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A singular circumstance connected with the first introduction of steam-boats was the subject of universal conversation. An immense crowd had collected, as well to see the sultan, as the vessel in which he had embarked. When he stood upon the deck, a broad flag was displayed floating over his head, with the sun, the emblem of the Turkish empire, embroidered on it; but within the disc was worked a cross; and the pious Moslems saw, with fear and astonishment, their sultan sail under this Christian emblem. He had just before shown such indulgence and good-will to the rayas of that faith, that his enemies every where gave out, that, among his innovations, he was disposed to adopt it himself, and the present flag was a public display of it. It appeared, afterwards, that the unconscious sultan knew nothing of the emblem over his head. The sanguine Greeks of the arsenal had that morning inserted it in the midst of the sun; and so had exhibited it as another cross of Constantine, converting an infidel sovereign to Christianity.
Entering the harbour are always seen large rafts of timber, cut in the woods of the Black Sea, and conveyed down the Bosphorus. These floating islands are of considerable size, and navigated by companies of boatmen. They supply not only the wood for the arsenals, but the firing for the city. Some years ago, a coal-mine was discovered at Domosderé, not far from the mouth of the strait, and several tons of coal were bought and used by the Franks of Constantinople. But the Turks conceived a prejudice against its smoke, and refused to introduce any more; so it fell into disuse. The present sultan will not suffer this important acquisition to his steam-boats to be lost, and, it is said, he is about to avail himself of its advantages.
From this ever-moving surface of the “Golden Horn,” the city of Constantinople rises with singular beauty and majesty. The view of the city displays a mountain of houses, as far as the eye can reach: the seven hills form an undulating line along the horizon, crowned with imperial mosques, among which the grand Solimanie is the most conspicuous. These edifices are extraordinary structures, and, from their magnitude and position, give to Constantinople its most characteristic aspect. They consist of large square buildings, swelling in the centre into vast hemispherical domes, and crowned at the angles with four slender lofty minarets. The domes are covered with metal, and the spires cased in gilding, so that the one seems a canopy of glittering silver, and the other a shaft of burnished gold. Their magnitude is so comparatively great, and they cover such a space of ground, that they seem altogether disproportioned to every thing about them, and the contrast gives them an apparent size almost as great as the hills on which they stand.
Among the conspicuous objects arising above the rest, and mingling with the minarets of the mosques, are two tall towers, one on each side of harbour, called the “Janissaries’ Tower,” and the “Tower of Galata.” They command an extensive view over both peninsulas, and are intended for the purpose of watching fires, to which the city is constantly subject. Instead of a bell, a large drum is kept in a chamber on the summit, and when the watchman observes a fire, for which he is always looking out, he strikes the great drum with a mallet; and this kind of tolling produces a deep sound, which comes on the ear, particularly at night, with a tone singularly solemn and impressive.
The valleys between the hills are crossed by the ancient aqueduct of Valens, which conveys the water brought from the mountains of the Black Sea to the several cisterns of the city. The humidity oozing through the masonry, nourishes the roots of various plants, which, trailing down, form festoons with their long tendrils, and clothe the romantic arcades, which cross the streets, with a luxuriant drapery. Almost every house stands within an area planted with jujube, judas-tree, and other fruit and flowery shrubs peculiar to the soil and climate; so that the vast mass of building covering the sides and summits of the hills, is interspersed and chequered with the many hues displayed by the leaves, fruits, and flowers in their season. Of these the judas-tree affords the predominant colour. The burst of flowers from every part of it, in spring, at times actually gives a ruddy tint to the whole aspect of the city.
FOUNTAIN AND MARKET-PLACE OF TOPHANA
As there is no object of consumption in life so precious to a Turk as water, so there is none which he takes such care to provide, not only for himself, but for all other animals. Before his door he always places a vessel filled with water for the dogs of the street; he excavates stones into shallow cups, to catch rain for the little birds; and wherever a stream runs, or a rill trickles, he builds a fountain for his fellow-creature, to arrest and catch the vagrant current, that not a drop of the fluid should be wasted. These small fountains are numerous, and frequently executed with care and skill. They are usually fronted or backed with a slab of marble, ornamented with Turkish sculpture, and inscribed with some sentence from the Koran, inculcating practical charity and benevolence. The beneficent man at whose expense this is done, never allows his own name to make part of the inscription. A Turk has no ostentation in his charity; his favourite proverb is, “Do good, and throw it into the sea; and if the fish do not see it, Allah will.”
Among the many fountains which adorn the city, there are two on which the Turks seem to have exerted all their skill in sculpture. One in Constantinople near the Babu Humayun, or “the Great Gate of the Seraglio.” The other in Pera, near Tophana, or the “canon foundry.” They are beautiful specimens of the Arabesque, and highly decorated. That at Tophana, represented in the illustration, is particularly so. It is a square edifice with far-projecting cornices, surmounted by a balustrade along the four façades. These last are covered over with a profusion of sculpture, and every compartment, formed by the moulding, is filled with sentences from the Koran, and poetical quotations from Turkish, Persian, and Arabic authors. The following is a translation of some of the inscriptions. It was erected in 1732.
“This fountain descended from heaven−erected in this suitable place, dispenses its salutary waters on every side by ten thousand channels.”
“Its pure and lucid streams attest its salubrity, and its transparent current has acquired for it an universal celebrity.”
“As long as Allah causes a drop of rain to descend into its reservoir, the happy people who participate in its inestimable benefits, shall waft praises of its virtues to that sky from whence it came down.”
“It should be our prayer that the justice of a merciful God should reward with happiness the author of this benevolent undertaking, and have his deed handed down to a never-ending posterity.”
“This exquisite work is before Allah a deed of high merit, and indicates the piety of the Sultan Mahmoud.”−1145.
The whole of the water department is under the direction of the Sou Nazir, or, “president of water,” who has under him the Sou Ioldgi, or “water engineers,” and the Sacgees, or “watermen.” The business of the first is to watch that the Bendts, &c. receive no damage, and are in constant repair; the second distributes the water over the city. They are supplied with leathern sacks, broad at one end and narrow at the other, somewhat like churns, and closed at the mouth with a leather strap; when it is filled at a fountain, it is thrown across the Sacgee’s back, the broad end resting on his hip, and the narrow on his shoulder; when he empties it, he opens the flap, stoops his head, and the water is discharged into some recipient. There are generally in every hall two vessels sunk in the ground, and covered with a stopper. These the Sacgee fills every day, and receives for his trouble about two paras, or half a farthing.
Around the fountain is the great market, the most busy and populous spot on the peninsula of Pera. It is held between the gate of Galata on one side, and the manufactory of pipes on the other: above is the descent from Pera to the Bosphorus, and below the crowded place of embarkation, so that the confluence of people from these several resorts, creates an almost impassable crowd. Among the articles of sale, the most numerous and conspicuous are usually gourds and melons, of which there are more than twenty kinds, called by the Greek Kolokithia, and by the Turk Cavac. They are piled in large heaps, in their season, to the height of 10 or 15 feet. Some of them are of immense size, of a pure white, and look like enormous snow-balls−they are used for soups: others are long and slender−the pulp is thrust out, and the cavity filled with forced-meat. This is called Dolma, and is so favourite a dish, that a large valley on the Bosphorus is called Dolma Bactche, or the gourd garden, from its cultivation. Another is perfectly spherical, and called Carpoos. It contains a rich red pulp, and a copious and cooling juice, and is eaten raw. A hummal, or porter, may be seen, occasionally, tottering up the streets of Pera, sinking under the weight of an incredible load, and overcome by the heat of a burning sun. His remedy for fatigue is a slice of melon, which refreshes him so effectually, that he is instantly enabled to pursue his toilsome journey. The Turkish mode of carrying planks through their streets is attended with serious inconvenience to passengers. The boards are attached to the sides of a horse in such a manner, extending from side to side of the narrow streets, that they cannot fail of crushing or fracturing the legs of the inexperienced or inactive that happen to meet them. Neither are the dogs, nor their most frequent attitude, forgotten in our illustration. The market-place is their constant resort: there they quarrel for the offals; and a Frank, whose business leads him to that quarter, has reason to congratulate himself, if he shall escape the blow of a plank from the passing horse, or the laceration of his flesh by an irritated dog.
ROUMELI HISSAR, OR, THE CASTLE OF EUROPE.
ON THE BOSPHORUS
T. Allom. R. Smith.
The supposed origin of the Bosphorus is connected with the most awful phenomena of nature; and the lovely strait, which now combines all that is beautiful and romantic, grateful to the eye, and soothing to the mind, owes its existence to all that is fearful and tremendous.−At its eastern extremity, and above the level of the Mediterranean, there existed an inland sea, covering vast plains with a wide expanse of waters, several thousand miles in circumference. By a sudden rupture, it is supposed, an opening was made, through which the waters rushed, and inundated the subjacent countries. For this supposition there are strong foundations of probability. The comparatively small sheets of water now partially occupying the space which the greater sea once covered, under the names of the Euxine, Azoph, Caspian, and Aral seas, are only the deeper pools of this great fountain, which has, in a succession of ages, been drained off, leaving the shallower parts dry land, with all the marks of an alluvial soil. The spot where the great rupture is supposed to have taken place is indicated by volcanic remains: basalt, scoriæ, and other debris of calcination, lying all around. The strait itself bears all the marks of a chasm violently torn open, the projections of one shore corresponding to the indentations of the other, and the similar strata of both being at equal elevations, while the bottom is a succession of descents, over which the water still tumbles with the rapidity of a cataract. The opinions of antiquaries accord with natural appearances. The first land which this mighty inundation encountered was the continent of Greece, over which it swept with irresistible force. Tradition has handed down to us the flood of Deucalion; and ancient writings have assigned as its cause, “the rupture of the Cyanean rocks:” so that both poets and historians concur in preserving the memory of this awful event.
After the first effects of this inundation had ceased, a current was still propelled by the Danube, the Borysthenes, and other great rivers, which pour their copious streams into the Euxine, and have no other outlet: hence it still runs down with considerable velocity. In some places, where the convulsion seems to have left the bottom like steps of stairs, this is dangerously increased. It is possible that the continued attrition of the water, for thousands of years over this rocky surface, has worn it down to a more uniform level; still three cataracts remain, one is called shetan akindisi, or “the devil’s current:” it is necessary, from its laborious ascent, to haul ships up against it with considerable toil. To the ancients it was accounted a perilous navigation, when the broken ledges were still more abrupt. Among the acts of daring intrepidity was deemed the navigation of this strait. Hence Horace says−
“To the mad Bosphorus my bark I’ll guide,
And tempt the terrors of its raging tide.”
There is not a promontory or recess in all its windings, that is not hallowed by the recollection of either fictitious mythology or authentic history. The ancient name of Bosphorus signifies “the traject of the ox;” the passage being so narrow that such animals swam across it, and hence it is sometimes spelled Bosporos. But the fanciful mythology of the Greeks assigned a more poetic derivation of the name. They assert that Iö, having assumed the form of a cow, to escape the vigilance of Juno, in her solitary wanderings swam across this strait, and consigned to fame the tradition of the event by the name it bears. One promontory preserves the name of Jason, who landed there in his bold attempt to explore the unknown recesses of the Euxine. Another retains that of Medea, for there she dispensed her youth-giving drugs, and conferred upon the place that reputation of salubrity which still distinguishes it. The narrow pass, that divided Europe from Asia, was also the transit chosen by great armies. Here Darius crossed, when the hosts of Asia first poured into Europe, and the rage of conquest led the gorgeous monarch of the East, from the luxuries and splendour of his own court, to penetrate into the rude and barbarous haunts of the wandering Scythians. Here it was that Xenophon, and his intrepid handful of Greeks, crossed over, to return to their own country. Here it was that the Christian crusaders embarked their armies, to rescue the holy sepulchre from the infidels; and here it was that the infidels, in return, entered Europe, and destroyed the mighty Christian empire of the East.
The accompanying illustration exhibits the scene of these events, and so commemorates the deeds of remote and recent ages. The strait is here not more than seven stadia, or furlongs, across; and, as Pliny truly says, “You can hear in one orb of the earth, the dogs bark and the birds sing in the other; and may hold conversation from shore to shore when the sound is not dispersed by the wind.” In particular seasons, during the migration of fish, boats are seen, extending in a continued line, and forming a bridge from side to side. The rock on which Darius sat is still pointed out; and, if a stranger occupy the rude seat at such a moment, it will powerfully recall to his imagination those times when mighty armies crossed and recrossed on a similar fragile footing.
The events connected with Roumeli Hissar, or the Castle of Europe, are of surpassing interest. When the fierce Mahomet determined to extinguish the feeble Roman empire, and transfer the Moslem capital to a Christian soil, he found two dilapidated towers, one in Asia, and the other in Europe, which had been suffered to fall into utter decay. He re-edified that on the Asiatic shore, and, having been allowed to do this without opposition, crossed over and rebuilt the European castle also, so as completely to command the navigation of the straits, by occupying two forts on the most prominent points of the nearest parts of it. When the emperor remonstrated against this violation of his territory, he was tauntingly but fiercely answered, that “since the Greeks were not able to protect their own possessions, he would do it for them;” and he threatened to slay alive the next person who came to remonstrate. To establish his usurped right, he prohibited the navigation of the strait by foreigners. The Venetians refused to comply with this arbitrary mandate, and attempted to pass; but their vessel was struck by a ball from one of those enormous cannon which Mahomet had caused to be cast for the destruction of the Greek empire: the crew were beheaded, and their bodies hung out of the castle, to deter others from similar attempts. The castle was thence called Chocsecen, “the amputator of heads;” and such is the immutability of Turkish ferocity, that, with reason, it retains the name at this day.
Roumeli Hissar consists of five round towers, connected by massive embattled walls, ascending the slope of the hill. It is now useless as a fortress, but is applied to other more characteristic and equally important Turkish purposes. In the wall which fronts the Bosphorus, there is a low doorway concealed behind a large platanus: this is the postern of death. The fortress had for many years been converted into a prison, and may well bear the inscription which Dante read on the infernal portals,
“Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate.”
No prisoner is ever known to repass the gate of death; hence the Turks call their dismal fortress, the “towers of oblivion,” adopting the appellation given to them under the despotism of the Greek empire, when the castles were named “Lethé,” and for a similar reason.
During the struggles of the present sultan with the janissaries, it was his constant practice to have his opponents secretly arrested, and conveyed to this place. Every morning some Oda missed their old officers. They had been conveyed to this place after it was dark, entered the low doorway, and were seen no more. During this period, some Franks, who had taken a caïque to Buyukderé, where they were detained longer than they intended, were returning late. Boats are not permitted to pass the fortresses after sunset, and the signal-gun is fired: so they had to make their way secretly along, under cover of the shore. When arrived near the castles, they saw a large caïque advancing from Constantinople, and, to avoid detection, remained close under a rock, not far from the fatal gate. The strange boat approached, and landed just before it. Two distinguished-looking men, wrapped up in their pelisses, disembarked; they were held up by the arm on each side. One of them passed on in silence; the other sighed heavily as he approached, turned round, and seemed to cast a lingering look upon the world he was about to leave for ever. He then stooped his head, and disappeared, with his more impassive companion, under the fatal arch; the gate, groaning on its rusty hinges, closed behind them. The caïque returned immediately to Constantinople. The Franks then slipped past, and arrived without being stopped. The next morning it was known that two Binbashis, or colonels, who had great influence on their respective Odas, and strongly opposed the nizam geddite, were missing. They never re-appeared.
The navigation of the Bosphorus is the most lovely that ever invited a sail. Its length, in all its windings, is fifteen miles; and when the caïque glides down with the current, there is something exquisitely beautiful and grateful to the senses in every thing around. Nothing can exceed, in picturesque scenery, the whole coast on each side. It affords a continued succession of romantic wooded promontories, projecting into the stream, and presenting, at every winding of the strait, new and diversified objects. As you pass each headland, some placid bay opens to your view, in whose bosom a shaded village reposes. These are so numerous, that twenty-six occur from the Euxine to the Propontis; and in one line of coast there is a continuity of houses for six miles. From the centre of each village an enormous platanus generally rears its lofty head, and expands its wide extent of foliage: round its gigantic stem the houses are clustered, over which it forms a vast canopy, so that large villages are often covered with the shade of a single tree.
