Where the Cydaris and Barbyses discharge themselves into it, the slime and mud carried down by the stream are deposited; and it forms a flat alluvial soil, where extensive manufactories of pottery have been established. As this is in the vicinity of a royal kiosk, it has obtained the name of the Tuileries, for the same reason as the French called their palace−because it was built where a manufactory of tiles had been established. The deposit continues to fill up the harbour, and it is necessary to mark the new-formed shoals, for the direction of vessels, by stakes stuck in the mud, so that this part of the harbour exhibits a curious spectacle of a labyrinth of palisades.
Opposite these, on the northern shore, is the “Yelan Seraï” or Palace of the Serpent forming an imperial residence. Many fantastic reasons are assigned for this name by the Turks, and stories told similar to that of the Kiz-Koulesi. But the simple reason seems to be, that the soil in this place abounds with these reptiles; and they so infested the palace that they were found coiled up on divans, and it was necessary to inspect every couch and seat before it could be occupied; the kiosk has, therefore, been abandoned to decay. Though serpents seem now less numerous than formerly in this place, the deleterious character of it is not lessened. The mal-aria generated, spreads a venomous effluvia, as fatal as that of vipers; this is evinced on the residents. The barrack of the “kombaragees,” or bombardiers, who rendered such signal service to the sultan in extirpating the Janissaries, is not far from it, and their sallow and sickly aspect exhibits proof that health is assailed by an effluvia as mortal as the serpent’s breath.
Next in succession is the “Guiumuch Hané,” or Silver Foundery, from whence the prepared metal is brought to the Tarap Hané in the outer court of the seraglio to be stamped. There is no copper coin in circulation in Turkey; but silver is debased so as to become a more worthless metal. The coins of this imitation formerly were the asper, parasi, beslik, and onlik, they have become extinct except the parasi, and another, formerly unknown, introduced the piaster and its several denominations. The parasi is a minute coin, so very small and light, that it can only be taken up by the tip of a wet finger. Every shopkeeper has a board secured by a ledge and running to a point, on which the paras are reckoned, and then spouted into a canvass bag. At the present rate of exchange, this apparently silver coin is less than one third of a farthing, and, as all money is reckoned by it, a stranger is startled to see his baccul’s or huckster’s bills amount to 10,000 paras. Turkish coins contain no representation of the head of the sovereign, but give his name and title, the place where they were struck, the date and year of the sovereign’s reign; the inscription on the present, coin is−“Sultan Mahmoud ibn Sultan Abdul Hamed el Sultan ibn el Sultan,” that is, Sultan Mahmoud, the son of Sultan Abdul Hamed Khan, himself a sultan, and son of a sultan;” the reverse is−“Sultan alberim vehaka nul bahrim sarb fi Constantami,” that is, “Sultan, conqueror of the world, sovereign of men, struck at Constantinople.” All this is generally expressed by a convoluted cipher, called nizam. Three cities in the empire are allowed to coin, beside the capital; Adrianople, Smyrna, and Cairo.
This part of the harbour opens into a deep valley, ascending up to the high grounds on which stands the elevated village, called by the Turks Tatavola, and by the Greeks, Aya Demetri. Small streams, running down the sides of the hills, carry with them all kinds of offal, and the deposit below is sometimes so enormous that the whole surface becomes a most foul and putrid mass, the fumes of contagion, from whence it periodically expands itself over the city. So tremendous was the miasma generated on one occasion, that 1000 persons were brought out to be buried every day through the Top-Kapousi gate. It is in such places that the plague is never extinguished, but remains always slumbering, till some circumstance calls it into activity. But a still more dreadful calamity issued from this valley. It is supposed to be the avenue through which the Turkish fleet was conveyed into the harbour. Ascending from the Bosphorus by a corresponding valley on the other side, and climbing on machines the eminence between, the Greeks, secure as they thought themselves by closing the mouth of the harbour, were astonished to see the enemy’s fleet issue from the side of the hill, and ride directly under their walls. This decided the fate of the city−paralyzed by terror and despair, they made from that moment a feeble resistance.
The next object that presents itself is the village of Hasskui, the favourite residence of the Jews. It is computed, that there are 50,000 of these people living here, and in other districts, in or near the capital. They have a cemetery in this place, of considerable extent; and though the dead are assigned a residence on a healthful, breezy eminence, decorated with sculptured tombs and monuments of marble, inscribed with epitaphs in high relief, the abodes of the living are even more wretched than in any other place. They inhabit a valley shut out from the winds of the north by a high ridge of hills, and open to the sultry heat of the south; while the pestilential effluvia arising from the vegetable decomposition of the marsh, the suffocating smoke of brick and tile kilns, and the metallic vapours of the silver foundery, form the atmosphere they breathe. Their own habits are singularly dirty, and the streets are filled with putrid water stagnating into offensive pools, without any current of air to disperse the foul accumulation of gases in the atmosphere. They are a prey, therefore, to all the diseases resulting from such a combination of evils. Their houses are small, low, damp, dark, and unventilated; yet they contain a crowded population. The women living in such abodes are generally a deteriorated race. They marry at an early age, and bring forth children, diminutive, pale, bloated, and rickety. On every Saturday, their day of rest, they are seen swarming about the open doors, to breathe, as it were, a pure air; and a passing stranger is astonished at so wretched a population. The adult males are distinguished by dirty ragged garments. Small mean hats, bound round with a coarse cross-bar cotton handkerchief; trousers which scarcely reach to the leg, exposing stockings full of holes. The people here, like the Ephraimites, seem doomed to a sibboleth−a pronunciation so imperfect, that they are scarcely understood in any language they attempt to speak. They snatch with avidity at things rejected by others as unfit to be used. Their soiled ragged clothes are the refuse of other men’s dress; and their food, whatever withered vegetables or stale meat are cast away as improper for human consumption. They exercise all callings by which money can be made, and make no exception to the vilest; but particularly delight in the sale of old clothes, a propensity which seems to mark them in every country where they are scattered. Such are the characteristics which distinguish this people in whatever district they are established, forming a striking contrast with all about them, and evincing the indelible impression of a peculiar nation. Above Hasskui is the village of Halish-oglon, inhabited by Armenians; and while these robust, comely, healthy, and well-dressed people breathe the pure air in fine spacious houses above, the miserable Jew is thrust down below, grovelling in dirt, disease, and misery.
Near this is a mosque, distinguished by an extraordinary circumstance. The minarets attached to every other, are always seen of a pure white, and carefully kept so, particularly those of Imperial edifices: but the minaret here is red, and displays the only one so coloured, perhaps, in the Turkish empire. The reason assigned for it is characteristic of a Turk. When Constantinople was besieged by Bajazet, a desperate conflict took place in this valley, and the effusion of blood was so great from the slaughter of the Greeks, that it rose to the height of the minaret; and when it subsided, it left its own colour upon the tower, which it has ever since retained in memory of the event.
The palace of the “Tersana emini,” or master of the arsenal, next comes in view and the extensive and noble establishment over which he presides. The stores, docks, and other edifices connected with it, extend for nearly a mile and a half along the shores of the harbour. They are constructed of solid masonry, and contain rope-yards, and an hospital: 500 labourers, and the same number of slaves in chains, condemned for various offences, are daily at work there. The forests near the Black Sea furnish an inexhaustible supply of timber; hemp for cordage, and metal for ordinance, are ready in abundance in the neighbouring shores of Russia. Should any cause interrupt the communication, and render these resources unavailable, supplies of all kinds are found within the limits of the Ottoman empire. Negroponte sends pitch, tar, and rosin; Samsoun, hemp; Gallipoli and Salonichi, gunpowder. With these materials the Turks launch the largest ships in the world; but, manned by inferior crews, they are weak and worthless. They are seen riding before the arsenal, and among them the Mahmoud, supposed to be the largest vessel of war ever built. She is 223 feet long, is pierced for 140 guns, some of her carronades carry sixty-pound balls, and her burden is 3,934 tons. During the Greek war, these vast machines suffered severely from the small-craft of their more skilful and active enemies; and such was the terror their brulots inspired, that the Turks did not consider their ships safe, even within the protection of their harbours. Each of them, therefore, was insulated by a pile of stakes, to which were moored rafts, where sentinels kept watch night and day, warning off even the smallest caïque that approached. They were supplied with heaps of stones, piled on the rafts like cannon-balls, and pelted without mercy every incautious straggler that came within the reach of their missiles.
On the water’s edge, raised on piles, is seen the elegant edifice of the “Divan Hané,” or Council Chamber of the Admiralty. It is a light and airy specimen of Oriental architecture, of which the Turks are vain. It was built by two ingenious Greek architects, who soon after disappeared. It was said they were put to death by their employers, lest they should build another to rival it. Besides, it is the “Caïque Hané,” or Arsenal of the Sultan’s Barges: and near this, the quarters of “Galiongees,” or Marines. These soldiers of the fleet are distinguished by the richness and gaiety of their dress, and by the assumption and insolence of their demeanour.
In the rear of the arsenal appears the tower of Galata, shooting up its tall spire above the hills, that its vigilant sentinel should command a view of whatever fire may burst out, and its beacon-drum may be heard far and near, whenever it announces one to the Bektchi, who, with his iron-shod pole stamping on the pavement below, alarms the sleepy inhabitants. From hence the sweep of the shore gives to the water the appearance of a lake, and the peninsula of Constantinople seems joined to that of Pera. Along the horizon are seen the Imperial mosques, crowning the seven hills; Santa Sophia impending over the gardens and kiosks of the seraglio; the mosque of Achmet distinguished by its six minarets; Bajazet; the vast Sulimanie apparently as large as the hill on which it stands; Osmanie, Mahomet II., and Selim.