The City of the Sultan; and Domestic Manners of the Turks, in 1836, Vol. 1 (of 2)

CHAPTER XXIII.

Antiquities of Constantinople—Ismäel Effendi—The Atmeidan—The Obelisk—The Delphic Tripod—The Column of Constantine—The Tchernberlè Tasch—The Cistern of the Thousand and One Columns—The Boudroum—The Roman Dungeons—Yèrè-Batan-Seraï—The Lost Traveller—Extent of the Cistern—Aqueduct of Justinian—Palace of Constantine—Tomb of Heraclius—The Seven Towers—An Ambassador in Search of Truth—Tortures of the Prison—A Legend of the Seven Towers.

The antiquities of Constantinople are few in number; and when the by-past fortunes of Byzantium are taken into consideration, not remarkably interesting. I shall consequently say little upon the subject, and the rather that more competent writers than myself have already described them; and that these reliques of departed centuries are not calculated to be treated a tutto volo di penna. But, as it is impossible to pass them over altogether in silence, I shall merely endeavour to describe their nature and the effect which they produced upon myself.

Perhaps the most curious remain of by-gone days now existing, and certainly that which is the least known, is Yèrè-Batan-Seraï, literally the “Swallowed up Palace,” anciently called Philoxmos. I had heard much of this extraordinary old Roman work, but we had repeatedly failed in our attempts to visit it, from the fact of its opening into the court of a Turkish house, whose owner was not always willing to submit to the intrusion of strangers.

We were not, however, fated to leave Constantinople without effecting our purpose; which we ultimately accomplished through the medium of one of the Sultan’s Physicians, who provided us with such attendance as insured our success. Ismäel Effendi, Surgeon-in-chief of the Anatomical School attached to the Seraï Bournou, volunteered to become our escort, and we gladly availed ourselves of his kindness. He was a fine, vivacious, intelligent young man, endowed with an energy and mobility perfectly Greek, combined with that gentle and quiet courtesy so essentially Turkish: and we were, furthermore, accompanied by one of his friends, who spoke the French language with tolerable fluency; and a soldier of the Palace Guard, to prevent our collision with the passers-by; a precaution which the rapid and virulent spread of the Plague had rendered essentially necessary.

We first directed our steps to the Atmeidan, or Place of Horses, the ancient race-course of the Romans; in which stands a handsome Egyptian obelisk of red granite, placed there by Theodosius, and resting upon a pedestal of white marble, whereon are coarsely represented his victories in very ill-executed alto relievo. The obelisk is sixty feet in height, and elaborately ornamented with hieroglyphics.

Near it are the remains of the Delphic Tripod; the brazen heads of the serpents are wanting; and it is asserted that one of them was struck off by Sultan Akhmet at a single blow of his scimitar.

The Turks are extremely jealous of this interesting remain, as they have a tradition that, when it is either destroyed or displaced, Constantinople will fall once more into the hands and under the power of the Christians; and so universal is this superstition, that a pretty little girl of about eight years of age, who saw us examining it, approached us, and said earnestly; “You may look, but you cannot buy this with all your gold, for it is our talisman, and you are Franks and Infidels.”

About one hundred paces beyond the Tripod, the lofty monument of Constantine, denuded of the coating of metal by which its coarse masonry is said to have been once concealed, rears its head ninety feet from the earth; and appears, from its immense height and small circumference, superadded to the apparently careless and insecure manner in which the stones are put together, to stand erect only by a miracle.

But far more curious than either of these is the Tchernberlè Tasch, or Burnt Pillar, situated at a short distance from the Tower of the Seraskier. It was originally brought by Constantine from the Temple of Apollo, at Rome, and was placed upon an hexagonal pedestal, within which were built up several portions of the Holy Cross; whence the small square in which it stood became a place of prayer. When first transported to Constantinople, it was surmounted by a statue of the God, from the chisel of Phidias, of which the head was surrounded by a halo. But the conqueror appropriated the figure, and caused to be inscribed beneath it, “The Justice of the Sun to the Illustrious Constantine.”

The destruction of the statue is diversely explained by different writers. Genaro Esquilichi declares it to have been destroyed by a thunderbolt; Anna de Comnena asserts that it was overthrown by a strong southerly wind during the reign of Alexius de Comnena, and that it killed several persons in its fall; while other authors mention that it was merely mutilated by the first accident, and utterly ruined by the second. The pedestal bears an inscription now nearly obliterated, which may be thus rendered from the original Greek:

The pillar is ninety feet in height, and the pedestal measures thirty feet at its base; it has suffered severely from fire as well as from time, and a strong wire-work has been carefully erected about it to prevent its falling to pieces, as it is rent and riven in every direction. It is to be deplored that this interesting relic is built in on all sides by unsightly houses.

From the Tchernberlè Tasch we proceeded to visit a cistern called by the Turks Bin-Vebir-Direg, or the “Thousand and One,” in allusion to the number of columns that support it. It is an immense subterranean, of which the roof is in reality sustained by three hundred and thirty-six pillars of coarse marble, each formed of two or more blocks.

These pillars are now buried to one-third of their height in the earth, the water-courses having been turned, and the cistern dried up, for the purpose of receiving the rubbish which was flung out when the foundations of St. Sophia were laid. It is now occupied by silk-winders, and they have become so accustomed to the sight of visiters that they scarcely suffer you to descend the first flight of steps before they all quit their wheels, and begin shouting for backschish. The channel worn in the stone by the passage of the water that once flowed into the cistern is distinguishable on three different sides of the subterranean, which is lit by narrow grated windows level with the roof; and the echoes, prolonged and flung back by the vaulted recesses, have a sound so hollow and supernatural that they appear like the distant mutterings of fiends.

As we were about to quit Bin-Vebir-Direg, one of the silk-spinners informed us that there was another smaller Boudroum, or subterranean in the neighbourhood, to which he offered to conduct us; honestly admitting, at the same time, that the atmosphere that we should breathe there was so unwholesome that few persons ventured to indulge their curiosity by descending into it. Thither we accordingly went, and the less reluctantly as we ascertained by the way that this also had been converted into a spinning establishment, where fifty or sixty persons were constantly employed.

A short walk over the rubbish of an ancient fire brought us to the narrow door of this second subterranean. And we had not descended a dozen steps, ere we were perfectly convinced of the accuracy of the information given to us by the guide. Each felt as though a wet garment had suddenly been wound about him; and the appearance of the miserable beings who were turning the cotton wheels, sufficiently demonstrated the unhealthiness of the atmosphere; they were all deadly white, and looked like a society of recuscitated corpses. We had heard a confusion of voices from the moment that we approached the neighbourhood of Bin-Vebir-Direg, but all was silence within the Boudroum where we now found ourselves; while the blended curiosity and astonishment with which every eye was turned upon us, was a convincing proof that the unfortunates who tenanted it were little used to the sight of strangers.

Immediately that we had descended into the vault, they simultaneously desired us to keep in continual motion during our stay, alleging that the exercise consequent on their occupation was their only preservative against destruction; and confirming the truth of their statement by the melancholy tale of a man who had come a few weeks previously to visit one of their company, and who remained quietly smoking upon his mat for several hours, after which he was seized with lethargy, and died.

As the lower orders of Orientals universally believe every Frank to be, if not actually a Physician by profession, at least perfectly conversant with the “healing art,” a group of the pallid wretches by whom we were surrounded immediately began to apply to my father for advice and assistance; when the good-natured Ismäel Effendi volunteered to prescribe for them, and listened with the greatest patience to a list of ailments, engendered by the fetid atmosphere, and quite beyond the reach of medicine.

This cistern, although of considerably less extent than Bin-Vebir-Direg, being supported only by one and thirty pillars, is nevertheless infinitely handsomer, as the columns are at least thrice the circumference of the “Thousand and One,” and uncovered to their base; two only are imperfect; and the coup-dœil from mid-way of the stone stair is most imposing.

On emerging from this dim and vapour-freighted vault, we inquired of the guide whom we had retained, whether he could direct us to any other object of interest in that quarter of the city; when, after some hesitation, allured by the promise held out to him of a liberal backschish, he at length admitted that there was a Boudroum about half a mile from thence, which was but little known, and into which no Frank had ever been admitted. Then followed a host of assurances of the danger that he incurred by pointing it out to us, and of which we readily understood the motive; and, after receiving a second promise of reward, he ultimately led the way through one or two narrow streets; when passing under a large doorway, we found ourselves in a dilapidated Khan, where a dozen old men were seated on low stools, winding silk. Here our conductor procured lights, after which he preceded us down a flight of steps, terminating in a second door, whence a short stair descended into an extensive vault, supported by eight double arches of solid masonry, as perfect as though they had only been completed on the previous day.

Traversing this vault, we entered a second, perfectly dark, of which the outer wall was strengthened by four large pillars. At the extreme end of this inner subterranean, we found a flight of ruined stone steps, which we ascended with some difficulty, and, on arriving at the summit of the stair, discovered that we were standing in a dilapidated Roman dungeon.

From this point several other cells branched off in different directions. The entrance of one, which appeared to be a cachot forcé, was so blocked by the masses of stone that had fallen from the roof, that we were unable to penetrate into it; but on the other side we passed into a range of dungeons, of which the partition walls, at least a foot in thickness, had been torn down. The iron rings by which the prisoners had been chained, still remained, as did also the sleeping places hollowed in the masonry; but the most curious and frightful feature of the locality was a water-course, which, passing along the entire line of cells, emptied itself into a small dungeon, situated under the arched vault that I have already described, and thus offered a ready mean of destruction to the oppressor, and a dreadful and hopeless death to the captive.

I was sincerely glad to leave this gloomy remain of by-past power, and to breathe once more the pure air of Heaven, on my way to Yèrè-Batan-Seraï, where we arrived after a long and very fatiguing walk. After a little hesitation, the door of the Turkish house to which I have elsewhere alluded was opened to us, and, passing through the great entrance hall, we traversed the courtyard, and descending a steep slope of slippery earth, found ourselves at the opening of the dim mysterious Palace of Waters.

The roof of this immense cistern, of which the extent is unknown, is supported, like that of Bin-Vebir-Direg, by marble columns, distant about ten feet from each other, but each formed from a single block; the capitals are elaborately wrought, and in one instance the entire pillar is covered with sculptured ornaments.

At the period of our visit, Constantinople had been long suffering from drought, and the water in the cistern was consequently much lower than usual, a circumstance that greatly tended to augment the stateliness of its effect. There was formerly a boat upon it, but it has been destroyed in consequence of the numerous accidents to which it gave rise.

The Kiära of the Effendi who owned the house, had accompanied us to the vault; and he mentioned two adventures connected with it that had taken place within his own knowledge, and which he related to us as having both occurred to Englishmen.

The first and the saddest was the tale of a young traveller, who about six years ago arrived at Constantinople, and in his tour of the capital, obtained permission to see the Yèrè Batan Seraï. The boat was then upon the water; and, not satisfied with gazing on the wonders of the place from land, he sprang into the little skiff, and accompanied by the boatman who was accustomed to row the family in the immediate vicinity of the opening, he pushed off, after having received a warning not to be guilty of the imprudence of advancing so far into the interior as to lose sight of the light of day. This warning he was unhappy enough to disregard. Those who stood watching his progress remarked that he had provided himself with a lamp, and they again shouted to him to beware: but the wretched man was bent upon his purpose; and having, as it is supposed, induced the boatman, by the promise of a heavy reward, to comply with his wish, the flame of the lamp became rapidly fainter and fainter, and at length disappeared altogether from the sight of those who were left behind; and who remained at their station anxiously awaiting its return. But they lingered in vain—they had looked their last upon the unfortunates who had so lately parted from them in the full rush of life and hope—the boat came no more—and it is presumed that those within it, having bewildered themselves among the columns, became unable to retrace their way, and perished miserably by famine.

I should have mentioned that the spot on which we stood was not the proper entrance to the cistern, of whose existence and situation they are even now ignorant, but an opening formed by the failure of several of the pillars, by which accident the roof fell in, and disclosed the water-vault beneath.

Another similar but less extensive failure of the extraordinary fabric in a yard near the Sublime Porte betrayed its extent in that direction; a third took place in the immediate neighbourhood of St. Sophia; and a fourth within the walls of the Record Office; thus affording an assurance that the cistern extended for several leagues beneath the city. Further than this the Constantinopolitan authorities cannot throw any light on its dimensions; and, as far as I was individually concerned, I am not quite sure that this fact did not increase the interest of the locality—the mysterious distance into which man is forbidden to penetrate—the long lines of columns deepening in tint, and diminishing in their proportions as they recede—the sober twilight that softens every object—and the dreamy stillness that lords it over this singular Water Palace, which the voice of man can awaken for a brief space into long-drawn and unearthly echoes, that sweep onward into the darkness, and ere they are quite lost to the ear, appear to shape themselves into words: all combined to invest the spot with an awful and thrilling character, which, to an imaginative mind, were assuredly more than an equivalent for the privilege of determining its limits.

The second local anecdote related to us by the Kiära was that of an Englishman, who, only a few months previous to our visit, had requested permission to make use of the little boat that had replaced the one in which the traveller, to whom I have already alluded, had been lost. Many objections were started; and the fate of his unfortunate countryman was insisted upon as the reason of the refusal; but on his repeated promises of prudence, the old Effendi at length consented to his wish; and having lighted a couple of torches, and affixed them to the stern of the boat, the traveller drew out a large quantity of strong twine, which he made fast to one of the pillars, leaving the ball to unwind itself as he proceeded.

As no one could be found who was willing to accompany him, he started alone; and hour after hour went by without sign of his return; until, as the fourth hour was on the eve of completion, the flame of the torches lit up the distance, and was reflected back by the gleaming columns. The wanderer sprang from the boat chilled and exhausted; and, in answer to the inquiries of those about him, he stated that he had progressed for two hours in a straight line, but that he had seen nothing more than what they looked upon themselves—the vaulted roof above his head, the water beneath his feet, and a wilderness of pillars rising on all sides, and losing themselves in the darkness.

This second adventure so alarmed the worthy old Osmanli to whom the boat belonged, that he caused it to be immediately destroyed; and visitors are now compelled to content themselves with a partial view of Yèrè-Batan-Seraï from the ruined opening.

Marcian’s Column, called by the Turks Kestachi, which is situated in the garden of a Turkish house near the gate of Adrianople, is a splendid remain, of which the capital is supported by four magnificent eagles. The hexagonal pedestal is ornamented with wreaths of oak leaves, and the height of the shaft is nearly eighty feet.

Of the remains of the Aqueduct of Justinian I have already spoken; and hundreds of beautiful and graceful columns, and thousands of sculptured fragments, are to be seen intermingled with the masonry of the city walls.

The ancient Palace of Constantine, vulgarly named the Palace of Belisarius, stands in that quarter of the city called Balata, a corruption of Balati, “the gate of the palace.” It is impossible to visit this curious ruin with any pleasure, as it has been given up to the needy Jews, who have established within its walls a species of pauper barrack, redolent of filth. It is of considerable extent, and principally remarkable for the curious arrangement of its brick-work; there are, however, the remains of a handsome doorway, and outworks of great strength.

About ten days before I left the country, some workmen, employed in digging the foundation of an outbuilding at the Arsenal, brought to light a handsome sarcophagus of red marble, containing the bodies of Heraclius, a Greek Emperor, who flourished during the reign of Mahomet, and his consort. The two figures representing the Imperial pair are nearly perfect. That of the Emperor holds in one hand a globe, and with the other grasps a sceptre; while the Empress is represented with her crown resting upon her open palm. At their feet are the busts of two worthies, supposed to be portraits of celebrated warriors, but the inscriptions beneath them are nearly obliterated.

Immediately that the identity of the occupants of this lordly tomb was ascertained, orders were given that an iron railing, breast-high, should be erected to protect the relic from injury, the Turks having a tradition that Heraclius died a Mahomedan. The fact is, however, more than doubtful; although it is well known that Mahomet sent him an invitation to abjure Christianity, and to become a True Believer; but, at the period of this occurrence, Heraclius was bowed by years, and sunk in sensual enjoyments. Anxious to evade a war with Mahomet, whose successes were then at their height, he despatched an ambiguous reply to the message, and died ere he had given the Musselmauns reason to suspect the real motive of his supineness. Hence the Turks claimed the sarcophagus of Heraclius as the tomb of a True Believer; and a marble mausoleum is to be built over it, similar to those which contain the ashes of the Sultans.

Although situated in a populous part of the city, this fortress is, nevertheless, an isolated building; and four of the towers to which it owes its name are destroyed, but of those that still exist, one contains the apartments originally appropriated to state prisoners, and is also the residence of the Military Commandant and the officers of the garrison. When it ceased to be a state prison for attainted Turks, the fortress of the Seven Towers was exclusively reserved for the reception of the Russian Ambassadors, on the occasion of any misunderstanding between the Ottoman and Muscovite courts; and it is almost a ludicrous fact that, during the reign of Mustapha III., His Excellency Count Obrescoff, representative of Her Imperial Majesty, the Empress of all the Russias, not only suffered an imprisonment of three years in this fortress, but actually passed several days at the bottom of a dry well, into which it was the Sublime pleasure of the Sultan to cause him to be lowered.

If His Highness acted upon the impression that the Muscovite Minister would succeed during his subterranean sojourn in discovering the moral deity who is said to be concealed therein, there is every reason, from existing circumstances, to believe that the experiment was a failure, or that she declined being withdrawn from her retreat.

Instruments of torture—racks, wheels, and oubliettes—are rife within this place of gloom and horror. One chasm, upon whose brink you stand, is called the “Well of Blood,” and is said to have overflowed its margin with the ensanguined stream which was once warm with life—a small court, designated the “Place of Heads,” is pointed out as having been cumbered with the slain, until the revolting pile was of sufficient height to enable the spectator to look out from its summit upon the waves of the glittering Propontis; and more than one stone tunnel is shown, into which the wretched captive was condemned to crawl upon his hands and knees, and there left to die of famine.

But I shall pass by these tales of terror, to narrate a Legend of the Seven Towers, less known than the objects which are exhibited to every visiter, and more calculated to interest the reader.

On the declaration of war with Russia made by the Turks in 1786, Baron Bulhakoff, the Russian Minister, despite his representation that the imprisonment of the Muscovite Ambassadors on such occasions had been abolished by treaty, was, nevertheless, sent to the Seven Towers by order of Codza Youssouf Pasha, the Grand Vèzir, with the assurance that treaties were very good things in a time of peace, but mere waste paper in the event of war. The discomfited Ambassador was, however, treated with great civility, and was even permitted to select such members of the Legation as he desired should bear him company during his captivity; strict orders being given to the Commandant of the castle to accede to every request of his prisoner which did not tend to compromise his safety; and upon his complaining of the accommodations of the Tower, he was moreover permitted to erect a kiosk on the walls of the fortress, whence he had a magnificent view of the Sea of Marmora and its glittering islands, and to construct a spacious and handsome apartment within the Tower itself.

I have already stated that the Commandant was lodged beneath the same roof as his prisoner; but I have yet to tell that he had an only daughter, so young, and so lovely, that she might have taken her stand between the two Houri who wait at the portal of Paradise to beckon the Faithful across its threshold, without seeming less beautiful than they. Fifteen springs had with their delicate breathings opened the petals of the roses since the birth of Rèchèdi7 Hanoum, and she had far out-bloomed the brightest blossoms of the fairest of seasons. Her voice, when it was poured forth in song, came through the lattices of her casement like the tones of a distant mandolin sweeping over the waters of the still sea—when you looked upon her, it was as though you looked upon a rose; and when you listened, you seemed to listen to the nightingale.

Rèchèdi Hanoum had never yet poured the scented sherbet in the garden of flowers. Her young heart was as free as the breeze that came to her brow from the blue bosom of the Propontis; and when she heard that a Muscovite Giaour was about to become an inmate of the Tower, she only trembled, for she knew that he was the enemy of her country.

Terror was, however, soon succeeded by curiosity. Only a few weeks after the compulsatory domestication of the Ambassador at the Seven Towers, his kiosk was completed; and from her closed casements the young Hanoum could see all that passed in the vast apartment of the prisoner.

Her first glance at the dreaded Infidel was transient; but soon she took another, and a longer look; and curiosity was, in its turn, succeeded by sympathy. The Russian prisoner was the handsomest man on whom her eye had ever rested, and it was not thus that she had pictured to herself the dreaded Muscovite. He was unhappy too, for in his solitary moments he paced the floor with hurried and unequal steps, like one who is grappling with some painful memory; and at times sat sadly, with his head pillowed on his hand, and his fingers wreathed amid the wavy hair which encircled his brow; looking so mournful, and above all so fascinating, that the fair Rèchèdi at last began to weep as she clung to her lattice, with her gaze riveted upon him; and to find more happiness in those tears, than in all the simple pleasures that had hitherto formed the charm of her existence.

Little did the young Hanoum suspect that she loved the Giaour. She never dreamt of passion; but, with all the generous anxiety of innocence, unconscious that a warmer feeling than that of mere pity urged her to the effort, she began to muse upon the means of diminishing the irksomeness of a captivity which she was incapable of terminating. The first, the most natural impulse led her to sweep her hands across the chords of her Zebec; and as she remarked the start of agreeable surprise with which the sound was greeted by the courtly prisoner, her young heart bounded with joy, and the wild song gushed forth in a burst of sweetness which chained the attention of the captive, and afforded to the delighted girl the opportunity of a long, long look, that more than repaid her for her minstrelsy.

During the evening she watched to ascertain whether a repetition of her song would be expected, and she did not watch in vain; for more than once the Russian noble leant from his casement, and seemed to listen; but he came not there alone; one of his companions in captivity was beside him; and Rèchèdi Hanoum, although she guessed not wherefore, had suddenly become jealous of her minstrelsy, and would not exhibit it before a third person.

On the morrow, an equally graceful, and equally successful effort whiled the prisoner for a time from his sorrows. A cluster of roses, woven together with a tress of bright dark hair, was flung from the casement of the young beauty, at a moment when the back of the stranger was turned towards her. It fell at his feet, and was secured and pressed to his lips, with a respectful courtesy that quickened the pulses of the donor; but not a glimpse of the fair girl accompanied the gift; and it seemed as though the Baron had suspected wherefore, for ere long he was alone in his apartment; and, when he had dismissed his attendants, he once more advanced to the window, and glanced anxiously towards the jealous lattices by which it was overlooked.

There was a slight motion perceptible behind the screen; a white hand waved a greeting; and the imprisoned noble bent forward to obtain a nearer view of its fair owner. For a moment Rèchèdi Hanoum stood motionless, terrified at the excess of her own temerity; but there was a more powerful feeling at her heart than fear; and in the next, she forced away her prison-bars for an instant; and, with the telltale hand pressed upon her bosom, stood revealed to her enraptured neighbour.

From that day the young beauty allowed herself to betray to the captive her interest in his sorrows; she did more; she admitted that she shared them; and ere long there was not an hour throughout the day in which the thoughts of Rèchèdi Hanoum were not dwelling on the handsome prisoner.

Thus were things situated during two long years, when the death of the reigning Sultan, at the termination of that period, induced the Ambassadors of England and France to demand from his successor, Selim III., the liberty of the Russian Minister. The request was refused, for the war was not yet terminated; and the new Sovereign required no better pretext for disregarding the representations of the European Ambassadors, than the continuation of hostilities between the two countries. But Selim had other and more secret reasons for thus peremptorily negativing their prayer; and it will be seen in the suite that they did not arise from personal dislike to the captive Muscovite.

Like Haroun Alraschid of Arabian memory, the new Sultan, during the first weeks of his reign, amused himself by nocturnal wanderings about the streets of the city in disguise; attended by the subsequently famous Hussèin, his first and favourite body-page; and immediately that he had refused compliance with the demand of the Ambassadors, he resolved on paying an incognito visit to his prisoner at the Seven Towers. As soon as twilight had fallen like a mantle over the gilded glories of Stamboul, he accordingly set forth; and having discovered himself to the Commandant, and enjoined him to secresy, he entered the anti-chamber of the Baron, where he found one of his suite, to whom he expressed his desire to have an interview with the captive Ambassador.

The individual to whom the Sultan had addressed himself recognised him at once; but, without betraying that he did so, contented himself with expressing his regret that he was unable to comply with the request of his visitor, the orders of the Sultan being peremptory, that the Baron should hold no intercourse with any one beyond the walls of the fortress.

On receiving this answer, Selim replied gaily that the Sultan need never be informed of the circumstance; and that, being a near relation of the Commandant, and having obtained his permission to have a few minutes’ conversation with the prisoner, he trusted that he should not encounter any obstacle either on the part of the Baron himself, or on that of his friends.

The Dragoman, with affected reluctance, quitted the room, to ascertain, as he asserted, the determination of His Excellency, but in reality to inform him of the Imperial masquerade; and in five minutes more the disguised Sultan and his favourite were ushered into the apartment of the Ambassador.

After some inconsequent conversation, Selim inquired how the Baron had contrived to divert the weary hours of his captivity; and was answered that he had endeavoured to lighten them by books, and by gazing out upon the Sea of Marmora from his kiosk. Bulhakoff sighed as he made the reply, and remembered how much more they had been brightened by the affection of the fair Rèchèdi Hanoum; and he almost felt as though he were an ingrate that he did not add her smiles and her solicitude to the list of his prison-blessings.

“The same volume and the same kiosk cannot please for ever;” said the Sultan with a smile; “and you would not, doubtlessly, be sorry to exchange your books against the conversation of your fellow-men; nor your view of the blue Propontis for one more novel. A prison is but a prison at the best, even though you may be locked up with all the courtesy in the world. But your captivity is not likely to endure much longer. Shekiur Allah!—Praise be to God—I am intimately acquainted with the Sultan’s favourite; and I know that, had not the meddling ministers of England and France sought to drive the new sovereign into an act of justice, which he had resolved to perform from inclination, you would have been, ere this, at liberty. Do not therefore be induced to lend yourself or your countenance to any intrigue that they may make to liberate you, and which will only tend to exasperate His Highness; but wait patiently for another month, and at its expiration you will be set free, and restored to your country.”

“I trust that you may prove a true prophet—” said the Baron; and his visitors shortly afterwards departed.

The days wore on; the month was almost at an end, and yet the captive noble had never ventured to breathe to the fair girl who loved him the probability of his liberation. He shrank from the task almost with trembling, for he felt that even to him the parting would be a bitter one—even to him, although he was about to recover liberty, and country, and friends. What, then, would it be to her? to “his caged bird,” as he had often fondly called her—who knew no joy save in his presence—no liberty save that of loving him! As the twilight fell sadly over the sea, and the tall trees of the prison-garden grew dark and gloomy in the sinking light, he remembered how ardently they had both watched for that still hour, soon to be one of tenfold bitterness to the forsaken Rèchèdi Hanoum; and there were moments in which he almost wished that she had never loved him.

But the hour of trial came at last. Selim had redeemed his word, and Bulhakoff was free. His companions in captivity would fain have quitted the fortress within the hour; but the liberated prisoner lingered. He gave no reason for his delay; he offered no explanation of his motives; he simply announced his resolution not to quit the Tower until the morrow; and then he shut himself into his chamber, and passed there several of the most bitter hours of his captivity.

Once more twilight lay long upon the waters—the time of tryst was come—the last which the beautiful young Hanoum was ever to keep with her lover. She had long forgotten the possibility of his liberation; and when she stole from her chamber to the shadow of the tall cypresses that had so often witnessed their meeting, her heart bounded like her step. But no fond smile welcomed her coming—no reproach, more dear than praise, murmured against her tardiness—Bulhakoff was leaning his head against the tree beside which he stood, and the young beauty had clasped within her own the chill and listless hand that hung at his side, ere with a painful start he awakened from his reverie.

The interview was short; but brief as was its duration it had taught the wretched girl that for her there was no future save one of misery. She did not weep—her burning eyeballs were too hot for tears. She could not weep, for the drops of anguish would have dimmed the image of him whom she had loved, and was about to lose. She made no reply to the withering tidings he had brought, for what had words to do with such a grief as her’s? She was like one who dreamt a fearful dream; and when she turned away to regain her chamber, she walked with a firm step, for her heart was broken; and she had nothing now left to do but to veil from her lover the extent of her own anguish, lest she should add to the bitterness of his.

The morrow came. The Baron turned a long, soul-centered look-towards the lattices of his young love, and quitted her for ever; and, ere many weeks were spent, the same group of cypresses which had overshadowed the trysting-place of Rèchèdi Hanoum gloomed above her grave.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Balouclè—The New Church—Delightful Road—Eyoub—The Cemetery—The Rebel’s Grave—The Mosque of Blood—The Hill of Graves—The Seven Towers—The Palace of Belisarius—The City Walls—Easter Festivities—The Turkish Araba—The Armenian Carriage—Travellers—Turkish Women—Seridjhes—Persians—Irregular Troops—The Plain of Balouclè—Laughable Mistake—Extraordinary Discretion—The Church of Balouclè—The Holy Well—Absurd Tradition—The Chapel Vault—Enthusiasm of the Greeks—A Pleasant Draught—Greek Substitute for a Bell—Violent Storm.

Our next expedition was to Balouclè, where the Greeks have recently built a small, but elegant church, upon the spot once occupied by a very spacious edifice, which had gone to ruin. The ride, though long and somewhat fatiguing, was most delightful; the road leading us across the hills, to the fair Valley of the Sweet Waters, along the banks of the sparkling Barbyses, past the Imperial kiosks; and onward to the beautiful village of Eyoub, the stronghold of the Constantinopolitan Turks, wherein they allow no Giaour to reside; and the marble floor of whose thrice-holy mosque no infidel foot has ever trodden.

The situation of Eyoub is eminently picturesque. It is backed by gently-swelling hills, clothed with trees, where the delicate acacia and the majestic maple are mingled with the scented lime and the dark and rigid cypress, whose blended shadows fall over a thousand graves, and turn away the sunlight from the lettered tombs of many a lordly Musselmaun. Eyoub possesses also a melancholy interest from the fact, that in its beautiful cemetery stands the rude mausoleum of the rebel Ali of Tepeleni who revolted in Albania, wherein are deposited the heads of himself, his three sons, and his grandson. Nor is this all; for a small mosque, almost buried amid tall trees, may be distinguished at the point where the main street sweeps downward to the water’s edge, whose modest minaret is painted a dull red from its base to its spire, and which bears the thrilling designation of the “Mosque of Blood.”

I have elsewhere mentioned that the Osmanlis do not permit their temples to be desecrated by the admission of the dead beneath their roofs; and this humble pile earned its awful appellation at the siege of Constantinople, when its doors were forced by the combatants, and its narrow floor cumbered with slain. Since that period, its single minaret has been painted as I have described; and it possesses an additional interest from its vicinity to the bleak, naked, treeless hill, whereon were interred all the True Believers who perished at that memorable period, and whose ashes still remain undisturbed.

Nothing can be more romantic than the appearance of the Seven Towers, the remains of the Palace of Belisarius, and the crumbling walls of the city, extending along the whole line of road to Balouclè, like a succession of ruined castles; and overtopped by forest trees, whose bright foliage forms a striking contrast from the grey and mouldering rampart. At intervals, towers thickly overgrown with ivy, and tottering to their fall, raise their fantastic outline against the sky; while the moat is in many places entirely concealed by the wild fig trees, and the dense underwood, that have sprung in wild luxuriance from the rich soil.

At the period of our visit, the Easter festivities were at their height, and the road was covered with groups of travellers, all hurrying towards the same point. There was the gilded araba of the Turkish lady, with its covering of crimson cloth, and its carved lattices; followed by a mounted negro. Then came the bullock-carriage of an Armenian family, gaily painted and cushioned, its oxen half covered with worsted tassels and finery, and glittering about the head with foil and gold leaf; while a long curved stick, extending backward from each yoke as far as the carriage, was painted in stripes of blue and yellow, and adorned with pendent tassels of coloured worsted. Both animals wore their charm against the Evil Eye; and the whole equipage was sufficiently well-appointed to have done honour to the harem of a Pasha, while the bright dark eyes and delicate hands of its occupants would have been an equal triumph for his taste. But at the first glance you saw that the carriage was not that of a Turk, for the painted hoops were plainly covered by a white awning, the symbol of the raïah. The haughty Osmanli has reserved to himself the privilege of seating his wives beneath draperies of crimson, blue, or purple, fringed with gold; while the Armenian, the Greek, and the Jew, when making use of this popular conveyance, are obliged to content themselves with a simple awning of white linen. Here galloped a reckless Greek, urging his good hack to the top of its speed; there moved along a stately Turk, with the hand of his groom resting on the flank of his well-fed horse, and his pipe-bearer walking five paces behind him. Now it was a party of Franks, booted, spurred, and looking in silent scorn upon the incongruous trappings of the natives, and now a group of foot-passengers, walking at a pace which I never saw equalled in England.

As we approached Balouclè, the features of the scene became still more striking. The low wall that skirted the road was covered with Turkish women, squatted upon their rugs and carpets, with the arabas in which they had travelled ranged along behind them. Seridjhes were walking droves of horses to and fro, and waiting for customers to hire them; travelling merchants were retailing yahourt and mohalibè to the hungry and the weary; Bulgarians were playing their awkward antics to attract the attention of the idle, and the piastres of the profuse; and the halt and the blind were seated by the wayside, to invoke the paras of the charitable. Parties of Persians, with large white turbans, silken robes, and eyes as black as midnight, were walking their well-trained horses through the crowd; and a detachment of the Irregular Troops, with their jester at their head, in a cap made of sheepskin, adorned with three fox-tails, and a vest of undressed leather, drove back the people on either side, as they made their way through the throng with a sort of short run. They had precisely the appearance of banditti, each being dressed and armed according to his own means or fancy; while their huge mustachioes, and the elf locks that escaped from beneath their turbans, added to the ferocious character of their aspect.

The plain on which the Church is situated is thickly wooded in its immediate neighbourhood, and on this occasion was covered with a dense crowd of merry human beings. The same amusements as I have described at the Armenian festival were in full career; but the heavy meaningless dance of the Champs des Morts was here exchanged for the graceful romaïka, which was going forward in every direction.

For every other female whom I saw on the ground, I remarked at least a hundred and fifty Turkish women; and the astonishment excited by the appearance of the Greek lady by whom I was accompanied, and myself among these latter, was most amusing. As the greater number of them had never before seen a Frank lady on horseback, they concluded that we had each lost a leg; and the “Mashallahs!” with which they contemplated our gaiety were innumerable. But as a Turkish woman never scruples to address a stranger in the street; and as our being actually crippled was a matter of uncertainty; they were resolved to satisfy their minds on this very important point; and several of them accordingly addressed themselves to the gentlemen of our party, in order to resolve the doubt; exclaiming with an energy worthy of the occasion: “For the love of God, tell us if your wives have lost a leg, or not!”

When they had been assured to the contrary, their next conclusion was still more amusing. It was clear that none but rope-dancers could balance themselves upon the back of a horse without having one leg on either side of the saddle—ergo, we were collectively, ladies and gentlemen, the identical party of rope-dancers, whom the Sultan had engaged for the marriage festivities of his Imperial daughter: and so perfectly convinced were they of their own sagacity on this second occasion, that I am only surprised that they had sufficient discretion to refrain from requesting us to give them a specimen of our abilities.

The Church of Balouclè stands in the centre of an enclosed court, within which are also situated the houses of the priests. A handsome flight of stone steps leads downward to the portal; and, as you cross the threshold, the interior of the edifice produces on you the effect of something that has sprung into existence at the touch of an enchanter’s wand. It looks as though it were built of porcelain, all is so fresh and so glittering. It is entirely lined with white and gold, and the paint upon the walls is so highly varnished, that you can scarcely distinguish it from the polished marble that composes the screen of the sanctuary; the latticed gallery of the women is fancifully decorated and gilt; and the elegant pulpit is shaped like an inverted minaret.

But the principal attraction of the Church of Balouclè, and that which lends to it its distinguishing character of sanctity, is the Holy Well, dedicated to the Virgin, which, on the occasion of all high festivals, is opened for the benefit and edification of the pious. Situated in a vault immediately beneath the chancel, protected by a balustrade of marble, and lighted by the lamp that is constantly burning before the shrine of the Madonna, rises the spring whose holy and healing qualities are matter of devout belief with the Greeks; and in which the lower orders of the people gravely assert that fish are to be seen swimming about, cooked on one side and crude on the other.

This somewhat extraordinary circumstance is accounted for by a variety of legends; the most comprehensible of the whole being that which affirms that, some holy man or woman having been refused food on this very spot, when on a pilgrimage to a shrine of the Virgin, situated in the neighbourhood, the well-disposed fish, whose pious self-immolation has been thus immortalised, sprang from the waters of the spring, and flung themselves upon the heated ashes of the fire, whereon the churlish host, who refused help to the weary and wayworn pilgrims, had just prepared his own meal. How the travellers were induced to refrain from the savoury repast; and how the fish contrived to return to the stream after being well cooked on one side, the legend sayeth not; and those who are inclined to doubt the fact of their present existence had better make a descent into the vault on the occasion of an Easter festival; and, should they still continue sceptical, after the scene which they will then and there witness, nothing that I can say will awaken their faith.

After having duly flung a few piastres upon the salver held by the priest who guarded the door; and protected on either side by a gentleman, to secure me from the pressure of the crowd, I commenced my slippery descent into the subterranean chapel. The stone steps were running with water, spilt by the eager motions of those who were bearing it away; nor was this all, for, as they handed it to each other over the heads of such as chanced to obstruct their passage, an occasional shower fell upon us from above, whose holiness by no means sufficed to counteract its chill.

When I gained the chapel, and paused to take breath, a most singular scene presented itself. The narrow space was cumbered with individuals, who were shouting, struggling, and even fighting their way, to the margin of the Well: an image of the Virgin tricked out in gold and embroidery, before which burned the lamp that lit up the subterranean, gleamed out in vain from a niche opposite to the spring: the very piety of her votaries had induced them to turn their backs upon her; and I believe that mine was the only eye which rested upon her altar.

Some, who had succeeded in filling the vessels which they had brought with them, were standing bare-headed, throwing the cold stream over their shaven crowns: others, who had suffered from lameness, were emptying their earthen jars upon their feet; some were pouring it down their chests, and others again down their throats.

By the strenuous endeavours of my friends, and the assistance of a sickly-looking priest who was collecting paras among the crowd, I succeeded in obtaining a draught of the water; and, whether it arose from the stream having been thickened by the dipping in of so many vessels, or that the half fried fish imparted to it a disagreeable flavour of the charcoal ashes; or, again, that it was really and simply of very indifferent quality, I cannot take upon me to decide; while I am quite competent to declare that I never swallowed a more unsatisfactory beverage, and that nothing less than a very painful thirst would have induced me to venture upon a second trial.

On escaping from the subterranean, (and it was really an escape)! I went to examine the machine which in all the principal Greek churches acts as the substitute for a bell, whose use is not permitted by the Turks. It is a very inartificial instrument, being merely a bar of iron resting lightly between two perpendicular pieces of timber, which, on being struck with a short bar of cypress-wood, emits a clear ringing sound, that may be heard to a considerable distance. In the smaller churches two sticks are beaten together, but this signal avails only when the congregation is nestled near the walls of the temple.

Having secured the water that they had taken so much trouble to obtain, the enthusiastic and light-hearted Greeks were pouring out of the chapel as we returned; and ere we could mount our horses many of them had already joined the dancers, and were engaged in winding through the graceful mazes of the romaïka, while others were busied in filling their chibouks in the neighbourhood of the coffee-tents.

A mass of heavy vapours, rising up against the wind, and arraying themselves like a host about to do battle, warned us not to linger long at so considerable a distance from home; and, profiting by the intimation of a coming storm, we started off at a gallop, to the increased astonishment of the Turkish women, who were still clustering like bees upon the wall. But our speed availed us nothing: we had not cleared the hills above Kahaitchana when the enemy was upon us; and a tempest of blended hail, rain, and wind bore us company for the remainder of the journey; and thus we were fairly drenched ere we reached Pera, notwithstanding our offerings at the shrine of the Virgin, and our pilgrimage to the Holy Well.

CHAPTER XXV.

Figurative Gratitude of the Seraskier Pasha—Eastern Hyperbole—Reminiscences of Past Years—A Vision Realized—Strong Contrasts—The Marriage Fêtes—Popular Excitement—Crowded Streets—The Auspicious Day—Extravagant Expectations—The Great Cemetery—Dolma Batchè—The Grand Armoury—Turkish Women—Tents of the Pashas—The Bosphorus—Preparations—Invocation—The Illuminated Bosphorus—A Stretch of Fancy—A Painful Recollection—Natural Beauties of the Bosphorus—The Grave-Yard—Evening Amusements—Well Conducted Population.

In a letter of thanks recently addressed by the Seraskier Pasha to the Sultan, in acknowledgment of some honour conferred upon him by his Imperial Master, he exclaims in an affected burst of enthusiastic gratitude:—“Your Sublime favour has been as a southern sun piercing even to the remote corner of my insignificance. Had I all the forest boughs of the Universe for pens, and the condensed stars of Heaven for a page whereon to inscribe your bounties, I should still lack both space and means to record them!”

Even in this style should he or she who undertakes to become their chronicler, shape the periods in which are detailed the marriage festivities of the Princess Mihirmàh. The pen should be tipped with diamond-dust, and the paper powdered with seed-pearl. All the hyperboles of the Arabian story-tellers should be heaped together, as the colours of the rainbow are piled upon the clouds which pillow the setting sun; and, as the gorgeous tail of the peacock serves to withdraw the eye from its coarse and ungainly feet, so should the glowing sentences that dilate on the glories of the show, veil from the vision of the reader the paltry details that would tend to dissolve the enchantment.

How often have I hung entranced over the sparkling pages of the “Hundred and One Nights.” How little did I ever expect to see them brought into action. When a mere girl, I remember once to have laid the volume on my knees; and, with my head pillowed on my hand, and my eyes closed, to have attempted to bring clearly before my mental vision the Caravan of the Merchand Abdullah, when he departed in search of the Valley of Diamonds.

Years have since passed over me, and that gorgeous description is no longer a mere dream. I have looked upon its realization—I have seen the flashing of the jewels in the sunshine—the prancing of the steeds impatient of a rider—the rolling of the fifty chariots—the gathering of the throng of princes—the eunuchs and the horsemen—winding their way over hill and through valley, under a sky of turquoise, along the bank of a clear stream; and within sight of a sea whose shore was studded with palaces, and upon whose blue bosom a fleet of stately ships were riding at anchor within an arrow’s flight of land.

But I have also seen more than this. I have seen not only the machinery at work, but the wheels that worked it; not only the brilliant effect, but the combination of paltry means used to produce it—the blending of the magnificent and the mesquin—a thousand minute details, unimportant in themselves, and yet operating so powerfully on the imagination, that they clipped the wings of Fancy, and wrung the wand from the grasp of the Enchanter.

There is no consistency, no keeping, in Oriental splendour. The Pasha, with the diamond on his breast, is generally attended by a running footman who is slip-shod; and the Sultana, whose araba is veiled by a covering of crimson and gold, not infrequently figures in pantaloons of furniture chintz, and an antery of printed cotton. The same startling contrasts meet you at every step: and tourists and historians pass them over, because they destroy the continuity of their narrations, and the rounding of their periods; and yet they are as characteristic of the people as the chibouk or the turban, and therefore equally worthy of record.

The Fêtes were to continue for eight days—the diamond was to be shivered into fragments, and thus divided into many portions without sacrificing its lustre. All the population of Constantinople was in a ferment—the charshees had yielded up their glittering store of gold and silver stuffs—the diamond-merchants had exhausted themselves in elegant conceits—the confectioners had realized the fabled garden of enchantment visited by Aladdin in his search for the magic lamp, and the candied fruits peeped from amid their sugary cases, like masses of precious ore, and clusters of jewels—the silk-bazar of Broussa was a waste—the environs of Pera resembled a scattered camp—the heights around the valley of Dolma Batchè were guarded by mounted troops—provisions of every description trebled their price: and one vessel, laden with a hundred and fifty thousand fowls for the market of Constantinople, which arrived from the Archipelago, was secured for the exclusive use of the Sultan’s kitchen.

Pashas were daily pouring in from the provinces—tribute was flung into the yawning coffers of the state—audiences of congratulation kept the Imperial Palace in a constant whirl—and the streets of the city were thronged with a motley crowd, either invited thither by the authorities, or attracted by the hope of profit. Bulgarians, in parties of three or four, impeded the progress of every respectable passenger who would fain have threaded his way among them unmolested; and by dint of stunning him with their discordant instruments, and intruding themselves upon his path to exhibit their coarse and ungainly dances, wrung from him by their sturdy perseverance a donation whose impulse was certainly not one of charity. Bohemian gipsies, some of them so lovely that they seemed formed to command the prosperity which they subtly promised to others, were bestowing palaces and power on every side at the slender price of a few paras. Arabian tumblers, turned loose for the first time in the streets of a great capital, and appearing scarcely able to keep their feet upon the solid earth, jostled you at every corner. Persian rope-dancers stalked gravely and solemnly along, with large white turbans, and flowing robes. Bedouin jugglers were grouped in coffee-shops and smoking-booths, awaiting the moment when their services would be required; and bewildering the sober brains of the surrounding Turks with loud vauntings of the feats with which they proposed to delight his Sublime Highness, and to astonish his people. Altogether, Constantinople resembled a human kaleidoscope, whose forms and features varied at every turn; and even those who, like myself, had no immediate interest in the festival, caught a portion of the popular excitement, and became anxious for the period of its celebration.

At length, the auspicious morning dawned which the Court Astrologer had declared to herald happiness to the Princess; and all Stamboul had crossed the Bosphorus with the rising sun to share in the Imperial festivities.

Long before mid-day Pera also was a desert: the stream of life had flowed in one sole direction, and every avenue leading to Dolma Batchè was thronged with human beings, anxious and excited, and yet scarcely knowing what they anticipated. The marriage festival had been the one engrossing subject of discourse and speculation for so many months—such extravagant suggestions had been hazarded, and such wild assertions had been made, that the imagination of the crowd had run riot; and, had the fountains poured forth liquid ore, and the heavens themselves rained diamond-dust, I am not sure that such events would have caused any extraordinary manifestation of astonishment, from the mass of spectators who had clustered themselves like bees in the neighbourhood of the palace.

The Great Cemetery looked as though every grave had given up its dead; there was scarcely space to pass among the crowd which thronged it. Dancing, smoking, and gambling for sugarplums, (the only stake that a Turk ever hazards on a game of chance) divided the attention of the loiterers, with swings, round-abouts, and mohalibè merchants. Pillauf and kibaubs were preparing in every direction for the refreshment of the hungry; and tinted and perfumed sherbets, carefully guarded from the sun, were whiling in their turn the weary and the warm to pause on their onward path, and indulge in their tempting freshness.

The tents were flaunting their bright colours in the sunshine; the smoking booths were filled with guests; the little wooden kiosk on the edge of the height was unapproachable; the long line of wall surrounding the Artillery Barrack was, as usual on all festive occasions, covered with Turkish women; and the whole space beneath was instinct with life and motion.

From the point of the hill above the sea the land shoots sharply down into the valley of Dolma Batchè, clothed with fruit trees, whose perfumed blossoms, then in the height of their beauty, were emptying their tinted chalices, on the air. The road leading to the Palace is cut along the side of the declivity, forming on its upper edge a lofty ridge which was fringed throughout its whole length with tents; in the distance rose the Military College, spanning the crest of the hill like a diadem; with the gilded and glittering crescent that crowns the dome of its mosque flashing in the sunshine. On the right hand the view was bounded by the dense forest of cypresses rising above the tombs of the Turkish cemetery, which swept darkly downwards to the Bosphorus that was laughing in its loveliness, and reflecting on its waveless bosom the lovely height of Scutari which hemmed in the landscape. And as the eye wandered onward along the channel, it took in the dusky shore of Asia, with its kiosk-crowned and forest-clad mountains; until the line was lost in the gradually failing purple, that blent itself at last with the horizon.

Immediately beneath the hill, and close upon the shore, stands the Palace of Dolma Batchè, with its walls of many tints, and its fantastic irregularity of outline; while behind its spacious gardens, sloping gently upward, and clothed with turf, rises a stretch of land which was now crowded with Turkish women. Nothing could be more picturesque than their appearance: the nature of the ground having enabled them to arrange themselves amphitheatrically, and from thence to command an uninterrupted view of the esplanade in front of the Grand Armoury, which is enclosed on its opposite side by a raised terrace, along whose edge were pitched the tents of the Pashas. There must have been at least five hundred women clustered together on that one small stretch of land; and in the distance it presented precisely the appearance of a meadow covered with daisies, with here and there a corn-poppy flaunting in the midst; the white yashmacs and red umbrellas lending themselves readily to the illusion.

The tents of the Pashas were many of them very magnificent: the Grand Vèzir’s was hung with crimson velvet, richly embroidered; while that of Achmet Pasha was lined with green satin, and fringed with gold; and the whole were richly carpeted, and surrounded by handsome sofas. The reception-marquee, in which the Sultan was to entertain a party of guests daily, was situated in the rear of those that I have just described: and the kitchen, ingeniously fitted up with stoves, dressers, and tables, hewn in the hill-side, was tenanted by five hundred cooks.

The Bosphorus was crowded with caïques, almost as countless as its ripple; and immediately in front of the Palace, and nearly in the centre of the stream, were anchored two rafts, supporting small fortified castles, whence the fireworks were to be displayed.

A survey of these different preparations proved to be the principal amusement of the day, as the rope-dancing on the Esplanade of the Armoury was not sufficiently attractive to detain any individual less indolent than a Turkish woman; and consequently, after having completed our tour of observation, we returned to Pera in order to repose ourselves, and to prepare for the magnificent spectacle that awaited us in the evening.

And now, ye Spirits of Fire, who guard the subterranean flames which are only suffered to flash forth at intervals from the crater of some fierce volcano—Ye, whose brows are girt with rays of many-coloured radiance, whose loins are cinctured by the lightning, and whose garments are of the tint which hangs like a drapery over the cineritious remnants of a conflagrated city—Ye, who must have left your vapoury palaces, and bowed your flame-crowned heads upon your gleaming wings, in blighted pride to see your lordliest pageants overmatched—lend me a pen of fire, drawn from the pinion of your bravest sprite, and fashioned with an unwrought diamond; for thus only can I record the glorious scene that burst upon me, as, at the close of day, I stood upon a height above the channel, when a festive people had recorded their participation in the gladness of their Monarch, in characters of fire.

The moon rode high in Heaven, but her beam looked pale and sickly, as it faded before the brighter light with which men had made night glorious; while the stars seemed but fading sparks, that had been emitted by the stupendous line of fire girdling the Bosphorus—It was a spectacle of enchantment!

Not an outline could be traced of any of the lordly piles which fringe the coast. The summit of the Asian shore was dimly perceptible, as it cut sharply against the clear deep blue of the horizon; but there was no intrusive object of mortal creation for the every day necessities of life, to recall the wandering fancy back to earth. Nothing can be conceived more beautiful than the whole scene. A range of palaces of the most fantastic forms, wrought in fire, and seeming to be poized upon the waves, along which they threw their gleaming shadows, stretched far as the eye could reach. Portals of variegated light—terraces of burnished gold, or of beaten silver—groves of forest trees, whose leaves were emeralds—fruits, heaped in stately vases, each one a priceless gem—altars, upon which burnt flames of liquid metal—pavilions of crystal—and halls, lined with columns of sapphire, and lighted by domes of carbuncles, were among the objects that appeared to have sprung up from the depths of the ocean, and to be now riding upon its bosom.

The sensation which this gorgeous scene produced upon me, for the first few moments, was almost painful. I deemed myself thralled—I doubted my own identity—I almost expected the earth to fail beneath my feet, for earth had no share in the spectacle on which I looked—I saw boats passing and repassing over a lake of molten silver—I saw palaces of fire based upon its surface, and heaving with its undulations—a marine monster, whose eyes were dazzling, and whose nostrils vomited forth flames that shot high into the air, wound its slow way among the gliding barks, and none heeded its vicinity—I beheld huge dark masses covered with stars of light, which were reflected in the stream beneath, looking like rocky craters that would shortly burst, and cast forth the imprisoned fires—carriages and horses, guided by spectral hands, followed over the same cold clear surface—and suddenly, with a hissing sound which startled me from my reverie, and a burst of light almost blinding, up sprang a cluster of fiery serpents into the pure ether, mocking the pale moon with their transient brilliancy, and then falling back in starry showers.

The dream of fancy was dispelled at once:—A handful of rockets sufficed to arouse me from one of the wildest visions in which I ever remember to have indulged—for I no sooner saw them run shimmering along the sky, than I sickened at the memory of the frightful catastrophe which attended their preparation; when eighty-four miserable human beings fell victims to the explosion of the powder-room of the manufactory. My enthusiasm was at an end: but my admiration of the magnificent scene, amid which I stood, continued unabated; the channel of the Bosphorus, beautiful under all circumstances, and at all times, offered facilities, and enhanced effects, in an exhibition like that on which I looked, that cannot probably be exceeded in the world; and I felt at once that, even had man done less, nature would still have made the pageant peerless.

We at length turned reluctantly away from the City of Fire on which we had been so long looking; and, threading among the tents that occupied the crest of the hill, we passed out through the fair of the Great Cemetery. Every booth was thronged. In one, a set of Fantoccini were performing their miniature drama; in another, an Improvvisatore was regaling a circle of listeners with a gesticulation and volubility which appeared to excite great admiration in his auditors; while in a third, a trio of Bohemian minstrels, squatted upon a mat, were accompanying their wild recitative by a few chords struck almost at random upon their mandolins.

In the distance, a wreath of lamps defined the outline of the Military College; while lower in the valley gleamed out the costly chandeliers which lit up the tents of the Pashas. The hills were sprinkled over with lights; the terrace at the extremity of the palace was a wall of fire; and the scene was all life and gladness. Crowds thronged the narrow road; but not a sound of discord, not a word uttered in menace or in defiance, escaped from the lips of a single individual; all were tranquil, orderly, and well conducted; the sole aim of each was amusement; and this great eastern mob, amounting to between forty and fifty thousand persons, collected together from all the surrounding country, from the heart of a great city, and from the shores of two different quarters of the earth, appeared to act from one common impulse, and to have one common interest.

It is questionable whether such a fact as this could be recorded of any other country.