The hand of Providence

by J. H. Ward

The sun had set, and night fell upon the contending hosts. Christian warriors, as they lay under the starry canopy of heaven, cast off the sterner half of man, and let their softer natures free: and loving thoughts of sisters, mothers, wives went winding through the air, to meet in last embrace.

And now the solemn calm before the storm drew near, and all was hushed and still. Constantine did not sleep. He knew that his hour was at hand. With a few chosen knights, he retired to the great church of St. Sophia, and there uncovered stood before the cross. To-morrow the great Byzantine empire would pass away with him! His tears fell thickly at the thought; and he prayed that he might die as became a Christian knight. Then for the last time he partook of the sacrament, and, turning to those around, he said, "I pray forgiveness if I have injured any one in thought, or word, or deed."

He stepped to the portal of the church, where stood his impatient steed, placed his helmet on his noble head, and mounting into the saddle, the humble penitent rode off as warrior Christian king, to battle and to die. He was afterwards found among a heap of the slain.

The banner of the crescent waved over the waters of the Bosphorus, and what was then the richest capital and finest country in Europe. Four hundred and thirty years have rolled by since then. It is still in their possession.

The appearance of Constantinople at the present time is very peculiar. The city is embosomed in gardens, orchards and vineyards. The houses are for the most part built in the form of a hollow square, with flat roofs and the windows facing inward. This gives to the compact parts of the city a rather dingy appearance. The streets, especially in the ancient portions, are extremely narrow, and frequently filthy. It is therefore pleasant to turn from these crowded thoroughfares, and in a few moments' walk, find yourself surrounded with shady trees, singing birds, fountains and flowers.

Here, in the limits of a single city, may be found representatives of almost every race and clime. The fair-haired natives of northern Europe, the swarthy inhabitants of Tartary, tall fierce-looking Circassians, and flat-nosed, woolly-headed negroes from central Africa; all mingling with the more polished inhabitants of western Europe, each dressed in his own peculiar garb, and presenting a living picture no less striking than strange. In this great hive of humanity may be heard at least fifty different languages making a complete Babel of sounds. Here, also, may be seen in striking contrast, the different manners, customs and usages of oriental and western nations.

The different methods used in the transportation of merchandise are no less peculiar; for while on the eastern side of the city, may be seen approaching long caravans of camels laden with the rich products of the East, on the western side may be heard the shriek of the locomotive, announcing the arrival of a train, bringing passengers, merchandise and latest intelligence from western nations.

But the most significant custom is that five times a day the muezzins, or Mahometan priests, ascend to the top of the mosques (as places of worship are called) and which are thickly scattered through the city, and in a loud wailing voice exclaim, "God is great! There is one God! Mahomet is His prophet! Come to prayer!" This is repeated four times facing the east, south, west and north, and has a penetrating effect on the mind of the hearer, much more than the sound of the church-bell of the Christians, or the trumpet of the Jews.

Most European historians have lamented the seizure of Constantinople by the Turks as a terrible disaster. To the unprejudiced student of history there seems to be but little reason for regret. For eleven hundred years Constantinople had greatly influenced the destinies of the world; but during all that time her power had tended more to the degradation than to the elevation of mankind. Her citizens possessed all the classical writings and works of art of the great authors of antiquity; yet in a thousand years they never produced one original, never advanced one step in philosophy or science, or made a single practical discovery. What was it that produced this barrenness, this intellectual degradation in Constantinople? It was the tyranny of priestcraft over thought. For a thousand years Constantinople had been not merely the leading commercial city, but also the leading city in debauchery and crime. In this respect it has vastly improved under Turkish rule. At the present time, especially in the Mahometan portions of the city, it is the least licentious of all the great capitals of modern Europe.