Of Cheragan, where Abdul Aziz died and perhaps the last Sultan still lingers, I cannot speak. No one is now admitted. Let the enthusiastic de Amicis express, in his account of it, what we feel as we leave Dolma bagtché.
"Nothing of all the splendour remains in my memory except the Sultan's bath, made of whitest marble, sculptured with pendent flowers and stalactites, and decorated with fringes and delicate embroideries that one feared to touch, so fragile did they seem. The disposition of the rooms reminded me vaguely of the Alhambra. Our steps made no sound upon the rich carpets spread everywhere. Now and then an eunuch pulled a cord, and a green curtain rose and displayed the Bosphorus, Asia, a thousand ships, a great light; and then all vanished again, as in a flash of lightning. The rooms seemed endless, and as each door appeared we hastened our steps; but a profound silence reigned in every part, and there was no vestige of any living being, nor rustle of garment save the sound made by the silken door-curtains as they fell behind. At last we were weary of that endless journey from one splendid empty room to another, seeing ourselves reflected in great mirrors, with the black faces of our guides and the group of silent servants, and were thankful to find ourselves again in the free air, in the midst of the ragged, noisy denizens of Tophane."
The present Sultan, as all the world knows, lives in Yildiz Kiosk, a building erected by himself, on the hills above the Bosphorus. He has gradually restricted his public appearances within the narrowest limits possible to a Sultan. Only once a year does he now cross to Stambûl, to pay, on the 15th of Ramazan, homage to the Prophet's mantle in its chamber in the old Seraglio. Once a week, on Friday, he goes to the mosque he has built just outside his palace grounds. A card from the Embassy admits to a house provided by the Sultan which gives a good view of his ceremonial procession to his official prayers. As a survival, or as the modern expression of the power and obligation of the Khalif, the Commander of the Faithful, it is a sight not to be missed. The massed thousands of splendid troops, as fine a body of men as any soldiers in the world, the pilgrims from the far East, the holy men of the Mohammedan faith, admitted to the best positions and treated with the most profound reverence, the gathering of ladies from the harem in closed carriages surrounded by eunuchs, and of little princes in gay uniforms, at last the coming of the Sultan himself, in the most prosaic of European costumes, surmounted by a fez, with his officials preceding and following his carriage—that is the ceremony to-day which centuries ago foreigners watched rarely and with awe, if not with terror. The times have changed; and the man.
SCUTARI POINT AND LEANDER'S ISLE
CHAPTER VII
Antiquities
Needless to say, the antiquities of Constantinople would take for their description not one but many books. Archæologists will read as well as see for themselves. Let me merely call attention to some of the prominent archæological remains which no one will wish to miss. They are the living memorials of the great past.
And first the Hippodrome. So much has already been said of it that here I shall only give the barest description of what we see to-day. And first be it noted that the space now open is probably no more than two-fifths of the original Hippodrome. The mosque of Sultan Ahmed encroached on the east; other buildings on the west. The area of the ancient Hippodrome has been estimated at 25,280 square yards. The present space is not more than 216 yards in length and 44 across. Secondly, it must not be forgotten that the present level is about 10 feet above the original pavement. Some indication of this is given by the fact that the bases of the columns, excavated by British officers during the Crimean war, are still considerably below the ground outside the railings.