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THE GREAT CEMETERY OF SCUTARI
T. Allom. J. C. Bentley.
Among the first objects that present themselves to a stranger entering Turkey, are the groves of cypress extending in dark masses along the shores. These are the last resting-places of the Turks; and their sad and solemn shade, far more gloomy than any which Christian usage has adopted, informs the traveller that he is now among a grave and serious people. The Turks permit the Jews, Armenians, Greeks, and Franks to plant their cemeteries with other trees, but reserve the cypress exclusively to themselves.
The cypress has, from early ages, been a funereal tree; the ancient Greeks and Romans so considered it; and the Turks, when they entered Europe, adopted it. Its solemn shade casting a dim religious light over the tombs it covers−its aromatic resin exuding from the bark, and correcting by its powerful odour the cadaverous smell exhaled from dissolving mortality−and, above all, its evergreen and unfading foliage, exhibiting an emblem of the immortal part, when the body below has mouldered into dust and perished,−have all recommended it to the Mussulman, and made it the object of his peculiar care.
It is an Oriental practice, to plant a tree at the birth, and another at the death, of any member of a family. When one, therefore, is deposited in the earth, the surviving relatives place a cypress at the foot, while a stone marks the head of the grave; and the pious son, whose birth his father had commemorated by a platanus, is now seen carefully watering the young tree which is to preserve the undying recollection of his parent. Thus it is that the cemetery extends by constant renovation. Whether it is that the soil is naturally congenial to these trees, or that it is enriched by the use to which it is applied, it is certain the cypress attains to majesty and beauty in these cemeteries, which are seen nowhere else; their stems measuring an immense circumference, and their pointed summits seeming to pierce the clouds, exhibit them as magnificent specimens of vegetable life. Sometimes they assume a different form, and the branches, shooting out horizontally, extend a lateral shade. These varieties have been by travellers mistaken for pines, which the Turks never admit into their cemeteries.
But of all “the cities of the dead” in the Turkish empire, that of Scutari in Asia, at the mouth of the Bosphorus, is perhaps the most striking and extensive. It stretches up an inclined plain, clothing it with its dark foliage, like a vast pall thrown over the departed. It extends for more than three miles, and, like a large forest, is pierced by various avenues, leading to different places. Such is its size, that it is said the area it encloses would supply the city with corn, and the stones which mark its graves would rebuild the walls. Among the causes assigned for this increase, one is, that two persons are never buried in the same spot, so the graves are constantly expanding on every side; another, a prepossession unalterably fixed in the mind of a Turk: he considers himself a stranger and sojourner in Europe, and the Moslem of Constantinople turns his last lingering look to this Asiatic cemetery, where his remains will not be disturbed, when the Giaour regains possession of his European city; an event which he is firmly persuaded will sometime come to pass. Thus the dying Turk feels a yearning for his native soil; like Joseph in the land of Egypt, he exacts a promise from his people that “they would carry his bones hence,” and, like Jacob, says, “bury me in my grave which I have in the land of Canaan.”
Among the objects which distinguish a Turkish necropolis, is the stone placed to mark the grave. The island of Marmora, contiguous to the city, affords an inexhaustible supply of marble at a cheap rate, so that the humblest head-stones are of this valuable material. They are shaped into rude representations of the human form, surmounted by a head covered with a turban, the fashion of which indicates the rank and quality of the person: on the bust of the pillar is an Arabic inscription, containing the name of the deceased, without any enumeration of his virtues: the Turks never indulge in such panegyrics: the letters are in high relief, generally gilded with such skill, that they remain a long time as perfect and beautiful as embossed gold. The stones which designate the graves of women have no such distinction: they are marked with a lotus leaf, and surmounted with a knob like a nail, and this is said to be an intimation of the disbelief in the immortality of a female’s soul, as connected with their want of intellect.
Notwithstanding the doubt thrown upon the subject, the living female supposes that, in this life at least, she is permitted to hold communication with those who have passed to another, and render such service as may please them. In our illustration, a woman is represented enveloped in her yasmak and feridgē, performing this duty. On the grave is usually a trough or cavity, for the reception of plants or flowers, offerings of pious affection to the dead. Sometimes lattices of gilt wire form aviaries over the grave of a beloved person. Flowers and birds are among the elegant and innocent enjoyments of a Turk; and the amiable superstition of the survivor hopes to gratify her departed friend by the odour of one and the song of the other, even in his grave.
In the distance is a Turkish funeral, winding its ways through the solitude of this cypress forest. It is a group of men, for such processions are rarely attended by women, except those hired to lament the dead: as it is a belief that the body is sentient after death, and suffers torment till committed to the repose of the tomb, funerals are generally hurried, and sometimes with indecent haste: so, in this as in other things, the Turk is entirely opposed to European habits; the only hurry in which he is ever seen, is when going to his grave.
THE CISTERN OF BIN-BIR-DEREK.
CALLED, THE THOUSAND AND ONE PILLARS
T. Allom. E. Challis.
The shores of the Black Sea, among the forest-covered ramifications of the great Balkan, is a region of constant showers and copious streams, filling, naturally, small reservoirs in the mountains. Wherever such rills poured down, and became confluent, they were stopped by a mound thrown across the valley, and in this way formed into various triangular lakes at an elevation above the summit-level of the city. These reservoirs, called Hydralea, were highly prized by the Greek emperors. The embankments were faced with marble, adorned with sculpture, and dignified by the name of the sovereign who formed them. They were deemed so sacred, and of such vital importance to the city, that severe edicts were enacted to preserve them; some regulating the planting of trees, some the abstraction of water, and one exacting a penalty of an ounce of gold for every ounce of the crystal fluid. As water is more precious to the Turks than it was to the Greeks, they watch these reservoirs with even more anxiety and vigilant precaution. They call them Bendts, and have increased the number left by the Roman emperors. One of the largest and most magnificent is called Valadi Bendt, from the mother of the present sovereign, at whose expense it was erected.
From these reservoirs the water is conducted by pipes, formed of cylindrical tiles jointed together, and so conveyed to the city a distance of about fifteen miles. The ravines, that break the intervening country, are crossed by aqueducts, some of vast dimensions, striding the valleys, and towering above the forests. They are whitewashed at stated intervals, and form striking objects in distant prospects, strongly relieved by the dark woods above which they rise. One of them terminates the view up the great valley of Buyukderé, and seems, to mariners passing on the Bosphorus, like the battlements of a large city, on the distant horizon.
Besides these, there are others of more peculiar structure. They are insulated hydraulic pillars, called Souterrais, standing in long rows, like slender square castles or watch-towers. The water ascends one side of each, is received into a small square reservoir on the summit, and from thence descends the other. It climbs the next in a similar manner; and by this contrivance, for which the Turks are indebted to the Arabs, the vast expense of aqueducts is saved, and the water conveyed by many channels over various hills and valleys, in continued and never-ceasing streams, to its magnificent reservoirs in the city.
When the water arrived here, it had the same irregularity of surface to oppose, its seven hills to surmount, and seven valleys between them to cross. This was effected by a second series of aqueducts, which are described by the Byzantine historians with all the inflated language of astonishment. They are represented as “subterranean rivers” conducted through the air over the city, while the people gaze in wonder from below. Of these, but one remains to attest what they were. This is the aqueduct of Valens, stretching from hill to hill, and seen in almost every direction. Its erection was the completion of a singular prophecy: On the ramparts of Chalcedon was found a stone with an occult inscription, implying that “the walls of the city should bring water to Constantinople.” To extend these walls across the sea, seemed altogether an impossibility, and the oracular announcement was despised. But Chalcedon having incurred the resentment of the emperor, its walls were pulled down, the stones conveyed to Constantinople for building, and, among other erections formed of them, was the aqueduct of Valens, thereby accomplishing the oracle.
By means of this aqueduct, the waters were deposited in various cisterns; some open, and some covered, so that the whole city was excavated into exposed or subterranean reservoirs. One great inconvenience attended those that were exposed. The city and vicinity of Constantinople abounded in storks; they were supposed to convey serpents, and drop them in the water, by which it was poisoned, and rendered fatal to those who drank it. The celebrated impostor Apollonius of Tyana, who was reputed to work such powerful miracles, was applied to, by the reigning emperor, for a remedy. By his directions, a pillar called Pelargonium was erected, on the summit of which were three storks fronting each other; and by this talisman the kindred birds were immediately expelled the city, and the salubrity of the waters restored. To commemorate the event, the following epigram was inscribed on the base of the pillar.
On sculptur’d column stands the mystic charm,
And guards the fainting citizens from harm.
Far fly the storks, to seek the distant wood;
And snakes no longer taint the wholesome flood.
These cisterns were afterwards filled up with earth, and are now converted into gardens, where the storks, no longer the cause of evil, are invited to return. The Turks evince a particular attachment for them, and erect frame-work like cradles on the tops of their houses, which the birds inhabit and breed in.
Of the covered cisterns, but two remain. One is called Yéré Batan Seraï, or the “Subterranean palace,” and is still filled with water. It resembles a vast subterranean lake, out of which issue rows of 336 marble pillars, of various orders of architecture, supporting an arched roof. The memory of this magnificent watering-palace was altogether lost; the streets passed over it, and the houses above were supplied from it with water, while the inhabitants knew not whence it came. After it had remained unknown to the Turks since the capture of Constantinople, it was discovered by Gillius more than three hundred years ago. A second time it fell into oblivion among this incurious people, till it was searched for, and again found a few years since. It was formerly in total darkness, but part of the wall has fallen down, and sufficient light is admitted to examine it. A boat, or raft, is moored to one of the pillars, in which strangers are permitted to embark, and explore its dim recesses; and marvellous stories are told by the Turks of the fatal end of those bold adventurers.
The second cistern is no longer employed as a reservoir for water. It lies beneath an open area in the vicinity of the Atmeidan, and is converted into a silk manufactory by a number of industrious Jews and Armenians. The Turks have named this subterranean palace Bin-bir-derek, in allusion to its supposed original number of columns, 1001, although 212 are all that can now be distinguished. Each column is said to consist of three shafts with their respective capitals, but the lowest is, at present, buried beneath the material of the flooring. The whole enclosed area occupies 20,000 square feet, and is capable of containing 1,237,000 cubic feet of water, a quantity sufficient to supply the population of Constantinople for fifteen days.
The pillars of this cistern are distinguished by monograms deeply cut on the shafts and capitals, like hieroglyphics on an Egyptian obelisk, and so obscure as equally to puzzle the learned. One of them consists of the Greek initials for Euge philoxene, “Hail, thou strangers’ friend.” This cistern, under the Greek empire, was decreed to be public for the use of all strangers, and was therefore called philoxenos.
THE SOLIMANIE, OR MOSQUE OF SULTAN SOLIMAN.
FROM THE OUTER COURT
T. Allom. H. Adlard.
The Franks have so changed the terms of the Turkish language, that they are hardly to be recognized. Moslem, which signifies a “professor of the true faith,” they have corrupted into Mussulman; and Mesjid, the temple in which he worshipped, into mosque!
When the Turks appropriated to themselves the great Christian church of Santa Sophia, they made it the model of all their future religious edifices. The general outline is a Greek cross, enclosed in a quadrangle. This is surmounted with a large dome in the centre, to represent, as the modern Greeks say, the great wound in our Saviour’s side; the four smaller domes at the angles, depicting the smaller wounds in his hands and feet. This form the Turks usually observe, without any reference to its origin; but they have added members peculiar to themselves. They hold bells in abhorrence, and invite their congregations to prayer by the human voice only. For this purpose certain slender towers shoot up from the angles of the edifice, where the Muezzim ascends by interior stairs, and from a circular gallery round the shaft calls together the faithful. These towers are denominated Menar or Minareh, an Arabic word which signifies a “beacon or light-house” to guide the true believer. The Muezzim puts his hands behind his ears, and from the hollow of his palms shouts out his invitation, walking round and repeating to the four points of the compass, “There is but one God, and Mohammed is his prophet:−come to prayers−come to salvation.” This cry, called the Ezan, is repeated five times a day at regular intervals; and as it issues from every minaret, and perhaps two thousand mouths at the same moment, it fills all the air with a solemn and supernatural sound, and regulates all the arrangements of the people, who have no public clocks to direct them. Besides the common mosque of the city, there are thirteen eminently distinguished. They are called Djami Selatyn, or “Imperial mosques,” because they have been erected by some sultan as the highest act of piety. They are always distinguished by their magnitude, magnificence, and the number and beauty of their minarets. While the smaller mosques have but one, they have never less than two, and generally four. But of all these Djami, that erected by Soliman II. is the most splendid among the mosques, as its founder was among the sultans. He was called “the magnificent,” and his temple justifies the appellation. The Christian church of Saint Euphemia, at Chalcedon, in which the grand council had been held, was celebrated for its size and architectural ornaments. It contained on that memorable occasion 630 bishops in its nave, and was the most distinguished of Christian churches after Santa Sophia: when that edifice was dedicated to the Prophet by his predecessor, Soliman could not appropriate any of its parts to his new erection; so he dilapidated the church of St. Euphemia for the purpose, and built his mosque with its materials. It was commenced in 1550, and took five years to build it.
It would be difficult to convey, by any description, a perfect idea of a building so vast and complicated. A notice of its prominent features must suffice. It is a quadrangle, 234 feet long, and 227 wide. The great dome by which the edifice is surmounted, is flanked or supported by two hemispheres, one on each side, and over each aisle are four smaller ones. A broad flight of marble steps leads to the great door, before which is a façade, which particularly distinguishes this temple. It consists of six pillars of Egyptian porphyry, of immense size and singular beauty. Attached to the edifice are four minarets in front and rear, having galleries ornamented with tracery; and by a singular irregularity, two, having but two galleries, are shorter than the others which have three. Beside it are splendid mausolea, surmounted with domes, under which repose the bodies of the founder and his Sultana. At the head stands a knob covered with his turban, richly ornamented with precious stones, and near it is suspended the Alcoran, from which an Imaum reads a daily portion, for the consolation of him whose ashes repose in the tomb, and who is supposed to hear it. Over one of the gates is an inscription recording its erection. It states that it was built by “the glorious Vicar of Allah, existing by the authority of the mystic Koran, the tenth of the Ottoman emperors, for the faithful people who served the Lord.” It concludes with a prayer, “That the imperial race may never be interrupted on earth, and enjoy eternal delights prepared in paradise.”
This mosque, like most others, is surrounded by two areas; one of which, planted with trees, is a common thoroughfare usually filled with groups of people. Here soldiers sometimes encamp, and men of war pitch their tents within the precincts of the mussulman’s God of peace. Here, also, small merchants expose their wares, and no one casts out those who “buy and sell.” Here even a Giaour may pass unobstructed, and the infidel hat be seen mixed with the sacred turban.
THE MOSQUE OF SULTAN ACHMET
T. Allom. E. Goodall.
The monarch who erected this mosque, ascended the throne in the year 1603, and at the age of fifteen. He was immediately afterwards seized with the small-pox, and, in order that the janissaries might not avail themselves of his illness, he caused his own brother to be strangled, having first put out his eyes. His object was to deprive the turbulent soldiers of every pretext for dethroning him, as they were disposed to do, when there existed no another of the line of Mohammed to succeed him. His next act was to build a mosque, as fratricide is no impediment to Turkish piety; and it is remarkable, that in this mosque, two centuries afterwards, was the utter extirpation of these janissaries effected.
He was determined that it should exceed in beauty that of Santa Sophia, or the great Solimanie, so he ordered that it should be distinguished by six minarets. When this design was communicated to the Mufti, he represented to the Sultan the impiety of such an act, as the mosque of the Prophet at Mecca had but four, and no sacred edifice since built had presumed to exceed that number. Achmet assured the Mufti that he must be mistaken, and immediately summoned a Hadgee, who had just made the pilgrimage to Mecca, into his presence, who affirmed that he had himself seen and reckoned the six minarets; and, to satisfy entirely the Mufti’s scruples, a caravan of pilgrims were directed to proceed to the tomb and temple of the Prophet, and make their report. Meantime the Sultan despatched a Tatar, who was to travel night and day, with orders to the Sheik Islam, that two new minarets should be immediately added to the temple; and when the slow caravan arrived, they found the number to be what the Sultan had stated−and reported accordingly. Achmet now pushed on his building with indefatigable activity, and in order to expedite it, he worked at it himself with his own hands, devoting one hour every Friday after prayers to the employment, and then paid his fellow-workmen, every man his wages, in order by his personal example to stimulate their exertions.
The site he selected was the most admirable and commanding which the city afforded. It forms one side of the Atmeidan, and is separated only by an open screen from this extensive area, one of the few open spaces within the walls of Constantinople. From this it is seen to great advantage on one side; while on the other, towering over the gardens of the Seraglio, and surmounting the lofty hill on which it stands, it is the most conspicuous object presented to a stranger approaching from the Sea of Marmora, and gives the first and most favourable view of those imperial edifices. The materials selected were of the most costly kind, in so much, that it is affirmed that every stone in the edifice cost three aspers. It stands in an open space, which forms round it an extensive ambulatory, from the latter of which the edifice arises, and is seen to more advantage than any other in the city.
The first objects that strike the spectator are the six beautiful minarets, with their elegant and slender forms ascending to an immense height, and seeming as it were to pierce the clouds with their sharp-pointed cones. Round each run three capitals or galleries for the Muezzim, highly ornamented in fretted arabesque. Above these appears the majestic edifice swelling into domes and cupolas, and covered with light tracery and fancy fretwork, forming a strong contrast to the comparatively heavy, dark, and dismal dome of Santa Sophia, which rises at no great distance beside. This juxtaposition strikes a stranger. He sees with surprise that the genius of a dull and ignorant Turk should produce an edifice so superior in beauty and elegance to this chef-d’œuvre of Grecian art. Architects of that nation had been employed in erecting the imperial mosque of Mohammed II. and Selim II., but this of Achmet is exclusively Turkish or Arabic architecture.
The summit of the edifice is distinguished by thirty cupolas, from whence ascends the great dome, flanked by four semi-domes. The mosque is entered by massive brazen gates, embossed in high relief, and the interior presents a view of the dome supported by four gigantic columns, fluted and filleted, round which are inscribed, in bands, sentences from the Koran. The walls are richly painted in fresco with more variety than regularity, and gilded tablets on them every where display Arabic inscriptions. The light is admitted by windows of stained glass, thickly studded in small compartments, which look exceedingly rich, casting a soothing and a religious, but yet ample light; for this mosque is distinguished above all others in this respect, that by the construction and arrangement of the casements, the interior is fully illuminated, which forms a strong contrast to the dim and doubtful twilight admitted into most other religious edifices of the East.
Between the pillars is a large circle of wire-suspended lamps, which does not add to the general effect; globes of glass, ostrich eggs, and other frivolous and mean ornaments, frequently deform the interior of those noble buildings, and mark the genius of a Turk−at once puerile and magnificent. There is, in other respects, a noble simplicity, a naked grandeur, well befitting a worship from which all idolatrous representations are excluded. The interior of a mosque resembles the nave and transept of St. Paul’s, with the exception of its statues−grand and noble by its vastness and vacuity.
The occasion chosen by the artist, in the illustration, exhibits a display of the most important circumstance that has occurred since the Osmanli established themselves in Europe. It was the moment when it was to be decided, whether they should remain the rude and obstinate barbarians that first crossed the Hellespont, or be illumined by the lights and amalgamated with the nations of Europe, and when the reforming Sultan, struggling for life and empire, was compelled to have recourse to the last expedient left him. The janissaries having the whole population of the city entangled in their connexion, and enlisting all its prejudices on their side, were accumulating such a vast force, as would soon bear down all opposition: but Mahmoud, at once, determined on that course which could alone counteract their influence. He ordered the Sandjak sheriff, or sacred standard of the Prophet, to be taken from its repository in the imperial treasury. This sacred object was only seen on the most solemn and important occasions, and was now, for the first time for half a century, exhibited, and brought with great pomp to the mosque of Achmet. When this was rumoured abroad, there was no man who professed the true faith, that dared to resist the call: thousands and tens of thousands were seen rushing from all quarters to this temple; and when it was filled by the multitude, the standard was displayed from the lofty pulpit of the Imaum. On the steps stood the Sultan, exhorting the people, by the faith they owed the Prophet, now to rally round the sacred ensign. A deep murmur of assent, the strongest display of Turkish feeling and determination, filled the lofty dome. They all fell prostrate in confirmation of their resolve, and from that moment the cause of the janissaries became desperate.
