CONSTANTINOPLE FROM THE HEIGHTS ABOVE EYOUB.
This view of the city is a companion for a former. The one presented it as it appears from the mouth of the Golden Horn, the other from its head; and it displays many objects of interest on both sides of a beautiful expanse of water, whose visible circumference may be estimated at 20 miles; the length of the whole harbour being about 15 miles, and its general breadth from 8 to 10 furlongs.
Where the Cydaris and Barbyses discharge themselves into it, the slime and mud carried down by the stream are deposited; and it forms a flat alluvial soil, where extensive manufactories of pottery have been established. As this is in the vicinity of a royal kiosk, it has obtained the name of the Tuileries, for the same reason as the French called their palace−because it was built where a manufactory of tiles had been established. The deposit continues to fill up the harbour, and it is necessary to mark the new-formed shoals, for the direction of vessels, by stakes stuck in the mud, so that this part of the harbour exhibits a curious spectacle of a labyrinth of palisades.
Opposite these, on the northern shore, is the “Yelan Seraï” or Palace of the Serpent forming an imperial residence. Many fantastic reasons are assigned for this name by the Turks, and stories told similar to that of the Kiz-Koulesi. But the simple reason seems to be, that the soil in this place abounds with these reptiles; and they so infested the palace that they were found coiled up on divans, and it was necessary to inspect every couch and seat before it could be occupied; the kiosk has, therefore, been abandoned to decay. Though serpents seem now less numerous than formerly in this place, the deleterious character of it is not lessened. The mal-aria generated, spreads a venomous effluvia, as fatal as that of vipers; this is evinced on the residents. The barrack of the “kombaragees,” or bombardiers, who rendered such signal service to the sultan in extirpating the Janissaries, is not far from it, and their sallow and sickly aspect exhibits proof that health is assailed by an effluvia as mortal as the serpent’s breath.
Next in succession is the “Guiumuch Hané,” or Silver Foundery, from whence the prepared metal is brought to the Tarap Hané in the outer court of the seraglio to be stamped. There is no copper coin in circulation in Turkey; but silver is debased so as to become a more worthless metal. The coins of this imitation formerly were the asper, parasi, beslik, and onlik, they have become extinct except the parasi, and another, formerly unknown, introduced the piaster and its several denominations. The parasi is a minute coin, so very small and light, that it can only be taken up by the tip of a wet finger. Every shopkeeper has a board secured by a ledge and running to a point, on which the paras are reckoned, and then spouted into a canvass bag. At the present rate of exchange, this apparently silver coin is less than one third of a farthing, and, as all money is reckoned by it, a stranger is startled to see his baccul’s or huckster’s bills amount to 10,000 paras. Turkish coins contain no representation of the head of the sovereign, but give his name and title, the place where they were struck, the date and year of the sovereign’s reign; the inscription on the present, coin is−“Sultan Mahmoud ibn Sultan Abdul Hamed el Sultan ibn el Sultan,” that is, Sultan Mahmoud, the son of Sultan Abdul Hamed Khan, himself a sultan, and son of a sultan;” the reverse is−“Sultan alberim vehaka nul bahrim sarb fi Constantami,” that is, “Sultan, conqueror of the world, sovereign of men, struck at Constantinople.” All this is generally expressed by a convoluted cipher, called nizam. Three cities in the empire are allowed to coin, beside the capital; Adrianople, Smyrna, and Cairo.
This part of the harbour opens into a deep valley, ascending up to the high grounds on which stands the elevated village, called by the Turks Tatavola, and by the Greeks, Aya Demetri. Small streams, running down the sides of the hills, carry with them all kinds of offal, and the deposit below is sometimes so enormous that the whole surface becomes a most foul and putrid mass, the fumes of contagion, from whence it periodically expands itself over the city. So tremendous was the miasma generated on one occasion, that 1000 persons were brought out to be buried every day through the Top-Kapousi gate. It is in such places that the plague is never extinguished, but remains always slumbering, till some circumstance calls it into activity. But a still more dreadful calamity issued from this valley. It is supposed to be the avenue through which the Turkish fleet was conveyed into the harbour. Ascending from the Bosphorus by a corresponding valley on the other side, and climbing on machines the eminence between, the Greeks, secure as they thought themselves by closing the mouth of the harbour, were astonished to see the enemy’s fleet issue from the side of the hill, and ride directly under their walls. This decided the fate of the city−paralyzed by terror and despair, they made from that moment a feeble resistance.
The next object that presents itself is the village of Hasskui, the favourite residence of the Jews. It is computed, that there are 50,000 of these people living here, and in other districts, in or near the capital. They have a cemetery in this place, of considerable extent; and though the dead are assigned a residence on a healthful, breezy eminence, decorated with sculptured tombs and monuments of marble, inscribed with epitaphs in high relief, the abodes of the living are even more wretched than in any other place. They inhabit a valley shut out from the winds of the north by a high ridge of hills, and open to the sultry heat of the south; while the pestilential effluvia arising from the vegetable decomposition of the marsh, the suffocating smoke of brick and tile kilns, and the metallic vapours of the silver foundery, form the atmosphere they breathe. Their own habits are singularly dirty, and the streets are filled with putrid water stagnating into offensive pools, without any current of air to disperse the foul accumulation of gases in the atmosphere. They are a prey, therefore, to all the diseases resulting from such a combination of evils. Their houses are small, low, damp, dark, and unventilated; yet they contain a crowded population. The women living in such abodes are generally a deteriorated race. They marry at an early age, and bring forth children, diminutive, pale, bloated, and rickety. On every Saturday, their day of rest, they are seen swarming about the open doors, to breathe, as it were, a pure air; and a passing stranger is astonished at so wretched a population. The adult males are distinguished by dirty ragged garments. Small mean hats, bound round with a coarse cross-bar cotton handkerchief; trousers which scarcely reach to the leg, exposing stockings full of holes. The people here, like the Ephraimites, seem doomed to a sibboleth−a pronunciation so imperfect, that they are scarcely understood in any language they attempt to speak. They snatch with avidity at things rejected by others as unfit to be used. Their soiled ragged clothes are the refuse of other men’s dress; and their food, whatever withered vegetables or stale meat are cast away as improper for human consumption. They exercise all callings by which money can be made, and make no exception to the vilest; but particularly delight in the sale of old clothes, a propensity which seems to mark them in every country where they are scattered. Such are the characteristics which distinguish this people in whatever district they are established, forming a striking contrast with all about them, and evincing the indelible impression of a peculiar nation. Above Hasskui is the village of Halish-oglon, inhabited by Armenians; and while these robust, comely, healthy, and well-dressed people breathe the pure air in fine spacious houses above, the miserable Jew is thrust down below, grovelling in dirt, disease, and misery.
Near this is a mosque, distinguished by an extraordinary circumstance. The minarets attached to every other, are always seen of a pure white, and carefully kept so, particularly those of Imperial edifices: but the minaret here is red, and displays the only one so coloured, perhaps, in the Turkish empire. The reason assigned for it is characteristic of a Turk. When Constantinople was besieged by Bajazet, a desperate conflict took place in this valley, and the effusion of blood was so great from the slaughter of the Greeks, that it rose to the height of the minaret; and when it subsided, it left its own colour upon the tower, which it has ever since retained in memory of the event.
The palace of the “Tersana emini,” or master of the arsenal, next comes in view and the extensive and noble establishment over which he presides. The stores, docks, and other edifices connected with it, extend for nearly a mile and a half along the shores of the harbour. They are constructed of solid masonry, and contain rope-yards, and an hospital: 500 labourers, and the same number of slaves in chains, condemned for various offences, are daily at work there. The forests near the Black Sea furnish an inexhaustible supply of timber; hemp for cordage, and metal for ordinance, are ready in abundance in the neighbouring shores of Russia. Should any cause interrupt the communication, and render these resources unavailable, supplies of all kinds are found within the limits of the Ottoman empire. Negroponte sends pitch, tar, and rosin; Samsoun, hemp; Gallipoli and Salonichi, gunpowder. With these materials the Turks launch the largest ships in the world; but, manned by inferior crews, they are weak and worthless. They are seen riding before the arsenal, and among them the Mahmoud, supposed to be the largest vessel of war ever built. She is 223 feet long, is pierced for 140 guns, some of her carronades carry sixty-pound balls, and her burden is 3,934 tons. During the Greek war, these vast machines suffered severely from the small-craft of their more skilful and active enemies; and such was the terror their brulots inspired, that the Turks did not consider their ships safe, even within the protection of their harbours. Each of them, therefore, was insulated by a pile of stakes, to which were moored rafts, where sentinels kept watch night and day, warning off even the smallest caïque that approached. They were supplied with heaps of stones, piled on the rafts like cannon-balls, and pelted without mercy every incautious straggler that came within the reach of their missiles.
On the water’s edge, raised on piles, is seen the elegant edifice of the “Divan Hané,” or Council Chamber of the Admiralty. It is a light and airy specimen of Oriental architecture, of which the Turks are vain. It was built by two ingenious Greek architects, who soon after disappeared. It was said they were put to death by their employers, lest they should build another to rival it. Besides, it is the “Caïque Hané,” or Arsenal of the Sultan’s Barges: and near this, the quarters of “Galiongees,” or Marines. These soldiers of the fleet are distinguished by the richness and gaiety of their dress, and by the assumption and insolence of their demeanour.
In the rear of the arsenal appears the tower of Galata, shooting up its tall spire above the hills, that its vigilant sentinel should command a view of whatever fire may burst out, and its beacon-drum may be heard far and near, whenever it announces one to the Bektchi, who, with his iron-shod pole stamping on the pavement below, alarms the sleepy inhabitants. From hence the sweep of the shore gives to the water the appearance of a lake, and the peninsula of Constantinople seems joined to that of Pera. Along the horizon are seen the Imperial mosques, crowning the seven hills; Santa Sophia impending over the gardens and kiosks of the seraglio; the mosque of Achmet distinguished by its six minarets; Bajazet; the vast Sulimanie apparently as large as the hill on which it stands; Osmanie, Mahomet II., and Selim.
Returning by the harbour along the water’s edge, the various objects of the city come in view. The Yeni Djami, close on the shore, erected by the piety of the Sultana Valadi, mother of the reigning sovereign, from the dower settled on her, not to purchase pins as in Europe, but paponches or sandals, and hence the edifice is called the “Mosque of the Slipper.” Next the district called “Istambol dichare,” or exterior quarter, comes in view. This is the alluvial portion, lying between the walls and the water, and formed by the deposits of charcoal, ashes, and various heaps of dirt brought from the higher grounds by the many little rills which trickle down. It is a black, muddy stratum, seldom exceeding forty or fifty yards in breadth, but extending the length of a quarter of a mile. The streets formed on it are narrow, wet, and dirty, but far more populous than any other part of the city. Various iskelli, or slips, project into the water, whence passengers pass from side to side. It is the inlet for all foreign merchandise brought by Frank ships to the harbour. Tobacco, oil, wood, flour, green and dried fruits, are stored in various warehouses. Here, too, is the great depôt for gunpowder, which lies among wooden houses, with oil, charcoal, and other inflammable substances, where the crowded population are all smoking, and casting about the red embers of their chiboques, originating some of those tremendous conflagrations, which have at different times devastated the city.
It is here the Emirs reside, who are supposed to be the descendants of Fatimah, the daughter of Mahomet. They are endued by the Prophet with the faculty of healing all diseases by praying, breathing, and touching, but particularly erysipelas and eruptive distempers. They are allowed by the Porte a tahim, or a certain quantity of provisions for their maintenance, on the condition of dispensing their gift of the healing art to the people; and the patient is enjoined to give them for every cure a fee of five paras, something less than a farthing. They are distinguished by green turbans and a tebsib, or “chaplet of beads,” on which they count their prayers for the recovery of their patients. Their mode of cure is simple. They are found standing in the streets; and when a diseased man distinguishes the green turban among the crowd, he approaches with reverence. The emir lays his thumb on the side of his nose, breathes upon his forehead, utters a short prayer, and the cure is effected in five minutes. A belief in the efficacy of touch and prayer, in healing disease, is universal among the Christian and Jewish, as well as the Islam population of Constantinople, and constantly resorted to.
The Fanal, or celebrated Greek quarter, now succeeds. It is so called from a “phanar,” or light-house, which illumined the gate, and was assigned exclusively to the Christians, on the capture of Constantinople. Here is the residence of the patriarch, and here the venerable head of the Oriental church was hanged over his own gate-way, when the Greek insurrection commenced in the province, and hence his lifeless body was dragged through filth and mud with gratuitous insult by the Jews, and cast into the water. Here also is the metropolitan church, conferred by Mahomet II. on the Christians, when the Moslem took possession of Santa Sophia. Among the reliques which confer interest and
value to this edifice, is the actual pillar to which our Saviour was bound when he was scourged, and the chair inlaid with mother-of-pearl, from which Chrysostom, with “the golden mouth,” delivered those eloquent homilies, which have been handed down to us in fourteen folio volumes. Here reside the seven princes of the Greek nation, which formerly filled the office of hospodars of Wallachia and Moldavia, once the proud and the powerful, but now steeped in misery and humiliation. The streets of this celebrated district are dark and dirty; the houses, mean and neglected. During the tempest of the revolution they were entirely sacked by the Turkish mob, the property of their inhabitants confiscated by the government, the princely population strangled or exiled; and the Fanariots, once composing a noble and opulent community of 40,000 persons, are now confined to half the number, and that half reduced to the most abject poverty.
After the Fanal succeeds the district of Blachernæ, where the wall, which runs from sea to sea, meets the harbour, and impends over it with its lofty battlements. From hence it reaches to Eyoub, and that singular factory is seen on the water’s edge, so peculiar to the present state of Turkey. A distinguishing characteristic of the turban was a small red cap, called a fez, which covered the crown, and round which the turban was wound. When this ponderous head-dress was laid aside by the sultan, the fez was retained, as a remnant of Orientalism, but as its circumference was less than that of a saucer, its border was enlarged till it reached the ears, and it became the adopted and distinguishing covering of the head under the new regime. It was originally manufactured at Tunis, and cost the government such immense sums, that the sultan resolved to establish a manufactory of it at home, and extensive edifices were erected for the purpose. A number of African workmen were invited, and they succeeded in every thing except the vivid colour, the preparation of which was kept a profound secret at Tunis. At length the process was discovered by an intelligent and enterprising Armenian; and the establishment, now complete in all its parts, exceeds, perhaps, that of any in Europe. Nearly one thousand females, of all persuasions, Raya as well as Turk, assemble here, and receive the wool weighed out to them. This they knit into caps of the prescribed form, and then return them. They are next subject to a process of fulling, and teazel heads, to raise the knap, then to clipping with shears, and finally pressed under a screw, till at length the texture becomes so dense as to obliterate all trace of knitting, and appears like the finest broad cloth. When it has attained this state, it is dyed by the newly-discovered process, and assumes a hue of rich dark scarlet or crimson. The altered shape of the cap is now a cylinder with a flat top, from the centre of which a thrum of purple silk-thread depends, encircled by a piece of crumpled white paper, which is always suffered to remain as part of the ornament. This, which resembles the undignified red night-cap of Europe, drawn down about the ears, is the regulation cap, which the sultan presented to all his subjects as the first reformation in Oriental dress, and which he wore himself as an example to others: but it is a miserable substitute for his splendid turban. The demand for it, however, is so great, that 180,000 are here annually manufactured, and sent to all parts of the empire. They impress it with the sultan’s cipher, and thus designate it as of imperial manufacture.
| W. H. Leitch. | G. Presbury. |
MAUSOLEUM OF SULTAN MAHOMED AND HIS FAMILY, BRUSA.
ASIA MINOR.
A tomb attached to an Imperial mosque is called a Turbé. It is usual for every Sultan to erect one for himself, in which the mortal remains of himself and his family are deposited, and it forms a detached portion of the Djami which he has built. Whenever any cause prevents him from performing this sad but pious duty before his death, the tomb of one of his ancestors is assigned for the purpose. This permission for intrusion into the precincts of another’s resting-place, is subject to the assent of the reigning Sultan that succeeds him, who from any cause may exclude his body, and send it to be interred in a strange sepulchre. The Valadé Sultana, or Queen-mother, has also a right to erect a Turbé for herself, and for such members of the Imperial family, male or female, as she chooses to admit. These are the only inmates of the Seraglio who are legally allowed to enter these sacred precincts; but when a Sultan wishes to pay particular respect to the memory of a departed Vizir, he suffers him to be buried in a corner below the grating: but this distinguished honour, and strong mark of personal affection, has been conferred on few, and the ashes of the Imperial descendants of the Prophet are seldom polluted by such profane mixture. No kadinos, or odalique, whatever attachment the Sultan may feel for her during life, is allowed to approach him when life becomes extinct. There is, however, a separate public cemetery in the centre of the city, reserved exclusively for the deceased female population of the Seraglio.
The body of the person permitted to be here interred, is simply buried in a grave dug for the purpose, and covered with earth in the usual manner of Turkish sepulture. This grave, generally surrounded with masonry, is the sarcophagus where the body is left to decay. It is approached by a passage protected by an iron grating; through which, on occasions of more than usual importance, the body may be approached, and its state examined; but no human being save the existing Sultan is allowed to enter, and profane by a glance of his eye the mouldering remains of one who had sat on the throne of the Osmanli. Over the grave thus formed is raised a Catafalque of wood, called a Sanndoucha. This is covered with plain stuffs and shawls, of different qualities and manufacture. Through this is embroidered in gold, various passages of the Koran. Frequently a deputation is sent to Mecca for a strip of the veil of the Keabé, or to Medina for a portion of that which covers the tomb of the Prophet. This forms a decoration to that part of the covering which is over the head of the deceased. There is also laid beside the head of a Sultan, or prince of the blood, a turban of muslin, to distinguish them from others. At each end of the Sanndoucha are enormous wax tapers, and suspended from the roof are circular lamps. The first are seldom used, but the last are kept constantly burning. The apartment is lighted from without by casements of gilded lattice-work, through which even a Giaour is allowed to view the interior.
The greatest simplicity is observed in the interior of these Turbés. There are no gilded ornaments, no display of pomp or splendour which distinguished the tenant of the tomb while alive. The walls within are generally covered with square slabs of porcelain marked with poetical inscriptions. These are said to be the composition of a blind Arabian poet, named Boordé, who, like Homer, wandered about reciting his rhapsodies, and who has obtained as much celebrity in the East, as his Greek predecessor in the West. The Achilles of his poem is Mahomet.
Each Turbé has six guardians, called Turbedar, and twelve aged men called Djuzê Khenana, or “reciters of the sacred page.” Their duty is to repeat the whole Koran every morning, for the repose of the souls of the departed. Each undertakes a certain number of pages, or Djuzy, till the whole is gone through. Among the acts of piety which a Sultan sometimes imposed upon himself, was transcribing the Koran with his own hands. These pious MSS. are always deposited in the Turbé of the transcriber. They are all marked with the name of the person, and form a singular and interesting series of Imperial autographs. When a stranger is admitted to see the interior of a Turbé, the Turbedar never fails to show their manuscripts, to which they attach a solemn interest, particularly to that of Mahomet II., who, in the midst of excited passions, turbulent events, and ferocious cruelties, calmly sat down to write out the precepts of his religion; and it appears did so with a tranquil mind and steady hand, as his autograph at this day testifies. Besides these Imperial Korans, a number of copies are kept, which the Turbedars present to every person who enters, that he may join with the reciters in their pious labours.
These Imperial sepulchres are much frequented by the Turks for various reasons. Some resort thither from affection to their ancient masters, particularly officers of the Seraglio. Others are drawn by feelings of general devotion to the sacred dead, whom they consider as Kalifs, or lineal descendants of the Prophet, and as such invested with an hereditary sanctity. But the tombs most frequented are those of Bajazet II., Mahomet II. and Selim I. Every day these visits are paid by some, but it is during the season of the fast of the Ramazan, and the seven holy nights, that they are crowded. The officers of the Seraglio, either from inclination or command, perform this duty of respect to the deceased Sultan for forty successive days after his death. The example is set by the reigning Sultan, who thinks this a task of indispensable obligation to his predecessor, whom perhaps he had ordered to be strangled or poisoned; and, as if to atone for his offence, gives liberally to the guardian, and distributes alms in every direction. Alms is the indispensable duty of every Moslem; the Koran says that “prayer conducts halfway to heaven−fasting brings to the gate−but alms alone procure entrance.” When no such occasion calls for this bounty, it is demanded by other causes. If any unfortunate event has occurred to himself−if any public calamity assails or threatens the state−or if any important enterprise is to be undertaken, destiny is propitiated in this manner.
In the city of Constantinople there are eighteen Imperial Turbés, where the monarchs repose who died after this city had been made the capital of the Turkish Empire; and in Brusa there are six, in which are deposited the remains of those who sat on the throne in this Asiatic city, before the empire was transferred to Europe: Gummusch Kubbe, where the bodies of Osman I. and Orchan are deposited; Dic Kirke, where the corpses of Murad I., Bajazet I., and Murad II. are laid; and Yeshil Jami in which moulder the remains of Mehmet, or Mahomet I. This last is that given in our illustration, which presents the general features in all Turbés. The head of the Sanndoucha, principal Catafalque, is covered with cashmere shawls, &c., part of the veil said to be taken from the covering of the Prophet’s tomb at Medina; the rest, is green with gilded mouldings. At each end are the enormous unlighted tapers which stand at the head and feet of the deceased, and above the circle of suspended lamps by which the mausoleum is always illuminated. The sides are covered with porcelain tiles. Around, on the matted floor, are the “Reciters” going through their daily task, and at one end is the case where their copies of the Koran are deposited. Behind are the smaller tombs of the various members of his family admitted into the sacred enclosure.
There is something in every form of Turkish sepulture, strikingly adapted to the end proposed, and displaying a strong contrast with our own. Death, without being divested of its solemnity, is disarmed of everything that could disgust and repel. The dark and pensive cypress groves, with their evergreen foliage and aromatic resinous exudation−the friend seen watering the flowers, or feeding the singing birds, which are supposed to gratify the dear object that lies below−exhibit spectacles far more interesting and affecting than the foul and mouldering heaps, and disgusting dilapidations of our dismal church-yards; while the Imperial Turbés, where every thing is simply neat and soberly decorated, are very different indeed from the dark and noisome cells of our regal monuments.
| T. Allom. | J. Tingle. |
SPRING OF THE MIRACULOUS FISHES AT BALOUKLI.
NEAR CONSTANTINOPLE
Of all the “Ayasmata,” or Holy Wells, in the vicinity of Constantinople, this is held in highest estimation by the Greeks, whose faith in its efficacy seems daily to increase. Many poets have devoted their gift of verse to its celebration; but two are more eminently distinguished. Nicephorus the most Beautiful, called, from his mellifluous song, the “Attic Bee;” and Johannes with the flowing hair, who acquired for himself the name of the “Sweet-voiced Grasshopper.” The former thus eulogizes the health-giving spring.
The stricken rock sent forth the bubbling tide:
That rock was Christ, the sacred bards declare−
The perishable nature never died,
Which drank its rill.−But, lo! faint mortal, where
Another fount his pitying mother gives.
Approach−the dying man who drinks it lives.
This invitation was obeyed, and crowds rushed to drink the gifted waters. The 29th of April was appointed, in the Greek church, for the celebration of a festival in honour of the Spring, and the day always displayed an extraordinary spectacle of Greek credulity and enthusiasm. During the disturbance of the insurrection, this ceremony had been suspended. Those who attempted to celebrate it were attacked by the Turks, who assaulted and dispersed the crowds, and the sacred fount was approached only secretly and occasionally by individuals. But when tranquillity was restored, and the Greeks were again allowed to resume the celebration of their religious rites, the multitude thronging to this place on the appointed festival was astonishing. A traveller who was induced to witness it, even before the church was rebuilt, passed with a whole fleet of caïques from Pera and Constantinople, to the nearest landing-place on the Sea of Marmora. From thence there was a constant current of people ascending through the city to the Selyvria gate, and on issuing from that, he found the whole plain densely crowded for several miles with a concourse of Turks as well as Christians; it resembled an English fair, where refreshments were sold, trinkets and wares exhibited, and all sorts of amusements practised. Bulgarian minstrels, the constant attendants on such meetings, walked pompously about, blowing their enormous bagpipes; crowds of Greeks, holding white handkerchiefs so as to form a long chain, went through all the mazes of the romaika, while a vast number of Turkish females, shrinking from such a display of themselves, sat decorously and quietly on the elevated banks, in various groups, passing from mouth to mouth the tube of one long chibouque, or nargillai, while the bowl or vase remained fixed in the centre, and the mouth-piece went round the circle. Though more passive in their admiration, they seemed no less interested in the object of the festival.
But the crowds congregated about the sacred well were far more seriously engaged: various “impotent folk, of blind, halt, and withered,” were placed near the waters, like those of the pool of Bethesda, brought there to be healed. They lay stretched on carpets or blankets, on which all the pious who passed, threw money, till the patient and his bed were spangled over with paras. In different parts of the ruined edifice were priests in their richest vestments, who displayed the most celebrated and wonder-working relics of their church on shrines erected for the purpose, and supported, in both their hands, capacious silver dishes, which were filled with the contributions of the crowd. But the ardour and enthusiasm of the devotees who repaired to the well for health exceeded all belief. Priests stood around the Spring with pitchers in their hands, which they constantly filled, and handed up to those about them. They were eagerly seized by every person who could catch them, and poured with trembling emotion on their heads and breasts, where they were rubbed, so that every particle of the health-giving fluid might be imbibed by the pores of the skin; while those who could not pay for, and were not favoured with this precious ablution eagerly caught at the stray drops with their hands, and applied them reverently to their faces and bosoms. Occasionally, a frighted fish darted across the bottom of the well; and when a glance of this fried phenomenon was caught by the crowd, a shout of exultation was raised, followed by a low murmur of praise and thanksgiving for the miracle.
When the church was re-edified, the Spring was also repaired, and the annual ceremony was observed with equal enthusiasm, but somewhat more decorum, in the regular edifice, than among the dilapidated ruins. The chancel of the church, as the most sacred part, was built directly over the well, and from thence there is a descent by a flight of stone steps. This terminates in a vaulted apartment, ornamented with niches surmounted by handsome pediments, which resemble the porches beside the pool of Bethesda; and in the centre is a square enclosure, surrounded by a marble parapet, within which the sacred Spring now bubbles up. Behind it, under an arcade supported by marble pillars, is the shrine of the panaya, by whose bounty the waters were endued with their inestimable virtues, lighted by a perpetual lamp. On the occasion of the grand festival, the vault is illuminated by the enormous chandelier which is seen on one side.
Our Illustration presents the characteristic features of this abiding superstition of the modern Greeks. Down the steps are seen descending the devout to this pool of Bethesda who expect to see the miraculous fishes, like the angel, “trouble the waters”, and then to partake of its healing qualities. Within the enclosure of the well are men eagerly imbibing the precious fluid; and on each side are papas in their robes, strengthening the faith of the pious, and receiving the price of the miraculous waters.
| T. Allom. | Drawn from Nature by F. Hervé, Esq. | W. Floyd. |
ASCENT OF THE HIGH BALKAN MOUNTAINS.
ROUMELIA.
Among the many wild and stupendous objects presented by the different passes through this magnificent chain, those by Tornova are, perhaps, the most striking. Tornova is the seat of a bishop of the Greek church, rendered particularly interesting to the people of England by the conduct and character of its present prelate, the learned Hilarion. When the British and Foreign Bible Society proposed to place the word of God within the compass of every man’s understanding, by translating it from the dead language in which it was written, and presented it to him in his vernacular tongue, some of the prelates of the Greek church, like those of the Latin, were opposed to the measure; but the late excellent patriarch, Gregory, who fell a victim to Turkish cruelty at the commencement of the revolution, was too pious and too enlightened to sanction such a sinful exclusion. He therefore gave his free consent to have the Scriptures rendered into modern Greek for the use of the laity of his flock, and it was assigned for that purpose to Hilarion, one of his clergy distinguished for his learning and piety. The circumstance caused no small degree of excitement in the Greek church. The great majority who favoured the measure were ardent in their wishes and zealous in their endeavours for its speedy accomplishment. The indefatigable Hilarion proceeded with his pious task, which was to effect the same reformation in the Greek as it had in the Latin church. It was actually put to press in the printing establishment of the patriarchate, and the first sheet of the precious work thrown off, when the Turks, excited, it is suspected, by the enemies of the measure, rushed in with axes and other implements, broke in pieces the cases, scattered the types abroad, and cast the first impressions of the Gospel into the court-yard and tank of water, where they were trampled on, torn, and sunk, till the whole of the printed sheets were destroyed, with other literary matter found in the printing-office. This event suspended the work, and the unsettled and disturbed state which followed prevented its resumption. The good and enlightened patriarch and his chaplains, who had laboured to promote the undertaking, were dead, the greater part of his clergy were in exile or in prison, while the learned Hilarion, having escaped the first burst of persecution, was, by one of the sudden vicissitudes so common in the East, dragged from his obscurity, and elevated to the see of Tornova, and, on the summit of the lofty Balkans, completed that sacred work which is to enlighten the world below.
The town of Tornova, besides being the largest in the region of the Balkans, is the only one built on the elevated central ridge from the Euxine to the Adriatic. Its site is very singular; it is seen from below, “hanging, like a swallow’s nest,” from the stupendous craigs above. When the traveller climbs to these upper regions, he walks through streets running on ridgy terraces, and looks down from a dizzy height on the road far beneath, which is at length lost to his sight in a deep abyss. A singular effect is observed in these regions, similar to that which occurs between the tropics. The setting sun is succeeded by no crepuscular illumination, and the eye is not accustomed to the gradual decrease of light: sunset seems to extinguish all atmospheric reflection, and darkness suddenly envelopes the horizon long before it is expected. Thus it happens that travellers are frequently surprised in the most dangerous and difficult part of the precipitous road, and compelled to halt on some projecting rock, till day-dawn extricates them from the perilous position in which night had unexpectedly overtaken them. To guard against this, paper lanterns are sometimes provided. The paper of which they are made is compressed into a small flat circular surface, and carried easily inside the hat or turban. When used, they are drawn out into a cylinder, and a taper placed inside, and, by the help of this faint and uncertain light, tied to the end of a pole and hung over the edge of the precipice, the adventurous traveller cautiously creeps along, rather than remain all night exposed on a naked craig to the inclemency of a mountain-region.−Among the phenomena of these mountains are certain visionary figures, which have something awful and supernatural in their aspect. Dense forms of gigantic beings, resembling those observed on the Hartz, are seen suddenly to issue out of chasms or forests, and move along like dim and undefined spectres through inaccessible places, where no mortal or embodied existence could possibly find a footing. These are columns of mist, sometimes so numerous and frequent as to seem like companies of giants travelling through the mountain-passes. The janissary or surrogee, who accompanies the traveller, is struck with awe, and exclaims “Allah keerim,” (God is merciful,) bows his head, and repeats his namaz as the spectres pass. It not unfrequently happens that sudden bursts of wind follow these appearances, tearing up trees, and sweeping through valleys with dangerous violence. As the misty columns are often the precursors of these storms, they are supposed to be their cause; they are, therefore, ascribed to the malignity of these visionary giants, who blow them forth over the unfortunate traveller, as the breath of their nostril.
Sometimes the traveller is surprised by sudden light gleaming from the rocks around him, and the roar of fires bursting from caverns. These, however, arise from a more explicable cause. The iron-ore with which the interior of the mountains abounds, is generally smelted on the spot. The red flame is then seen issuing from the riven rock, the blows of sledges echo through the caverns, and the dark and grim visage of the workmen are visibly illumined by the blaze. These appearances at night, in the deep solitude of the mountains, are very striking, and strongly remind the traveller of Vulcan’s forge in Etna, and his Cyclops fashioning thunderbolts. When a commotion of the elements supervenes, as frequently happens in these elevated regions, when the air is rent and the rocks around are shattered by the electric fluid, it requires no great stretch of the imagination to fancy it is the fabricated bolts of these grim artisans, that have now, as in the days of the poets, caused the destruction.
Our illustration presents one of those rugged ascents, suspended as it were over the perpendicular flank of a mountain-wall, on one side bounded by a deep chasm, and on the other overhung by a lofty precipice. This path is sometimes not more than a yard in breadth, and does not allow loaded horses space to pass each other. When this occurs, there is a mortal contest for the inside, and one pushes the other into the gulf below. Sometimes the path turns round a short angle, and when the traveller has accomplished the passage of the perilous point, he sees just before him a dark and dismal chasm, over which his horse’s neck projects, and his next step would precipitate him. His feeling of insecurity is increased by the state of the animal he rides. Instead of being shod with rough and pointed irons, which would give a firmer footing in ascending and descending such declivities, the shoe is a flat circular piece of smooth metal, perforated by a single opening in the centre, and affording not the slightest hold on what it presses. Hence, in going down, the motion of the animal is sliding, and the rider with horror sees the beast, to which he trusts his life, every moment ready to shoot over the edge of the narrow road, without a possibility of stopping or restraining itself. Yet such is the sure-footed sagacity of these mountain-steeds, that accidents rarely occur, and they glide down for several hundred yards, through a steep and tortuous descent, dexterously turning round every projecting rock before them, which seems to stand in the way for the express purpose of pushing him over the edge.
| T. Allom. | H. Mote. |
CIRCASSIAN SLAVES IN THE INTERIOR OF A HAREM.
CONSTANTINOPLE.
The country now called Circassia was part of that undefined region formerly denominated Colchis, between the Euxine, the Palus Mæotis, the Caspian sea, and the Caucasus. It was this region whence the Greeks brought their first golden freight, of which a woman formed the most valuable part. From that time to the present day there has been constant importations of females. These countrywomen of Medea retain that beauty of person and ferocity of character of their eminent predecessor, as also, it is said, her knowledge of noxious herbs, which abound to this day, as formerly, in their country, and which they apply not to prolong but to abridge the term of human life, whenever their interests or their passions demand the sacrifice of their rivals.
Circassia was formerly governed by its own wild but independent sovereigns; it is now almost all absorbed in the vast territories of Russia; the people have but little advanced in civilization since Jason first visited their shores; their habits are, as they have always been, predatory and unsettled; they are a nation of robbers and man-stealers, who trade in slaves, and add their own children, whom they bring up to sell. Like all barbarous people, they are divided into tribes; the eldest of each becomes the leader, but he is not allowed to possess any property except his horses and arms, and such tribute as he can exact from his neighbours. Their element is war, during which only they have authority. When it is at an end, they merge into obscurity, their dress, food, and habitations being no way distinguished from those of the common people.
Next to these are the Usdens, who are the landholders and lawgivers of the community, and who alone display what little of civilization exists among them. They govern by no written law, but certain hereditary usages, which are varied as the caprice or will of the Usden determines; the great body of the people are vassals or slaves. Their manufactures are rude and scanty, and their tillage insufficient to supply their own wants. They have no written language, and no circulating medium of coin; all their knowledge, then, is confined to traditionary fables, and all their commerce to exchange and barter. The only commodities in which they can trade are two−horses, and human beings. The former are well trained in all the discipline and instruction necessary for their state, and a Circassian horse is a well educated and accomplished animal; the latter are totally neglected, and, however attractive by personal comeliness, are altogether ignorant, and seem to have no capability beyond the instinct of nature.
When females are not sold, but remain at home, and are married, they reside in huts distinct from their husbands, and bring up a brood of children in no respects superior to themselves. Their whole energies are exerted to stimulate the predatory habits of their husbands, and their greatest gratification is in the plunder they are able to bring home. They seem to have no ties of kindred, no domestic affections, no family attachments; the daughter, if she is found to have any personal attractions, is educated solely on the speculation of selling her to advantage, and she frequently demands it from her parents as a right to which she is entitled. From this cause it is that all kindly feelings are obliterated, all love for others extinguished, and all passion is centred in self. Christian missionaries early penetrated into this region, and converted the people to their faith, and subsequently the followers of Mahomet entered it, and divided them between the Koran and the Gospel; but they now seem to have little knowledge of either. A nominal Moslem parent brings up her daughter in the seeming profession of that faith, that it may recommend her to her future master at Constantinople; a nominal Christian educates her child in no religion at all, that there may be no impediment to her conforming to any other; thus her natural passions are freed from all the restraints that religion would impose on them. From these causes it is, that there is a certain ferocity and irreclaimable wildness observable in a Circassian beauty. She gratifies the sensuality, but never secures the esteem, of him to whom she is afterwards consigned. She is an object of desire, but never of regard, and always excites more fear than love.
When a vessel arrives on the coast, it is always for the purpose of traffic in slaves; and all the girls, who have been waiting its approach with longing eyes, prepare themselves to be sold to the best advantage, and their hearts bound with the bright prospect which they are taught to believe lies before them. The splendour of the harem is contrasted with their own miserable huts; the rich stuffs in which they are to be clothed, with their homely, coarse, and squalid garments; the generous viands on which they are to be fed, with the meagre of their scanty diet. They have no ties to attach them to their native land, or dim the bright prospect that awaits them in another. They look upon their sale to a foreign merchant to be the foundation of their future fortune, and their entrance into a foreign ship their first step to a life of pleasure and enjoyment; nor are they disappointed even in the outset.
These Oriental slaves are conveyed, not in the coarse and brutal manner in which European traders carry on their traffic in human flesh. The vessels sent to bring them to their capital are well appointed in every respect for their accommodation. As the price is to depend on the state of health and beauty in which they arrive, every precaution is taken to preserve them. Instead of being crammed into noisome and suffocating holds, the greatest attention is paid to their comforts; their appetites are consulted, their pleasures are complied with, so that neither privation nor anxiety may impair their looks; and the slave dictates to her owner, in whatever she wants or wishes. When arrived, they are lodged in a spacious khan provided for them, and the police are especially ordered that every thing shall be cared for.
Now comes the Kislar Aga, or chief of the black eunuchs, to select for the imperial harem the most lovely and desirable of the importation, and having conducted them to his master, they are assigned apartments in the seraglio, and placed under the care of the instructress of the females. The rest are sent to the Aurut Bazaar, to be sold to those who have the means to purchase them. The Africans, and slaves of other countries, are here exposed, but the Circassian is secluded from the general crowd in separate apartments, which are carefully closed against all intruders, except on days of sale, when the sacred rooms are thrown open from nine in the morning till midday; and every true believer comes to avail himself of the permission of the Koran, and make new selections for the enjoyments of his harem. An infidel is inhibited from entering the market, unless by special permission; and so far from being allowed to purchase, he is not even permitted to look on those chosen females, lest the glance of his evil eye might wither the expected enjoyment of the faithful purchaser.
As these females receive no education at home, it sometimes happens that the Jew slave-merchant who buys them, endeavours to bestow on them such accomplishments as may enhance their value. These, however, are generally fruitless efforts. Personal, not mental qualities, are those that are sought for, and most prized. The Circassian seems to have an inaptitude for any improvement of the mind; and while the Greek or French females, whom the fortune of war or other calamity has consigned to slavery, make considerable progress under their instructors, the indolent and voluptuous Circassian despises such vain labours, and few attain even the elementary accomplishment of reading or writing. Music, such as it is, is most frequently attempted, because it is an enjoyment of the sense, and acquired without mental labour.
Our illustration represents the master of the harem indulging in his favourite recreation. His nargillai, scented with fragrant pastils, fills the small apartment with its drowsy vapours. Reclining on his cushioned carpet, he contemplates the languid, sensual features of his Circassians placed on the divan beside him, who try to amuse him with the only accomplishment they are capable of attaining, or he of feeling or comprehending. Next the door stands the black eunuch, guarding with jealous and malignant eye the entrance into this sacred seclusion.
| T. Allom. | J. C. Armitage. |