We employed a guide to take us to the Mosque of Sancta Sophia and the other principal show places. This man had formerly called himself "Teddy Roosevelt," but he changed his name to "George Washington Taft," in honor of our worthy President, thus making his cognomen thoroughly American and bringing it up to date at a stroke of the pen; but we told him this was no kind of a name for a guide in Turkey, and then and there changed it to "Muley-Molech;" he was much pleased with his new historical title. "Muley-Molech" had a nose of vast proportions—while not so large as the Lusitania's helm, yet it was exactly the same shape; and he wore a moustache that ended in large, hirsutical corkscrews; his teeth were like small bits of marble stained with tobacco juice, and they had the effect of an arc made from the spear of a sword fish, grim and terrible. Altogether he was a remarkable man—one to be feared at night when near the Bosphorus; although, if the bitter truth must be told, he avoided impartially both salt water and fresh, whenever possible. My word! "Muley" was no ordinary, amateur Munchhausen! he was full of exact statements which he encrusted with legends that were utterly bare-faced. After hearing one of his flights of fancy, a fat brewer from the West remarked:
"It's better not to believe so much or to know so many facts that aren't so; but this is the devil of a place, anyhow; that's right!"
Muley looked at him with fine scorn and went on at his usual gait. Later I told him (Muley), the story of the Irish judge who once said to a prisoner whom he was about to sentence:
"We don't want anything from you but silence—and very little of that!"
This hint had a depressing effect, and Muley lost his nerve and the character he had enjoyed with us of being a picturesque and fearless liar.
Sancta Sophia was built in Stamboul across the Golden Horn by the Emperor Justinian in 537 A.D. (fire having destroyed the edifice originally erected by Constantine and replaced by the church built by Theodosia, which was also burned). The dome is one hundred and eighty feet from the floor. To adorn it, the Temple of Diana at Ephesus was ravaged of eight serpentine columns, and eight more of porphyry were taken from the Temple of the Sun at Baalbek to add to its beauty. It is alleged that its cost approached $64,000,000, including the "graft." Its artistic value is greatly depreciated by the squalor of its environment. Looking at this great pile, a speculative wag remarked, with a twinkle in his eye:
"It's all a question of money. Give me the financial assistance of J. D. R., and with one of the big American construction companies to take the contract I can produce a building fully equal to this in less time and for very much less money."
He was right. It would be only a question of deciding to do it. The Landis' comic-opera fine would be sufficient.
The Sultan's Palace and the ancient Hippodrome are also places of great interest. In the latter were deposited the four gilded bronze horses, supposed to have been brought from Scio, once mounted on Trajan's Arch at Rome, brought here by Constantine. They were taken to Venice by Dandolo, then Napoleon gave them to Paris, and finally after Waterloo they were restored again to St. Mark's at Venice.
In Constantinople we also saw three or four other Mosques of great size, and the Seraglio grounds and Palace. In the latter we saw the gates through which the odalisks who had lost the sultan's favor passed beyond to be executed. The passage of this gate made our flesh creep when we thought of all it meant to the unfortunates; but near by, in agreeable contrast, is the "Gate of Felicity," which is the entrance to the sultan's harem. Through this the new favorites entered and remained till they had grown old and lost their charm.