Traversing this vault, we entered a second, perfectly dark, of which the outer wall was strengthened by four large pillars. At the extreme end of this inner subterranean, we found a flight of ruined stone steps, which we ascended with some difficulty, and, on arriving at the summit of the stair, discovered that we were standing in a dilapidated Roman dungeon.
From this point several other cells branched off in different directions. The entrance of one, which appeared to be a cachot forcé, was so blocked by the masses of stone that had fallen from the roof, that we were unable to penetrate into it; but on the other side we passed into a range of dungeons, of which the partition walls, at least a foot in thickness, had been torn down. The iron rings by which the prisoners had been chained, still remained, as did also the sleeping places hollowed in the masonry; but the most curious and frightful feature of the locality was a water-course, which, passing along the entire line of cells, emptied itself into a small dungeon, situated under the arched vault that I have already described, and thus offered a ready mean of destruction to the oppressor, and a dreadful and hopeless death to the captive.
I was sincerely glad to leave this gloomy remain of by-past power, and to breathe once more the pure air of Heaven, on my way to Yèrè-Batan-Seraï, where we arrived after a long and very fatiguing walk. After a little hesitation, the door of the Turkish house to which I have elsewhere alluded was opened to us, and, passing through the great entrance hall, we traversed the courtyard, and descending a steep slope of slippery earth, found ourselves at the opening of the dim mysterious Palace of Waters.
The roof of this immense cistern, of which the extent is unknown, is supported, like that of Bin-Vebir-Direg, by marble columns, distant about ten feet from each other, but each formed from a single block; the capitals are elaborately wrought, and in one instance the entire pillar is covered with sculptured ornaments.
At the period of our visit, Constantinople had been long suffering from drought, and the water in the cistern was consequently much lower than usual, a circumstance that greatly tended to augment the stateliness of its effect. There was formerly a boat upon it, but it has been destroyed in consequence of the numerous accidents to which it gave rise.
The Kiära of the Effendi who owned the house, had accompanied us to the vault; and he mentioned two adventures connected with it that had taken place within his own knowledge, and which he related to us as having both occurred to Englishmen.
The first and the saddest was the tale of a young traveller, who about six years ago arrived at Constantinople, and in his tour of the capital, obtained permission to see the Yèrè Batan Seraï. The boat was then upon the water; and, not satisfied with gazing on the wonders of the place from land, he sprang into the little skiff, and accompanied by the boatman who was accustomed to row the family in the immediate vicinity of the opening, he pushed off, after having received a warning not to be guilty of the imprudence of advancing so far into the interior as to lose sight of the light of day. This warning he was unhappy enough to disregard. Those who stood watching his progress remarked that he had provided himself with a lamp, and they again shouted to him to beware: but the wretched man was bent upon his purpose; and having, as it is supposed, induced the boatman, by the promise of a heavy reward, to comply with his wish, the flame of the lamp became rapidly fainter and fainter, and at length disappeared altogether from the sight of those who were left behind; and who remained at their station anxiously awaiting its return. But they lingered in vain—they had looked their last upon the unfortunates who had so lately parted from them in the full rush of life and hope—the boat came no more—and it is presumed that those within it, having bewildered themselves among the columns, became unable to retrace their way, and perished miserably by famine.
I should have mentioned that the spot on which we stood was not the proper entrance to the cistern, of whose existence and situation they are even now ignorant, but an opening formed by the failure of several of the pillars, by which accident the roof fell in, and disclosed the water-vault beneath.
Another similar but less extensive failure of the extraordinary fabric in a yard near the Sublime Porte betrayed its extent in that direction; a third took place in the immediate neighbourhood of St. Sophia; and a fourth within the walls of the Record Office; thus affording an assurance that the cistern extended for several leagues beneath the city. Further than this the Constantinopolitan authorities cannot throw any light on its dimensions; and, as far as I was individually concerned, I am not quite sure that this fact did not increase the interest of the locality—the mysterious distance into which man is forbidden to penetrate—the long lines of columns deepening in tint, and diminishing in their proportions as they recede—the sober twilight that softens every object—and the dreamy stillness that lords it over this singular Water Palace, which the voice of man can awaken for a brief space into long-drawn and unearthly echoes, that sweep onward into the darkness, and ere they are quite lost to the ear, appear to shape themselves into words: all combined to invest the spot with an awful and thrilling character, which, to an imaginative mind, were assuredly more than an equivalent for the privilege of determining its limits.
The second local anecdote related to us by the Kiära was that of an Englishman, who, only a few months previous to our visit, had requested permission to make use of the little boat that had replaced the one in which the traveller, to whom I have already alluded, had been lost. Many objections were started; and the fate of his unfortunate countryman was insisted upon as the reason of the refusal; but on his repeated promises of prudence, the old Effendi at length consented to his wish; and having lighted a couple of torches, and affixed them to the stern of the boat, the traveller drew out a large quantity of strong twine, which he made fast to one of the pillars, leaving the ball to unwind itself as he proceeded.