CHAPTER IX.
Cheerful Cemeteries—Burial-ground of Pera—Superiority of the Turkish Cemeteries—Cypresses—Singular Superstition—The Grand Champs—Greek Grave-yard—Sultan Selim’s Barrack—Village of St. Demetrius—European Burial-ground—Grave-stones—The Kiosk—Noble View—Legend of the Maiden’s Tower—Plague Hospital of the Turks—The Plague-Caïque—Armenian Cemetery—Curious Inscriptions—Turkish Burial-place—Distinctive Head-stones—Graves of the Janissaries—Wild Superstition—Cemetery of Scutari—Splendid Cypresses—Ancient Prophecy—Extent of Burial-ground—The Headless Dead—Exclusive Enclosures—Aspect of the Cemetery from the Summer Palace of Heybetoullah Sultane—Local Superstition—The Damnèd Souls.
I have alluded elsewhere to the apparent care with which the Turks select the most lovely spots for burying their dead, and how they have, by such means, divested death of its most gloomy attributes. Like the ancient Romans, they form grave-yards by the road-side; and, like them, they inscribe upon their tombs the most beautiful lessons of resignation and philosophy.
The Cemetery of Pera offers a singular spectacle; and the rather that the “Champ des Morts” is the promenade of the whole population, Turk, Frank, Greek, and Armenian; the lesser burial-place, or Petit Champs, is sacred to the Mussulmauns, and fringes with its dark cypresses the crest of the hill that dominates the port; it is hemmed in with houses—overlooked by a hundred casements—grazed by cattle—loud with greetings and gossipry—and commands an extensive view of the shipping in the harbour and the opposite shore. There are footpaths among the funereal trees; sunny glades gleaming out amid the dark shadows; head-stones clustered against the grassy slopes, and guard-houses, with their portals thronged with lounging soldiers, mocking the defencelessness of the dead. Nor must I forget to mention the small octagonal building, which, seated in the very depth of the valley, and generally remarkable from the dense volume of smoke exuding from its tall chimney, marks the spot where the last profane duties are paid to the dead; where the body is washed, the beard is shorn, the nails are cut, and the limbs are decently composed, ere what was so lately a True Believer is laid to rest in the narrow grave, to be aroused only by the sound of the last trumpet.
The superiority of the Turkish cemeteries over those of Europe may be accounted for in several ways. Their head-stones are more picturesque and various—their situation better chosen—and, above all things, the Mussulmaun never disturbs the ashes of the dead. There is no burying and re-burying on the same spot, as with us. The remains of the departed are sacred.
When a body is committed to the earth, the priest plants a cypress at the head, and another at the foot, of the grave; and hence those far-spreading forests, those bough o’er-canopied cities of the dead, which form so remarkable a feature in Turkish scenery. Should only one tree in six survive, enough still remain to form a dense and solemn grove; but the Turks have a singular superstition with regard to those that, instead of lancing their tall heads towards the sky, take a downward bend, as though they would fain return to the earth from whence they sprang; they hold that these imply the damnation of the soul whose mortal remains they overshadow; and as, from the closeness with which they are planted, and their consequent number, such accidents are by no means rare, it must be at best a most uncomfortable creed.
But it is to the “Grand Champs” that the stranger should direct his steps, if he would contemplate a scene to which the world probably can produce no parallel. Emerging from the all but interminable High Street, whose projecting upper stories form a canopy above your head for nearly its whole length, you have on your left hand the plague-hospital for the Franks, and on your right a stretch of higher land, which is the burial-ground of the Greeks. Here there is nothing to arrest your steps; it is ill-kept, and, were it not for the houses that surround it, would be dreary and desolate from its very disorder. The Greek is the creature of to-day—yesterday is blotted from his tablets.
Having passed the grave-yard, the road widens into an esplanade, in front of an extensive block of building, erected by Sultan Selim as a cavalry barrack. It is painted rose-colour, has a noble entrance, and possesses a look of order and regularity almost European. It is not until you descend the gentle declivity that slopes onward to the Grand Champs des Morts, that you discover the whole extent of the edifice, which is a quadrangle, having three fronts; its fourth side being devoted to a range of stabling.