From the Lakes of Killarney to the Golden Horn

by Henry M. Field

In the mongrel population of Constantinople one must not forget the dogs, which constitute a large part of the inhabitants. Some traveller who has illustrated his sketches with the pen by sketches with the pencil, has given, as a faithful picture of this capital of the East, simply a pack of dogs snarling in the foreground as its most conspicuous feature, while a mosque and a minaret may be faintly seen in the distance. If this is a caricature, yet it only exaggerates the reality, for certainly the dogs have taken full possession of the city. They cannot be "Christian dogs," but Moslem dogs, since they are tolerated, and even protected, by the Turks. It is a peculiar breed—all yellow, with long, sharp noses and sharp ears—resembling in fact more the fox or the wolf than the ordinary house-dog. A shaggy Newfoundlander is never seen. As they are restrained by no Malthusian ideas of population, they multiply exceedingly. They belong to no man, but are their own masters, and roam about as freely as any of the followers of the prophet. They are only kept in bounds by a police of their own. It is said that they are divided into communities, which have their separate districts, and that if by chance a stray dog gets out of his beat, the others set upon him, and punish him so cruelly that he flies yelping to his own crowd for protection. They live in the streets, and there may be seen generally asleep in the day-time. You cannot look anywhere but you see a dog curled up like a rug that has been thrown in a corner. You stumble over them on the sidewalk. They keep pretty quiet during the day, but at night they let themselves loose, and come upon you in full cry. They bark and yelp, but their favorite note is a hideous howl, which they keep up under your window by the hour together (at least it seems an hour when you are trying to sleep), or until they are exhausted, when the cry is immediately taken up by a fresh pack around the corner.

The purely Oriental character of Constantinople is seen in a visit to the bazaars—a feature peculiar to Eastern cities. It was perhaps to avoid the necessity of locomotion, always painful to a Turk, that business has been concentrated within a defined space. Imagine an area of many acres, or of many city squares, all enclosed and covered in, and cut up into a great number of little streets or passages, on either side of which are ranged innumerable petty shops, and you have a general idea of the bazaars. In front of each of these a venerable Turk sits squatting on his legs, and smoking his pipe, and ready to receive customers. You wonder where he can keep his goods, for his shop is like a baby house, a space of but a few feet square. But he receives you with Oriental courtesy, making a respectful salaam, perhaps offering you coffee or a pipe to soothe your nerves, and render your mind calm and placid for the contemplation of the treasures he is to set before you. And then he proceeds to take down from his shelves, or from some inner recess, what does indeed stir your enthusiasm, much as you may try to repress it—rich silks from Broussa, carpets from Persia, blades from Damascus, and antique curiosities in bronze and ivory—all of which excite the eager desire of lovers of things that are rare and beautiful. I should not like to say (lest it should be betraying secrets) how many hours some of our party spent in these places, or what follies and extravagances they committed. Certainly as an exhibition of one phase of Oriental life, it is a scene never to be forgotten.

To turn from business to religion, as it is now perhaps midday or sunset, we hear from the minaret of a neighboring mosque the muezzin calling the hour of prayer; and putting off our shoes, with sandaled or slippered feet, we enter the holy place. At the vestibule are fountains, at which the Moslems are washing their hands and feet before they go in to pray. We lift the heavy curtain which covers the door, and enter. One glance shows that we are not in a Christian church, either Catholic or Protestant. There is no cross and no altar; no Lord's Prayer, no Creed, and no Ten Commandments. The walls are naked and bare, with no sculptured form of prophet or apostle, and no painting of Christ or the Virgin. The Mohammedans are the most terrible of iconoclasts, and tolerate no "images" of any kind, which they regard as a form of idolatry. But though the building looks empty and cold, there is a great appearance of devotion. All the worshippers stand with their faces turned towards Mecca, as the ulema in a low, wailing tone reads, or chants, the passages from the Koran. There is no music of any kind, except this dreary monotone. But all seem moved by some common feeling. They kneel, they bow themselves to the earth, they kiss the floor again and again in sign of their deep abasement before God and his prophet. We looked on in silence, respecting the proprieties of the place. But the scene gave me some unpleasant reflections, not only at the blind superstition of the worshippers, but at the changes which had come to pass in this city of Constantine, the first of Christian emperors, and in a place which has been so often solemnly devoted to the worship of Christ. The Mosque of St. Sophia, which, in its vastness and severe and simple majesty, is certainly one of the grandest temples of the world, was erected as a Christian church, and so remained for nearly a thousand years. In it, or in its predecessor standing on the same spot, preached the "golden-mouthed Chrysostom." This venerable temple is now in the hands of those who despise the name of Christ. It is about four hundred and twenty years since the Turks captured Constantinople, and the terrible Mohammed II., mounted on horseback, and sword in hand, rode through yonder high door, and gave orders to slay the thousands who had taken refuge within those sacred walls. Then Christian blood overflowed that pavement like a sea, as men and women and helpless children were trampled down beneath the heels of the cruel invaders. And so the abomination of desolation came into the holy place, and St. Sophia was given up to the spoiler. His first act was to destroy every trace of its Christian use; to take away the vessels of the sanctuary, as of old they were taken from the temple at Jerusalem; to cover up the beautiful mosaics in the ceiling and on the walls, that for so many centuries had looked down on Christian worshippers; and to cut out the cross. I observed, in going round the spacious galleries, that wherever the sign of the cross had been carved in the ancient marble, it had been chiselled away. Thus the usurping Moslems had striven to obliterate every trace of Christian worship. The sight of such desecration gave me a bitter feeling, only relieved by the assurance which I felt then, and feel now, that that sign shall be restored, and that the Cross shall yet fly above the Crescent, not only over the great temple of St. Sophia, but over all the domes and minarets of Constantinople.

For the pleasure of contrast to so much that is dark and sombre, I cannot close this picture without turning to one bright spot, one hopeful sign, that is like a bit of green grass springing up amid the moss-covered ruins of a decaying empire. As it is a relief to come out from under the gloomy arches of St. Sophia into the warm sunshine, so is it to turn away from a creed of Fatalism, which speaks only of decay and death, to that better faith which has in it the new life of the world. The Christian religion was born in the East, and carried by early apostolic missionaries to western Europe, where it laid the foundation of great nations and empires; and in after centuries was borne across the seas; and now, in these later ages it is brought back to the East by men from the West. In this work of restoring Christianity to its ancient seats, the East is indebted, not only to Christian England, but to Christian America.

From the very beginning of American missions, Constantinople was fixed upon as a centre of operations for the East, and the American Board sent some of its picked men to the Turkish capital. Here came at an early day Drs. Dwight and Goodell, and Riggs and Schauffler. The first two of these have passed away; Dr. Schauffler, after rendering long service, is now spending the evening of his days with his son in Austria; Dr. Riggs, the venerable translator of the Bible, alone remains. These noble men have been succeeded by others who are worthy to follow in their footsteps. Dr. Wood was here many years ago, and after being transferred for a few years to New York, as the Secretary of the American Board in that city, has now returned to the scene of his former labors, where he has entered with ardor into that missionary work which he loved so well. With him are associated a number of men whose names are well known and highly honored in America.

The efficiency of these men has been greatly increased by proper organization, and by having certain local centres and institutions to rally about. In the heart of old Stamboul stands the Bible House, a noble monument of American liberality. The money was raised chiefly by the efforts of Dr. Isaac Bliss, and certainly he never spent a year of his life to better purpose. It cost, with the ground, about sixty thousand dollars, and when I saw what a large and handsome building it was, I thought it a miracle of economy. This is a rallying point for the missionaries in and around Constantinople. Here is a depot for the sale of Bibles in all the languages of the East, and the offices for different departments of work; and of the Treasurer, who has charge of paying the missionaries, and who thus distributes every year about one-third of all the expenditures of the American Board. Here, too, is done the editing and printing of different publications. I found Rev. Mr. Greene editing three or four papers in different languages, for children and for adults. Of course the circulation of any of these is not large, as we reckon the circulation of papers in America; but all combined, it is large, and such issues going forth every week scatter the seeds of truth all over the Turkish Empire.

Another institution founded by the liberality of American Christians is the Home at Scutari, a seminary for the education of girls. It has been in operation for several years with much success, and now a new building has been erected, the money for which—fifty thousand dollars—was given wholly by the women of America. Would that all who have had a hand in raising that structure could see it, now that it is completed. It stands on a hill, which commands a view of all Constantinople, and of the adjacent waters, far out into the Sea of Marmora. Around this Home, as a centre, are settled a number of missionary families—Dr. Wood, who, besides his other work, has its general oversight; Mr. Pettibone, the efficient Treasurer; Drs. Edwin and Isaac Bliss; and Mr. Dwight, a son of the former missionary; who, with the ladies engaged in teaching in the Home, form together as delightful a circle as one can meet in any part of the missionary world.

The day that we made our visit to the Home, we went to witness the performance of the Howling Dervishes, who have a weekly howl at Scutari, and in witnessing the jumpings and contortions of these men, who seemed more like wild beasts than rational beings, I could not but contrast the disgusting spectacle with the very different scene that I had witnessed that morning—a scene of order, of quiet, and of peace—as the young girls recited with so much intelligence, and sang their beautiful hymns. That is the difference between Mohammedanism and that purer religion which our missionaries are seeking to introduce.

But they are not allowed to work unopposed. The Government is hostile, and though it pretends to give toleration and protection, it would be glad to suspend the missionary operations altogether. But it is itself too dependent on foreign powers for support, to dare to do much openly that might offend them. We are fortunate in having at this time, as the representative of our Government, such a man as the Hon. Horace Maynard, who is not only a true American, but a true Christian, and whose dignity and firmness, united with tact and courtesy, have secured to our missionaries that protection to which they are entitled as American citizens.

The Home has just been completed, and is to be opened on Thanksgiving Day with appropriate services, at which we are invited to be present, but the dreaded spectre of a long quarantine, on account of the cholera, if we go to Syria, compels us to embark the day before direct for Egypt. But though absent in body, we shall be there in spirit, and shall long remember with the greatest interest and satisfaction our visit to the Home at Scutari, which is doing so much for the daughters of Turkey.