There is no such useless wealth in all the world except in the Kremlin at Moscow. That looks larger because it occupies more space and is better arranged for display. The Sultan’s treasures are crowded into two little rooms, arranged without any taste or plan of installation, and the loose and unset jewels, seals and other articles of adornment are kept in big salad-bowls that will hold a couple of gallons. There are five bowls full of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, turquoise and other unset precious stones, perhaps a half bushel altogether, and a large tray about twelve by fifteen inches in size covered with beautiful unmounted pearls. One of the emeralds weighs two kilograms and another is almost of the same size. They are said to be the largest emeralds in the world.
The most gorgeous and overpowering spectacle in the collection is a throne said to be of solid gold set, mosaic-like, with uncut rubies, emeralds and pearls, which formerly belonged to the Shah of Persia, and was captured and brought to Constantinople as the spoil of war by Sultan Selim I. in 1502. There are scepters, armor, sabers, scimiters, pistols, saddles and other equestrian equipments, walking-sticks, sandals and other articles, some of them imbedded with jewels. A toilet table of ordinary size is veneered with diamonds, while the wash-bowl, pitcher and other toilet articles are set thickly with the most beautiful turquoise. There are cups of onyx, crystal and jade; stirrups, bridles and other horse-furniture of gold, and in the corner of a little case is a two-quart bowl filled with diamond buttons, which some time or another fastened the garments of some extravagant sultan. Arranged around the wall are effigies of a dozen or more of the great sultans in their richest robes of state and wearing their favorite jewels. If those effigies could be stripped of their ornaments they alone would make a display of the jeweler’s art that would be worth exhibition. There is no catalogue, and I was prohibited from taking notes. Newspaper men are never knowingly admitted, lest they should publish descriptions of the riches of the treasury and give the Sultan hysterics.
The ceremony of opening the doors was quite interesting. There are two sets of keys for everything, and they are held by two custodians who have nothing to do with each other and are supposed to be enemies. Each has a guard of twenty-four men, who live apart and are forbidden to associate with each other or have any more than the strictest official communication. Representatives of each of these squads are on duty at all times and are expected to act as spies on each other. They are peculiar-looking people and wear a queer livery—a high-buttoned coat of black broadcloth like an Episcopal clergyman, with a red fez.
Our card of invitation fixed our reception at 11:30 a.m. We arrived a little before that hour, to find that the custodians had anticipated us and had drawn up their guards in two lines facing each other. One of the chiefs then went forward and unlocked his share of the fastenings. Then the other came forward and used his keys. Each was accompanied by at least twelve men, and under the regulations could not turn a bolt until they all were present. If anyone had been absent we would have been compelled to wait for him or come another day. And every one of these guards expected a liberal fee. The cost of looking at the Sultan’s treasures amounted to $35. After the inspection we were invited to a pavilion where coffee, sweets and cigarettes were served with great formality. While we were there an accident happened. Our courier, in reply to an inquiry, unintentionally dropped a few words of Turkish, and there was great excitement. One of the officials took him aside and put him through a close examination, but finally accepted his explanation that he was not a Turk nor a resident of Turkey, and was not familiar with the language, but had learned a few words during the recent war with Greece, when he had served as a dragoman for an English newspaper correspondent.
VIII
ROBERT COLLEGE AND THE MISSIONARIES
Upon the summit of a bold promontory, overlooking the Bosphorus, almost midway between the Black Sea and the Sea of Marmora, one hour’s ride by boat from Constantinople, stands a monument. No man could need or wish a nobler one. It is called Robert College, and was erected about forty years ago by a New York merchant, Christopher R. Robert, who was interested in Turkish trade. It has an appropriate place. A lighthouse should always stand were it can see and be seen, and Robert College has done more to enlighten the East than any other agency. Little passenger boats, like those upon the Thames in London and upon the Seine in Paris, run regularly or rather irregularly, up and down the Bosphorus, touching the many little suburban settlements along its shores. At Bebek, a pretty town much frequented by European residents of Constantinople, is a Protestant church, where formerly stood a temple to Artemis Dictynna. After the Turks obtained possession palaces were laid out there, and at one of them, called “The Kiosk of the Conferences,” the Sultans used to receive ambassadors secretly, without the knowledge of their ministers and other officials of the government, and there several important treaties between the Ottoman Empire and the European Powers were negotiated and signed. The Bosphorus is only about eight hundred yards wide at this point. Near Bebek was the celebrated bridge over which Darius led the Persian armies into Europe. A throne was hewn in a rock at the top of the promontory on which he sat and watched his army crossing from Asia. Two pillars of white marble inscribed with the names of the nations that contributed to his army formerly stood there, according to Herodotus, but have since been removed.
ROBERT COLLEGE, CONSTANTINOPLE
Passengers for the college land from the boats at Bebek and follow an easy path up a hill beside an ancient cemetery and under the shadow of the walls of Rumili Hisar, a mighty castle built by Mohammed II. in 1453 while he was besieging the city of Constantinople. Immediately opposite, upon the Asiatic shore of the Bosphorus, a similar castle was erected, and the two commanded the passage so that every ship passing up and down was compelled to pay toll. Mohammed called this castle Boghag Kessen (Throat Cutter), for he had a pleasant way with him. The ruins are as picturesque and extensive as any in Europe, and the towers are almost perfect after nearly six hundred years, although the floors and ceilings have long since fallen through. The walls have crumbled and much stone has been taken away for building material. They were originally thirty feet thick and thirty feet high, and were built with the greatest haste and energy. Mohammed employed 1,000 masons, 1,000 lime-burners and 10,000 laborers in the construction, and to each mason was assigned the task of building two yards of wall in three months. By this division of labor and responsibility the work was completed in the time named by the ingenious designs of the engineers, and the outline of the walls forms the Turkish word “Mahomet.”
There are other interesting places in the neighborhood, but Robert College is the most interesting of all. The institution is built and conducted upon the American plan. You might fancy that the dormitories and lecture-rooms and library of some institution in Ohio or Illinois had been lifted bodily and transported there. They are of solid masonry and as nearly fireproof as it is possible to make them. Dr. Washburn, the president, has a comfortable home within the grounds, of corresponding architecture and material, and the residences of the faculty are scattered around the neighborhood inside and outside the walls. It is not necessary to describe the buildings, for they are so much like our own. In the basement of the principal dormitory is the common dining-room at which the boarding students take their meals and the day students their lunches, and that, too, is conducted upon the American rather than the Turkish plan. The same can be said of the dormitories, the library and the gymnasium. The preparatory department has a new building, the gift of Miss Stokes, of New York, which cost $40,000. Other buildings are greatly needed, because the present accommodations are not sufficient for the demands upon them. It is a lamentable fact that students have to be turned away every year because there is no room for them. The institution has done incalculable good, but it might do more. Its usefulness could be materially increased with a little more room and a little more money.