The Greeks, who sent the trophies of their versatile genius, their graceful architectural adornings, and exquisite paintings to the temples at Rome, and over the western world, whose classic lore is yet the theme and model of the learned, once gloried in the possession of the proud Stamboul.
About a century after its foundation by Constantine, it is said to have possessed “a capital, a school of learning, a circus, two theatres, eight public and one hundred and fifty-three private baths, fifty-two porticoes, five granaries, eight aqueducts of water, four spacious halls of justice, fourteen churches, fourteen palaces, and four thousand and three hundred and eighty-eight houses, which, for their size and beauty, deserved to be distinguished from the multitude of plebeian habitations.”
The magnificent temple Ayia-Sophia, dedicated to the Goddess of Divine Wisdom, rose like a Phœnix from its ruins, under the liberal patronage of Justinian, and the assiduous labors of ten thousand workmen during five years, eleven months, and ten days.
This was the shrine of the Greek Faith, and those walls glittering with golden mosaic and precious stones, re-echoed the Κυριε ελεησον of the adoring Christians. The magnificent altar of precious metals and glittering gems witnessed the prostrations of patriarchs and their acolyths—and the impenetrable veil was suspended before the Holy of Holies.
The great city was the arena for the sports of the pleasure-loving Greeks; sometimes in the race of wild beasts with each other, and again in the more terrible contests of the gladiators.
The Bosphorus was alive with human freight, youths and maidens, wooed by its blue and sparkling waves, delighted to dream of love as they glided over the gently-heaving waters.
The shores were gay and gladsome, as the enamored throng tripped through the mazes of their fantastic Romaica to the tinkling music. But the Grecian prince is hurled from his throne, and the grave and sombre Moslem sits there, the despot and bloody conqueror. The great temple, which rivalled even that of Solomon, is suddenly divested of the symbols of a Christian faith. Its mosaics of the saints which adorn the walls are obliterated, its cherubim are torn down, its altar demolished, and nothing left of all the gorgeous decorations. The bare, unadorned niche—the mihrab or index to the temple of Mohammed, is instituted, and “Allah-il-Allah,” is henceforth the cry of the Faithful.
Yet, they say, the distant chant of the last officiating priest of the Greek religion still lingers within the walls, from whence he will issue when the edifice is restored to its original worship.
Sports are over—maidens and youths are coy of their charms, for a change has come over the spirit of their dreams.
The liberty of woman is shackled, and the dominion of seclusion established. Certain quarters of the city are assigned to the Greek subjects—and externally their very dwellings assume the dusky tints of bondage and ruin.