly caparisoned, are sent to convey him and his suite; and, before light in the morning, if it be not in summer, they mount in their grandest costumes. As all the Frank ministers reside in Pera, they have the harbour to cross, so they clatter down the steep and rugged streets leading to the water, at the imminent hazard of breaking their limbs, and display any thing but a grand and dignified procession. Having passed the harbour, they are received in a small mean coffee-house on the water-edge, where pipes and coffee are presented, after which they resume their march on fresh horses. There stands a great tree, at the point where some streets meet; here the cortege are directed to halt, and here they are condemned to wait till the grand vizir, and other functionaries, are pleased to issue from his bureau, in the Downing-street of Constantinople. The contemptuous manner in which infidel ministers were formerly treated, here began to display itself. Instead of the respect with which the representative of a brother sovereign ought to be received, he was kept standing in an open, dirty street, sometimes under heavy rain, for an hour or more, without the slightest attention shown, or notice taken of him, except being stared at, or called opprobrious names, muttered by some fanatic Turk as he passed by. At length the vizir was seen slowly moving down from his office; and it was supposed that he would courteously greet the expected ambassador, and apologize for his delay:−but no−he passed on with the most imperturbable gravity; not even condescending to look at the ambassador, or seeming to know that he and his suite were not part of the vulgar crowd. They were then permitted to move on, and follow, at an humble distance, the vizir up this street, till they entered the Babu Humayun; and here commenced a new series of degradations, which have been already noticed. These barbarisms, however, are now passing away, and, among other ameliorations of Turkish manners, the sultan receives the representatives of his brother sovereigns in a more becoming manner.

As the houses in the street overlook the gardens of the Seraglio, strangers, who dared not enter, are led, by an idle and dangerous curiosity, sometimes to attempt to overlook the walls of the sacred enclosure, and see what is passing on the other side; and stories are related of persons sacrificed to the perilous effort. Some even who had no such object in view, have fallen victims to the jealousy of the harem. On one occasion, the friend of an Armenian merchant, who had a house here, brought a telescope, to examine the distant objects on the other side of the sea of Marmora: unfortunately the view extended across the gardens, and, while he was intently engaged in tracing the declivities of Mount Olympus, the sultan passed below, and caught with his eye the glitter of the glass of the telescope. Two chaoueshes were instantly despatched, who entered the house, and the unfortunate man found himself seized behind; and, before he had time to take the fatal instrument from his eye, a bowstring was put round his neck, and he was strangled at the window, in view of the sultan, who, it is said, waited below to assure himself of the execution.

But this street witnessed a still more terrible display of Turkish vengeance. After the awful destruction of the Janissaries at the Atmeidan, they were everywhere hunted down like wild beasts through the city. Sometimes they were killed wherever they were overtaken, and their bodies suffered to remain weltering on the spot. Sometimes they were brought to some enclosure, where they were kept till a number was collected together, when armed men rushed among them, and they were destroyed in a mass. Some of them were dragged into this street from the neighbouring ones, as it was the great avenue leading to the Seraglio, and there sacrificed as a grateful offering to the sultan. Their heads were cut off, their trunks were drawn up at each side of the street, and for three days, the appointed time for executed bodies to remain so exposed, he passed up and down between this Oriental display of headless men, lining the street to do the sovereign honour; thus realizing, only a few years since, in a European capital, the horrid exhibitions in which a Bajazet or a Tamerlane delighted, centuries ago.

Along the wall near the great gate was the favourite spot selected for the suspension of those trophies which marked the triumph of Islamism over Christianity. On every victory obtained during their European wars, the standards taken from Germans, Russians, Hungarians, and other powers, were displayed here; and more recently the captive flags of the Greeks were constantly seen fluttering, in an inverted position, over heaps of ears and noses which were piled below. Among them were several on which was depicted the cross, and various representations of Christian events, but particularly the resurrection which was labelled “Anastasis,” intended to be emblematic of their political resurrection. But of all the standards, that of Ipsera was the most interesting. After a gallant and almost incredible defence of this little island against the Turkish fleet, which surrounded it on all sides, and poured in numerous troops at every point, these few brave defenders were compelled to take refuge in their last fortress. Here they displayed their flag inscribed with their determination to die, and their actions coincided with the inscription. The Turks were permitted without much opposition to enter the fortress, and, when it was filled with the crowd, the whole was blown into the air. The last remnant of the Ipsariots, with an equal number of Turks, perished in one indiscriminate carnage. The broad flag which had floated over the self-devoted fortress, was brought in triumph, and suspended on this wall. It was of large size, and inscribed ΗΛΑΗΘΤ, the Greek anagram of “Death or Freedom;” and while the passenger “contemplated its scorched and torn remnants hanging over the mutilated remains of the brave spirits who unfurled it, it forcibly recalled to his mind that desperate devotion which in all ages distinguished the Greeks.”