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Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
the Bosphorus; Topkhâneh flies by, then Fundukli, then the white and
sculptured façades of Dolmabâghcheh; Skutari presents to us for the
last time her amphitheatre of hills covered with gardens and villas.

Bosphorus: View of Shores of Asia and Europe.

Farewell, Constantinople, vast and dearly-loved city, dream of my

childhood, desire of my youth, and unfading memory of my life!
Farewell, exquisite and immortal queen of the Orient! May time
soften thy lot without impairing thy beauty, and may my children one
day greet thee with the same ecstasy of youthful enthusiasm with
which I bid thee farewell!
The sadness of parting was, however, soon forgotten in the
delight of finding a new Constantinople, even larger and more
exquisitely lovely than the one we had left upon the banks of the
Golden Horn, extending for about sixteen miles along the two most
beautiful shores on earth.
 The first village to come into sight upon our left—that is, upon
the European shore—is Beshiktash, a large Turkish suburb of
Constantinople, lying at the foot of a hill and enclosing a small
harbor; behind it a charming valley—the ancient valley of the allori di
Stefano of Byzantium—ascends in the direction of Pera; a group of
plane trees rising in the midst of the houses marks the sepulchre of
the famous corsair Barbarossa; and a large café, always crowded,
extends out over the water supported on piles; the harbor is gay with
käiks and other boats, the shore covered with people, the hillsides
with verdure, and the valley filled with houses and gardens; but it is
no longer like a suburb of Constantinople: already we note the
distinctive character, the matchless radiance and charm peculiar to
the villages along the Bosphorus; the objects are smaller, the foliage
thicker, the coloring more brilliant: it is like a nest of smiling little
houses suspended between sky and water, a tiny city inhabited by
lovers and poets, only designed to last as long as the fires of passion
or genius may burn, and placed there to gratify a whim on some fair
summer’s night. Hardly have our eyes rested well upon it than it is
already gone, and we find ourselves opposite the Cheragan palace, or
rather row of white marble palaces, at once chaste and magnificent,
adorned with long lines of columns and crowned with terraces and
balconies, above which floats an airy cloud of innumerable white
birds of the Bosphorus, standing out clearly against the brilliant
foliage of the hillsides.
But now a most tantalizing experience begins. While our attention
is concentrated upon one beautiful sight we are missing a thousand
others. While we stand gazing at Beshiktash and Cheragan, the
Asiatic shore, whose charming villages tempt one to buy and carry
them off like jewels, is flying by. Kuzgunjik disappears, tinted with
every color of the rainbow, where tradition says the heifer Io landed
after swimming the Bosphorus in order to escape from the gad-flies
of Hera; and Istavros, with its beautiful mosque and two minarets;
and the imperial palace of Beylerbey, with its conical and pyramidal
roofs and its gray and yellow walls, wearing the same strange,
mysterious look that a convent of princesses might have; and then
Beylerbey village, reflected in the water, with Mount Bûlgurlû rising
behind it; and all those other villages, with houses grouped closely
together or else scattered about at the foot of little bright green hills,
and so overgrown with vegetation that it seems as though they would
sink out of sight altogether. Long garlands of villas and little houses,
and avenues of trees connect them, running along the bank or
descending in zigzag lines from the neighboring heights to the water’s
edge, through numberless flower and vegetable gardens, and
meadows laid out in squares, connected by little flights of stone steps
and bright with every conceivable shade of green.
 Mosque of Validêh at Ak Serai.

Well, there is no help for it; we must resign ourselves to catching

nothing more than a flying glimpse of it all, and can only get that by
turning our heads from side to side with the monotonous regularity of
automatons.
After leaving Cheragan behind, we see on our left the large
village of Orta, above which appears the shining dome of the mosque
erected by the Validéh Sultan, mother of Abdul-Aziz, and the graceful
roofs of the palace of Riza-Pasha at the foot of a hill from whose
summit the light and shining walls of the imperial kiosk of the Star
peep out from amid a dense mass of foliage. Orta Keui contains the
residences of a number of Greek, Armenian, and Frankish bankers,
and as we passed, the Constantinople boat was in the act of landing
her passengers. A crowd of persons went ashore, other crowds stood
waiting to embark; there were Turkish and Armenian gentlemen,
officers, monks, eunuchs, dandies, fezzes, turbans, hats like bushel-
measures, little caps, all jumbled together—a scene similar to that
which may be witnessed at any one of the twenty boat-landings
along the Bosphorus, more especially toward evening. Opposite Orta
Keui is the gay little village of Chengel—village of the anchor; from an
L
old iron anchor found on its shore by Muhammad II. It is surrounded
by villas, while on the shore stands that imperial kiosk of infamous
celebrity from which Murad IV., transported with envious rage,
ordered the execution of those groups of country-people whom he
saw passing happily through the fields singing as they went.

L
Chengel Keui takes its name from the bend in the
shore at that point.—Trans.

Turning again toward the shore of Europe, we find ourselves on a

line with the pretty village and charming harbor of Kuru Chesmeh,
M
the ancient Anaplus. Here Medea landed with Jason and planted the
famous laurel tree. Then, looking back again to Asia, we see the
smiling villages of Kulehli and Vani spread out along the shore to right
and left of a huge barrack whose reflection in the water resembles
more that of a royal palace. Back of the two villages rises a hill whose
summit is crowned by a large garden, in the midst of which, barely
discernible among the branches of the trees, glimmers the white
kiosk where Suleiman the Great passed three years of his life, hidden
away in a little tower, to escape the spies and executioners of his
father, Selim. While we are trying to identify the tower amid the trees
the steamer has passed Arnaût-Keui—the Albanian village—now
peopled by Greeks, whose houses surround a small bay in the
European shore full of sailing vessels. But there is no use in
attempting to see everything. One village draws away our attention
from another; a beautiful mosque distracts us from an exquisite
landscape; and while we are gazing at villages and harbors we have
missed palaces of viziers, pashâs, sultans, chief eunuchs, and other
prominent persons; yellow, blue, and purple houses hung with vines
and creepers, seeming to float upon the top of the waves or overflow
with bloom, half buried in groves of cypress, laurel, and orange trees;
buildings with Corinthian façades ornamented with rows of white
marble columns; Swiss châlets, Japanese huts, little Moorish palaces,
Turkish kiosks, whose three stories project one beyond the other, the
grated galleries of their harems overhanging the Bosphorus, while
little flights of stairs lead down to gardens washed by the waves. All
the buildings are small, light, unsubstantial, corresponding precisely
to the nature of the power wielded by those who inhabit them—the
triumph of youth, the success of an intrigue, a high office which may
be forfeited to-morrow, a glory doomed to end in exile, a fortune
destined to evaporate, a greatness which will crumble away. There is
hardly an unoccupied spot on the Bosphorus: it is like a sort of Grand
Canal running through a huge rural Venice. Villas, kiosks, and palaces
rise one behind the other, so placed as to leave the façade of each in
view, those in the rear seeming to perch upon the roofs of those in
front, while between and behind them is a mass of green, the tops
and points of oaks, plane trees, maples, poplars, pines, and fig trees,
through whose branches may be seen sparkling fountains and the
gleaming domes of lonely türbehs and solitary mosques.

M
Arnaût-Keui, the next village, is the Anaplus of the
ancients.—Trans.
 Looking back at Constantinople, we can still make out,
indistinctly, the Seraglio Hill and the huge dome of St. Sophia rising
darkly against the gold and limpid background of the evening sky;
meanwhile, Arnaût-Keui, Vani, Kulehli, Chengel, Orta have all
disappeared, and our surroundings undergone an entire change. We
now seem to be on an immense lake; to right and left on either shore
there opens a little bay; around that on our left lies in a semicircle the
pretty Greek town of Bebek shaded by lofty trees, among which stand
a fine old mosque and the imperial kiosk of Humayun-Habad, where
in former days the sultans used to grant secret audiences to foreign
ambassadors; on one side the town is buried in the thick foliage of a
little valley, on the other it climbs the steep ascent of a hill covered
with oak trees and crowned by a grove famous for its echo, where
the noise of a single horse’s hoofs resounds like the tramp of a
regiment. The view here would throw a queen into raptures, and yet
it is straight-way forgotten when we turn to look at the opposite
shore. There, indeed, it is a veritable earthly paradise which is spread
out before our eyes. Kandili, variegated as a town of Holland, with its
white mosque and train of villas, describes a wide arc upon a bold
promontory; behind it rises the flowery hill of Igiadié, crowned by a
battlemented tower where a watchman is stationed to keep a lookout
for any appearance of fire on either shore. Two valleys open on the
bay to the right of Kandili, and quite close together, called
respectively Big and Little Blue River, and between them are the
charming grounds of the Sweet Waters of Asia, planted with
sycamore, oak, and plane trees, above which stands the magnificent
kiosk erected by the mother of Abdul-Mejid in the style of the
Dolmabâghcheh palace, surrounded by its gardens all red with roses.
Beyond the “Large Blue River” may be seen the brilliant colors of
Anadoli Hissar, built upon the side of a hill upon whose summit rise
the graceful towers of the Bayezid Ilderim, which exactly faces the
castle of Muhammad II. on the opposite shore.
At that hour this enchanting part of the Bosphorus is full of life
and movement; hundreds of little boats cover the bays and inlets of
the European shore; steamers and sailing vessels pass, bound for the
harbor of Bebek; Turkish fishermen busy themselves with their nets
suspended over the water from lofty poles and cross-beams; a throng
of passengers disembark from the Constantinople boat upon the
stairs of the European town—Greek gentlemen, Lazarists, students
from the American Protestant college, and family parties laden with
shawls and wraps. On the other side we can see with the aid of the
glass parties of Mussulman ladies walking about beneath the trees of
the Sweet Waters or seated in little groups on the banks of the “Blue
Water,” while numberless käiks and small boats with awnings, filled
with Turkish men or women, come and go along the shore. It is all so
festive, so Arcadian, so irresistibly charming, that I feel as though I
must fling myself overboard, and, swimming to one or the other of
the two banks, plant myself there with the fixed determination, come
what may, to live and die in the midst of that Mussulman paradise. All
at once, with a new change of scene, such ideas take flight: the
Bosphorus now stretches away directly ahead of us, with something
of the look of the Rhine, only it is a modified, softened Rhine, decked
with the gorgeous and varied coloring of the Orient. On the left a
cemetery shaded by groves of cypresses and pines forms the first
break in the hitherto uninterrupted chain of villages, and immediately
after it, on the rocky sides of Mount Hermæon, rise the three large
towers of Rumili Hissar, the Castle of Europe, surrounded by
battlemented walls and lesser towers, covering the incline to the
water’s edge with picturesque ruins. This is the renowned fortress
erected by Muhammad II. a year before the conquest of
Constantinople in defiance of the indignant remonstrances of
Constantine, whose envoys, as every one knows, were sent back
threatened with death by way of reply. This is the narrowest part of
the Bosphorus, it being here only eight hundred and ten yards wide,
and the current is consequently so swift that it has obtained the
name of the “Great Current” from the Greeks and the “Devil’s
Current” from the Turks. It was here that Mandrokles of Samos
constructed the bridge of boats across which Darius conducted his
seven hundred thousand soldiers, and, as it is supposed, that the
“Ten Thousand” crossed on their return from Asia; but no trace can
now be found either of the two pillars of Mandrokles nor of the rock-
hewn throne of Mount Hermæon from whence the Persian king
watched the passage of his army. A little Turkish village nestles at the
foot of the castle, and the Asiatic shore stretches away in the
distance, ever greener and more picturesque. There is an unbroken
succession of boat-landings, little houses, gardens, tiny valleys
overflowing with vegetation, small inlets across which the limbs of the
gigantic trees which line their banks nearly meet, while beneath
white-sailed fishing-boats pass slowly along on the placid surface of
the water, and charming pleasure-grounds, gay with flowers, shelve
gently down to the shore, or terraced gardens framed in verdure,
while from the summits of the neighboring hills gleam the white
stones of little cemeteries.

Sweet Waters of Europe.

 Next Kaneijeh comes unexpectedly into view, its red houses
covering two rocky promontories on the Asiatic shore, against whose
bases the waves break with a musical sound, while above, the
minarets of its two charming mosques glisten among a dark mass of
cypress trees and umbrella pines. Along here the gardens rise one
above the other like terraces, and the villas recommence, among the
latter being the marvellously beautiful palace of the celebrated Fuad
Pâsha, poet and diplomat, vain, voluptuous, and charming, who has
been called the Ottoman Lamartine. A little farther on we come to the
pretty village of Balta Limân, situated at the opening of a small valley
on the European shore, through which a narrow stream flows,
emptying itself into the harbor. Above rises a hill whose sides are
covered with villas, conspicuous among which is the ancient palace of
Reshid Pâsha. Then comes the bay of Emir Ghian Oghlu Bagche,
whose waters look green from the surrounding cypress trees, among
which gleams, white as snow, a solitary mosque surmounted by a
great globe with golden rays. The boat meanwhile approaches first
one shore and then the other, close enough for us to distinguish
clearly all the little details of the landscape. Now it is the vestibule of
the selamlik of a wealthy Turk, opening on the water, in front of
which a big majordomo is stretched upon a divan smoking; then a
eunuch who stands upon the lowest step of a landing-stair assisting
two veiled Turkish ladies into a käik; farther on an old Turk is seated
cross-legged, meditating upon the Koran, at the foot of an immense
plane tree, which shades a garden enclosed between green hedges;
family parties are assembled upon the terraces of their country-
houses; herds of sheep and goats feed upon high pasture-lands;
horsemen gallop along the shore, and strings of camels pass across
the brows of the hills, their strange, unfamiliar shapes outlined
against the clear sky.
All at once the Bosphorus widens out, and the aspect of
everything changes anew. Again we are between two bays, in the
centre of a large lake: that on the left is narrow and deep, and
around it lies the little Greek city of Stenia, formerly called Sosthenius
from the temple and winged statue placed there by the Argonauts in
honor of their tutelary genius, who had awarded them the victory in
their encounter with Amycus, king of Bebryces. Thanks to the inward
course of the steamer at this point, we are able to distinguish quite
clearly the cafés and small, closely-built houses along the shore, the
villas scattered about among their vineyards and olive trees, the
valley opening up from the harbor, the cascade which falls from a
neighboring height, and the celebrated Moorish fountain of pure
white marble, shaded by a group of huge maple trees, from whose
branches fish-nets are suspended above the groups of Greek women
who pass back and forth carrying amphora upon their heads.
Opposite Stenia, on the bay in the Asiatic coast, is the Turkish village
of Chibûkli, where the famous Monastery of the Sleepless once stood,
whence prayer and praise ascended to Heaven without interruption
day and night. Both shores of the Bosphorus from one sea to the
other teem with associations connected with those fanatical monks
and anchorites of the fifth century, who wandered over the hills and
valleys laden with crosses and chains, wore hair-cloth and iron
collars, and remained immovable for weeks and months at a time in
the branches of a tree or upon the summit of a column, while
princes, magistrates, soldiers, and churchmen prostrated themselves
at their feet, fasting, praying, beating their breasts, imploring advice
or a blessing as though seeking a favor from God.
The Bosphorus has, however, one striking characteristic, that of
drawing away the thoughts of the traveller who passes through it for
the first time, from the past to the present. All the associations,
dreams, fancies, memories awakened by familiarity with its history or
legends are put to flight, driven back by the extraordinary richness of
the vegetation, the pomp of color, exuberance of life, and magnificent
abandonment of nature, in which everything appears as though it
were wreathed in smiles and decked for a fête. It is even difficult to
realize that these same waters, these enchanting scenes, were the
witnesses of those furious sea-battles when Bulgarians and Goths,
Byzantines, Russians, and Turks fell upon one another, fought, bled,
and were vanquished or overcame in turn; the very fortresses which
frown from the heights fail to awaken a spark of that romantic horror
which such ruins always inspire when seen at other places; they
seem more like artificial adjuncts to the landscape than the stern and
actual records of a past which has seen them vomit fire and death.
Over all there hangs a veil of languor and quiescence which suggests
no thoughts other than dreams of idleness and an immense longing
for peace.
Beyond Stenia the Bosphorus becomes still wider, and in a few
moments we are greeted with the finest of any of the views we have
had up to this time. Looking toward Europe, we see directly before us
the little Greek and Armenian city of Yeni, built upon the side of a hill
covered with vineyards and groves of pine trees, and extending
around in the shape of a bow above a rocky shore against which the
current sweeps with great violence; a little beyond is the beautiful
bay of Kalender, crowded with boats, surrounded by small houses
with gardens; and garlanded with luxuriant vegetation, while
overhanging it are the aërial terraces of an imperial kiosk. Turning to
the other shore, we find it curving in a large semicircle, above which
rises a hill, and in the natural amphitheatre thus formed are a
number of villages and harbors: Injir Keui—the Fig village—set in a
circle of gardens; Sultanieh, half hidden in a forest; and the large
village of Beikos, surrounded by kitchen-gardens and vineyards and
shaded by tall walnut trees, whose buildings are reflected in the
waters of the most beautiful gulf in the whole Bosphorus, the very
spot on which the king of Bebryces was defeated by Pollux, and
where the enchanted laurel tree stood whose branches caused all
who touched them to become insane. Some distance beyond Beikos
may be seen Yali, the ancient village of Amea, looking like a bunch of
red and yellow flowers thrown down on a great green carpet. All of
this, however, is but the merest sketch of that wonderful picture; to
which must be added the indescribably soft lines of those lovely hills,
looking as though made to stroke with the hand; the innumerable
little nameless villages, which seem to have been thrown in here and
there as the artist had need of them; that vegetation belonging to
every climate; that architecture representing every land; those
terraced gardens and cascades of water; the dark shadows, shining
mosques, deep blue sea dotted with white sails, and over all that sky
flushed by the setting sun.
 At this point, however, I was seized with that sensation of
weariness and satiety which at some part or other of the Bosphorus
is pretty sure to attack the traveller. The endless succession of soft
lines and brilliant colors becomes tiresome, the very monotony of its
beauty dulling one’s sense of enjoyment. You feel at last that it would
be a relief to come upon some huge, rugged, misshapen mass of rock
sticking out from the land, or even a long desert strip of coast, wild,
desolate, strewn with the fragments of a wreck. There is nothing to
do, then, but turn your attention to the water. The Bosphorus is like
an enormous port: we pass close beneath the shining guns of the
Ottoman men-of-war, through fleets of merchantmen from every
country in the world, with sails of all colors, queerly-shaped bows,
and crowds of foreign-looking men upon their decks; we meet and
pass outlandish craft from the Asiatic ports of the Black Sea; beautiful
little sloops belonging to the various embassies; gentlemen’s yachts
shoot by like arrows from the bow, taking part in races which are
witnessed from the shore by crowds of spectators; rowboats of every
pattern, filled with persons of all colors, push off from the shore or
draw up at the thousand landing-stairs of the two continents; käiks
dart in and out among long lines of barges, heavily laden with
merchandise, towing slowly up the stream; navy-launches flying flags
from their sterns; fishermen’s rafts; gilded käiks belonging to wealthy
pashas; and steamboats from Constantinople filled with turbans,
fezzes, and veils, which zigzag back and forth from one continent to
the other in order to touch at every landing. All these sights seem to
revolve around us as the steamer pursues its winding course; the
promontories shift their positions; the hills unexpectedly change their
outlines; villages glide out of sight, to suddenly reappear with an
entirely new aspect; and both in front and back of us the Bosphorus
keeps altering its character: now it is shut in like a big lake; now it
opens out into a long chain of smaller lakes, with hills in the distance;
then suddenly the hills close in again before and behind, and we are
encircled by a green basin from which there is no apparent outlet, but
before there is time to exchange more than half a dozen words with a
neighbor the basin has disappeared in its turn, and once again we
find ourselves surrounded by new heights, new towns, new harbors.
 We are now between the two bays of Therapia—formerly
Pharmakia, from Medea’s poisons—and Hunkiar Iskelesi, or Landing-
place of the Sultan, where the famous treaty of 1833 was signed
which closed the Dardanelles to foreign fleets. At this spot the
spectacle of the Bosphorus reaches the penultimate stage of its
beauty. Therapia is the finest of the towns which grace its banks,
after Buyukdereh, while the valley which extends behind Hunkiar
Iskelesi is the greenest, most charming and romantic valley to be
found from the Sea of Marmora to the Black Sea. Therapia is built
partly upon a level strip of shore at the foot of a large hill, and partly
around a deep bay, which forms its harbor and is filled with small
boats and shipping. Back of it opens the narrow valley of Krio-nero,
where more of the town is squeezed in between the green sides of
the hills. The shore is dotted with picturesque-looking cafés extending
out over the water, handsome hotels, gay little houses, and groups of
lofty trees which shade open squares and marble fountains; back of
these are the summer residences of the French, Italian, and English
ambassadors, and beyond these, again, stands an imperial kiosk. All
up the hillsides are terrace upon terrace, garden upon garden, villa
upon villa, grove upon grove; people dressed in vivid colors crowd in
and out of the cafés, stream over the harbor and shore and up the
paths leading to the tops of the hills, just as though some great fête
were in progress. The Asiatic shore, on the contrary, is tranquillity
itself. The little village of Hunkiar Iskelesi, a favorite place of
residence among the wealthy Armenians of Constantinople, sleeps
quietly among its plane and cypress trees and about its diminutive
harbor, on the bosom of whose waters a few boats may be seen
gliding peacefully along. High above the village, upon the summit of a
vast incline of terraced gardens, towers the solitary and magnificent
kiosk of Abdul-Aziz, beyond which, again, extends the favorite valley
of the pâdishahs half hidden under dense masses of tropical
vegetation and surrounded by a dreamy mystery.
All of this marvellous beauty, however, fades into nothing a mile
farther on, when, the steamer having arrived off the Bay of
Buyukdereh, we are confronted by the crowning, the supreme glory
of the Bosphorus. Here he who has become weary of its beauty, and
possibly allowed himself to give utterance to some irreverent
criticism, is forced to bow his head and humbly beg for pardon. We
are in the centre of a large lake, so surrounded and hemmed in by
marvels of every description that there seems nothing for it but to
begin spinning around in the bow, like dervishes, so as to see all the
shore and all the hills at once.
On the European side, extending around a deep bay where the
swift current dies away in gentle little waves, and below a large hill
whose sides are dotted with innumerable villas, lies the town of
Buyukdereh, large, colored like a huge bed of flowers, and entirely
composed of small palaces, kiosks, and villas planted in the midst of
a mass of vegetation of the most vivid green imaginable, which
seems to pour out over the roofs and walls and overflow into the
streets and squares. To the right the town extends as far as an inlet
like a smaller bay in the large one, surrounded by the village of
Kefeli; behind this a wide valley opens, green with meadows and
sprinkled with white houses, following which one can reach the
aqueduct of Mahmûd and the forest of Belgrâd. Tradition says that
the armies of the first Crusaders encamped in this valley in 1096, and
one of the seven gigantic plane trees for which the spot is famous is
called the plane tree of Godfrey de Bouillon. Beyond Kefeli Keni is still
another small bay, colored with white and green reflections from the
neighboring houses and trees, and beyond this, again, Therapia is
visible scattered along the base of her dark-green hills.
Having allowed our gaze to wander thus far, we turn once more
toward Asia, and find with astonishment that we are opposite the
loftiest hill on the Bosphorus, the Giant’s Mountain, shaped like a
huge green pyramid, on whose summit is the celebrated grave to
which three separate legends have given the names, respectively, of
“The Couch of Hercules,” “The Grave of Amycus,” and “The Tomb of
Joshua.” It is now guarded by a couple of dervishes and visited by
sick Mussulmans, who carry thither the rags of their clothing
according to a practice in vogue among them. The forest-clad and
vine-decked sides of the mountain extend to the very water’s edge,
where, between two bright green promontories, lies the pretty bay of
Umur Yeri, all streaked with the hundred different colored reflections
of a Mussulman village on its shore, from which strings of villas and
houses extend like wings across the adjoining fields or like masses of
flowers thrown about at random. But the entire view is not confined
to this body of water: directly ahead of us glimmers the Black Sea,
and looking back toward Constantinople, we behold on the other side
of Therapia, in the dim purple distance, the bay of Kalender, Yeni
Keui, Injir Keui, and Sultanieh, looking far more like imaginary scenes
from some dream-world than actual towns and villages.
The sun is setting: a delicate veil of pale blue and gray begins to
fall over the European shore, but Asia is still bathed in golden light;
across the sparkling water numbers of boats filled with married
couples and lovers, excursionists from Constantinople, press toward
the European shore, meet and stop one another, and overtake others
filled with parents and children from the neighboring villas. Bursts of
music and song come from the cafés of Buyukdereh; eagles circle
above the summit of Giant’s Mountain, the white lights on the shore
fly by, kingfishers gleam through the water, dolphins swim about the
ship, the fresh wind of the Black Sea blows in our faces. Where are
we? whither are we bound? It is a moment of rapture, of intoxication,
in which the sights of the past two hours, both shores of the
Bosphorus, all that we have felt and seen, melt and blend together in
one glowing, rapturous vision of a single vast city ten times the size
of Constantinople, peopled by all the nations of the earth, visited by
every blessing from the Almighty, and given over to an endless series
of feastings and merrymakings, the contemplation of which fills one
with despairing envy.
 Entrance to the Black Sea.

This is our last vision. The steamer issuing rapidly from the bay of
Buyukdereh, we see on our right a small inlet formed by the ancient
promontory of Simas, upon which rose the temple of Venus
Meretricia, for whom Greek sailors had an especial veneration; then
comes the village of Yeni Mahalleh; then the fort of Deli Tabia, facing
another small fort which is stationed on the opposite shore at the foot
of Giant’s Mountain; next is the castle of Rumili Kavak, whose rugged
outlines are clearly defined against the rosy sky tinged by the setting
sun. Opposite Rumili Kavak stands another fort, crowning the point
upon which rose the temple of the Twelve Gods erected by the Argive
Phrygos near to one dedicated to Jupiter, the “distributor of favorable
winds,” by the Chalcedons, and converted by Justinian into the
church of Michael the Archangel. Here the Bosphorus narrows in for
the last time between the outer spur of the Bithynian mountains and
the extreme point of the Hemus chain. This was always considered
the first place of importance in the strait to be defended from the
north, and consequently has been the scene of many hard-fought
battles between Byzantine and barbarian, Venetian, and Genoese
fleets. Two ruined towers can be made out indistinctly marking the
sites of the Genoese castles, which faced each other here, and
between which an iron chain was stretched to stop the passage of
unfriendly fleets. From this point the Bosphorus widens out to the
sea, the banks grow high and steep like two huge ramparts, bare
apparently, save for occasional groups of poor-looking houses, a
solitary tower or two, the ruins of a monastery, or remains of some
ancient mole. After proceeding for some distance we again see the
gleaming lights of a village, Beuyük Limân, and opposite it others
shine from the fort which stands upon the promontory of the
Elephant. On our left is the great mass of rock called by the ancients
Gypopolis, upon which rose the palace of Phineas infested by the
Harpies, and on the right Poiras Point shows dim and indistinct
against the gray sky. The two shores are now far apart, and the strait
seems more like a wide gulf. Night is falling, and the sea-breeze
whistles through the rigging, while the broad surface of the
melancholy Mare Cimmerium stretches away before us gray and
restless; and still we are unable to detach our minds from those
wonderful scenes through which we have just passed, so crowded
with romantic and historical associations, especially now, when our
senses are no longer overpowered by the sight of their natural
beauties. In fancy we explore that left shore as far as the foot of the
Little Balkans, search for Ovid’s tower of exile and the marvellous
Anastasian Wall; then, crossing to Asia, wander over a vast volcanic
tract of land, through forests infested by wild boars and jackals, amid
the huts of a savage and cruel people, whose sinister shadows we
seem to see as they congregate upon the precipitous bank invoking
disaster for us on the fera litora Ponti. The darkness is broken for the
last time by two flaming points looking like the fiery eyes of two
Cyclops set to guard the approach to that enchanted strait; they are
Anadoli Fanar, the lighthouse on the Asiatic side, and Rumili Fanar, at
whose feet the rugged profile of the Symplegades can be dimly
discerned in the shadow of the banks. Then the coasts of Asia and
Europe are merely two black lines, and then, Quocumque adspicias
nihil est nisi Pontus et aer, as poor Ovid sang.
But I see her still, my beloved Constantinople, beyond those two
fading shores. I see her larger and more radiant than she ever
appeared when I gazed upon her from the Validéh Sultan bridge or
from the heights of Skutari, and I talk with and salute and adore her
as the last and fondest dream of a youth which is passing away. But a
dash of salt water, striking me full in the face and knocking off my
hat, rouses me abruptly from my dreams. I look around: the bow is
deserted, the sky obscured, a raw autumnal wind chills me to the
bone; poor Yunk, attacked by sea-sickness, has withdrawn; nothing is
heard but the rattle of the ship’s lanterns and creaking of the vessel
as she flies along, rocked and beaten by the waves, into the darkness
of the night. My beautiful Oriental dream is ended.

END OF VOLUME II.

 INDEX.

A.
Abd-el-Murad, warrior dervish, 146.
Adul-Aziz, at fire of 1870, ii. 84;
confined in cage, ii. 180;
conspiracies against, 291;
early tastes, 288;
extravagance, 289;
fears poison and fire, 290;
greed for money, 287;
hopes built upon, 288;
influence of mother, 290;
kiosk of, ii. 289;
mosque erected by mother of, ii. 275;
personal appearance, 292;
removes pavement, 90;
strength of will, 290;
studies, 288;
violent temper, 288.
Abdul-Baki, “the Immortal,” verses of, ii. 196.
Abdul-Mejid, abandons Seraglio, ii. 145;
kiosk erected by mother of, ii. 279;
mosque of, 281;
transports dogs, 174.
Abu Eyûb, mausoleum of, standard-bearer of the Prophet,
ii. 230.
Abu-sud, poems of, ii. 196.
Acheenese, war of the, with Holland, 78.
Acropolis of Byzantium, 69;
site of the, ii. 146.
Admiral Balta-Ogli, ii. 112.
Admiralty building, 105.
Adrianopolis, gate, ii. 109;
station, ii. 135.
Ahmed, mosque of Sultan, 29;
situation, 69;
standard of the Prophet, ii. 218.
Ahmed I., efforts to suppress drinking, 216;
first kadyn of, strangles her rival, ii. 198.
Ahmed II., stupidity of, 169.
Ahmed III., confines Venetian envoys, ii. 130;
fountain of, description, 251, ii. 150.
Alai kiosk, ii. 205.
Albanian village, ii. 277.
Alexius Comnenus, enters by Charsian gate, ii. 108;
widow of, ii. 200.
Alhambra theatre, 211.
Ali the Fat, grand vizier, 169.
Ali of Tepelen and the dervish, 287;
burial-place of head, ii. 123;
inscription to, ii. 124.
Allori di Stefano, ancient valley of the, ii. 273.
Ambassadors confined in dungeon tower, ii. 130;
pinioned in presence of sultan, 166.
Amycus, king of Bebryces, defeated by Argonauts, ii. 283;
grave of, ii. 291.
Anadoli Fanar, ii. 295.
Anadoli Hissar, ii. 279.
Anaplus, ii. 276.
Anastasian Wall, ii. 295.
Anatolia, ancient, 18.
Anchor, village of the, ii. 276.
Andronicus Palæologus, 123.
Anthemius of Tralles, architect of St. Sophia, 271.
Anthemius, towers erected by the prefect, 120.
Apollo, statue of, 70.
Apostles, Church of the Holy, 71.
Aqueduct of Valens, 70.
Arcadeus, baths of, 69;
column of, 72;
forum of, 72;
pedestal of the column of, 74.
Archers, the three hundred Genoese, ii. 117.
Architects of St. Sophia, 271.
Argonauts, temple and statue of the, ii. 283.
Armenian cemetery, 98;
gravestones, 98.
Armenians, the, 228;
appearance 229;
character, 229;
dress, 229;
habits, 230;
intelligence, 230;
strength, 230;
women, 231.
Army of Muhammad III., 192.
Army, recruits, 190;
single picturesque feature of Turkish, 190;
uniform, 188.
Arnaût-Keui, ii. 277.
Arsenal of Tersâne, 105.
Art, examples of renaissance of Turkish, 96, ii. 218.
Associations, 165.
At-Meidan, situation of the, 69.
Augusteon of Justinian, ii. 218.
Avars besiege Constantinople, ii. 109.
Ayesha, favorite wife of the Prophet, 168.

B.
Bâb-el-Selam, Gate of Health, ii. 163.
Bâb-i-Humayûn, Imperial Gate, ii. 149.
Bâb-i-Sâdet, Gate of Felicity, ii. 170.
Balat, 72, 234.
Balkans, the Little, ii. 294.
Balta-Ogli, Admiral, ii. 112.
Balukli cemetery, burial-place of head of Ali Pasha, ii. 123;
church, 167;
holy well, 167, ii. 124;
monastery, ii. 123.
Bandits of Hassin the Mad, 190.
Barbarossa, tomb of, ii. 273.
Barrack built by Shalil Pasha, 96.
Bath, abuse of the, ii. 13;
the Turkish, 237;
women at the, ii. 62.
Bath-houses, 237.
Bath-room of the Sultan, ii. 227.
Baths of Muhammad, 71;
of Selim II., ii. 182.
Battery, the Seraglio, ii. 203.
Battle-cry, the Mussulman, ii. 116.
Bayezid I., first to use wine, 215;
surnamed the Thunderbolt, 212.
Bayezid II., intemperance of, 216.
Bayezid Ilderim, ii. 279.
Bayezidiyeh, ii. 218.
Bazâr, the Great, 129.
Bazârs, armory, 145;
Baluk, 123;
bargaining in the, 137;
cutlery, 150;
china, 150;
embroidery, 150;
Egyptian, 126;
fez, 149;
fur, 150;
gold thread, 150;
household utensils, 150;
jewelry, 135;
old clothes, 148;
perfumery, 134;
pipe, 133;
shoe, 142;
slave, 71;
tailors, 150;
Valley of, 70.
Beauty of Turkish women, ii. 13.
Bebek, ii. 278.
Bebryces, king of, defeated by Pollux, ii. 283, ii. 286;
grave, ii. 291.
Beikos, ii. 286.
Belle Vue, café. 97.
Belgrâd, forest of, ii. 291.
Beshiktash, ii. 273.
Beuyük Limân, ii. 294.
Beylerbey, palace and village of, ii. 274.
Binbûr, dry cistern of, 222.
Birds, 164;
how regarded by the Turks, 165;
influences ascribed to, 165;
legacies for support of, 164.
Bishop, legend of the Greek, 272.
Blachernæ, palace and suburb, 72.
Blood, Well of, ii. 130.
Bloody Prison, ii. 130.
Blue River, 279.
Boatmen, 118;
keep the feast of Ramazân, 220.
Bochiardi, Paolo and Antonino Troilo, ii. 109.
Bosphorus, crowning glory of the, ii. 290;
important point on the, ii. 293;
narrowest part of the, ii. 281.
Bow of the Prophet, ii. 183.
Brancovano, family of, executed, 166;
younger son of, in Castle of Seven Towers, ii. 134.
Breaches, Muhammad II. makes three in the walls, ii. 123.
Bread kissed before meals, 215.
Brick under head of Bayezid, ii. 237.
Bricks used in construction of dome of St. Sophia, 261.
Bridge constructed by Mandrokles, ii. 281.
Bridge, the Galata, 45;
amusing incidents, 51;
contrasts of dress, 55;
foot-wear, 48;
nakedness, 53;
religions represented, 50;
 situation, 45;
spectacle afforded by, 46;
sunrise from, ii. 75;
variety of nationalities, 46, 53, 54.
Bridge Sirat, the, 170.
Bridges formerly across the Golden Horn, 114, 116.
Brusa, the great scholar of, 168.
Bûlgurlû, Mt., ii. 274.
Burnt Column of Constantine, 70.
Buyukdereh, bay and town of, ii. 290.
Byzantium, ancient, cemetery of, 88;
citadel of, ii. 127;
confines of, 69.

C.
Café Belle Vue, 97.
Cafés, Turkish, 106.
Cage, the, ii. 179.
Cambronne’s word, 204.
Cannon Gate, ii. 114.
Cannon Kiosk, ii. 204.
Caristo, Teodoro di, ii. 108.
Carriages, odalisque of the hundred silver, ii. 193.
Castles, Genoese, ii. 294;
of the Seven Towers, ii. 127.
Cavern, the Rocky, ii. 130.
Cemeteries, Armenian, 98;
Galata, 91;
largest Jewish, 116;
Skutari, ii. 224.
Chalcedon founded by the Megarians, 25.
Chalcedons erect temple to Jupiter, ii. 293.
Chamlejah, view from Mount, ii. 241.
Champs, Grands, des Morts, 97.
Character, the Turkish, ii. 254.
Charsian Gate, used by Justinian and Alexius Comnenus, ii.
108.
Charsiou Gate, 72.
Chateaubriand, on arrival at Constantinople, 12.
Cheating, how formerly punished, 225.
Chengel, Village of the Anchor, ii. 276.
Cheragan Palace, ii. 226, ii. 274.
Chibûkli, ii. 284.
Children, illegitimate, ii. 37;
in the harem, ii. 48.
Chio, scented gum of, 134.
Christian settlements, encroachments of, 39.
Christianity and Islamism, differences between, 217;
the struggle between, 38.
Churches, Balukli, 167;
that erected by Empress Pulcheria, 72;
St. Irene, 74, ii. 152;
of the Holy Apostles, 71.
Cisterns, of Constantine, 74, ii. 220;
Binbûr, ii. 222;
St. Peter, 71.
Citadel of ancient Byzantium, ii. 127.
Civilization, how regarded by the Turks, ii. 257;
the effects of, ii. 259;
progress of, ii. 266.
Coffee, use of, in Constantinople, 106.
College, American Protestant, ii. 280;
for imperial pages, ii. 178.
Colors, law prescribing the use of, 222.
Columns, Augusteon and palace of Justinian, 218;
the Burnt, of Constantine, 70;
Granite, of Marcian, 71;
Golden in Validêh Sultan mosque, ii. 218;
serpentine, 167;
St. Sophia, 262;
Theodosius, ii. 202.
Constantine at San Romano Gate, ii. 117;
death of, ii. 119;
remonstrates with Muhammad II., ii. 281;
inscriptions of soldiers of, in Castle of Seven Towers, ii.
129.
Constantine, Ciro, inscription of, ii. 121;
towers erected by, ii. 120.
Constantine the Great, Burnt Column of, 70;
cistern, 74, ii. 220;
cohorts, 71;
founds St. Irene, ii. 152;
likeness of, 70.
Constantine Porphyrogenitus, Turkish name for palace of,
72.
Constantines, site of ancient palace of the, 70.
Constitution, the new, signed, ii. 204.
Cooking, Turkish, 212.
Corruption of Turkish vs. European society, ii. 38.
Costumes, 169;
articles of Turkish ladies’, 132.
Coswa, camel of Mohammed, 169.
Cottaneo, Maurizio, ii. 123.
Court of the Janissaries, ii. 151.
Crimea, ceded to Russia, ii. 204;
frigates of the, 105.
Criminals, state, heads exhibited, ii. 150.
Crusaders, encampment on the Bosphorus, ii. 291.
Current, Devil’s, ii. 281;
great, ii. 281.
Customs of modern vs. old-time Turk, 170.

D.
Darius crosses the Bosphorus, ii. 281.
David, quotation from, stamped;
on bricks of St. Sophia, 261.
Death, idea of rendered agreeable, ii. 231.
Deli Tabia, fort of, ii. 293.
Delphic Oracle names the Megarians “the Blind,” 25.
Demonisi of the ancients, 17.
Dervishes, description of the dancing, ii. 239;
fekkeh, ii. 239.
Devil’s Current, ii. 281.
Dignity of Turkish men, ii. 252.
Divân, hall of the, ii. 167;
sessions of the, ii. 167.
Divorce, facility of, ii. 37;
law about remarriage, ii. 55.
Djiemal-eddin, the scholar of Brusa, 168.
Dmitri, San, 101.
Dogs, cruel custom regarding, 180;
hunting, of Bayezid, 179;
legacies for support of, 174;
laziness, 175;
pronounced unclean, 174;
transported from Constantinople, 174;
why protected by the Turks, 174.
Door, bronze, of Seraglio library, ii. 178.
Dress, laws controlling, 223;
of modern and old-fashioned Turk, 170;
of women, ii. 24.
Drinking, common among the Sultans, 215;
efforts to suppress, 216.
Drowning of members of Mustafa’s harem, 166.
Dwelling, divisions of the Turkish, ii. 29.

E.
Echo, a famous, ii. 278.
Egri Kapou, ii. 105, ii. 108.
Egyptian Bazâr, 126.
Elephant, Promontory of the, ii. 294.
Emin Baba, patron saint of the Janissaries, ii. 234.
Ensign of the Prophet, green, 194, ii. 183, ii. 218.
Epepolin, the, ii. 112.
Erizzo, governor of Negropont, daughter of, stabbed, ii.
200.
Et-Meidan, scene of massacre of the Janissaries, 71.
Eunuchs, 181;
anecdote, 187;
character, 186;
dress, 182, 183;
names, 185;
never seen to laugh, 183;
marriages, 186;
miseries, 185;
striking a French officer, 185;
personal appearance, 182, 183;
power waning, 182;
 traffic denounced by Koran and prohibited by law, 181;
unwilling victims, 182.
Europeans, how regarded by Turks, ii. 256.
Existence in Constantinople, 204;
freedom of, 206.
Eyûb, 73, 117, ii. 229;
mausoleum of Abu, ii. 230;
mosque, ii. 230;
sword of Osman, ii. 230.

F.
Fall of Constantinople described, ii. 115.
Family, the, ii. 33.
Fekkeh of dancing dervishes, ii. 239.
Ferajah, ii. 11.
Fez, bazâr, 149;
disadvantages of the, 189;
emblem of reform, ii. 236;
of Mahmûd, ii. 236.
Fighani, the poet, punished for a lampoon, 169.
Fire, alarm of, from Galata Tower, ii. 80;
from Serasker Tower, 242, ii. 80;
from Topkhâneh, ii. 80;
causes of, ii. 97;
description of the, of 1870, ii. 73;
former law about extinction of, ii. 79;
how formerly announced to the Sultan, ii. 99;
in the Seraglio, ii. 147;
lookout for, on Galata Tower, 90;
of 1756, ii. 92.
Fire-brigade, ii. 96.
Firemen, appearance, ii. 76;
 want of discipline, ii. 80.
Fish, the miraculous, of Balukli, 167, ii. 124;
still plentiful, 123;
varieties of, 124.
Fish-market, 123.
Flag of the Prophet, the sacred, 194, ii. 183, ii. 218.
Fortifications, ii. 106.
Fortress of Muhammad II., ii. 281.
Forum, Cattle, ii. 138.
Forum, centre of the, marked by a column, 70.
Forum of Arcadeus, 72.
Fountain of Ahmed III., 251, ii. 150;
inscription of, 252.
Fountains of Pera, kept locked, ii. 79.
Francesco di Toledo, ii. 117.
Frank, language, 209;
shops, 137.
Fuad Pasha, called the Ottoman Lamartine, ii. 282;
villa of, ii. 282.
Funeral, Greek, 100.
Fuzuli, songs of, ii. 196.

G.
Galata, 88;
the Genoese in, 88;
street-cries, 89;
the tower of, 90.
Gardens, Vlanga, ii. 138.
Gates, Adrianopolis, ii. 109;
Bâb-el-Selam, 163;
Bâb-i-Humayûn, 149;
 Blachernæ, ii. 117;
Cannon, ii. 114;
Charsian, ii. 108;
Charsiou, 72;
Deuterou, ii. 127;
Egri Kapou, ii. 105, ii. 108;
Golden, ii. 117;
Heptapyrgion, ii. 117;
Melandesias, ii. 127;
Pempti, ii. 114;
Polyandrion, ii. 109;
Psmatia, ii. 138;
Rusiou, ii. 117;
San Romano, ii. 118;
Selymbria, ii. 117;
Silivri, ii. 123;
Tetarte, ii. 120;
Theodosian, 72, ii. 138;
Tou Tritou, ii. 117, ii. 122;
Yeni Mevlevi, ii. 120.
Gautier, on arrival at Constantinople, 11.
Gazali, the verses of, ii. 196.
Genoese archers, ii. 117;
castles on the Bosphorus, ii. 294;
in Galata, the, 88;
tower erected in memory of the, 91.
Ghaznefér Agha, chief of White Eunuchs, 182.
Ghetto of Balat, 72, 234;
of Haskeui, 114.
Giants’ Mountain, ii. 291.
Giuliani the Florentine defends citadel, ii. 129.
Giusti, ii. 17.
Godfrey de Bouillon, plane tree of, ii. 291.
Gods, temple of the Twelve, ii. 293.
Golden Gate legend, ii. 128;
used by Heraclius and Narsetes, ii. 128.
Golden Horn, along the, 87;
why so called, 18.
Golden Room of Byzantine emperors, ii. 183.
Goths, Constantine’s forty thousand, 71;
seventh cohort, 71.
Grave of Amycus, ii. 291.
Graves formerly dug everywhere, 225;
Mussulman, 92.
Gravestones, Armenian, 98;
Mussulman, 91.
Greant, Giovanni, ii. 108.
Greek funeral, 100;
women, 233.
Greeks, the, 231.
Green ensign of the Prophet, 194, ii. 183, ii. 218.
Gül-Khâneh, Hatti Sherif of, ii. 204.
Guns, Orbano’s, ii. 107, ii. 108.
Gustinian di Toledo, ii. 117;
wounded, ii. 118.
Gypopolis, rock of, ii. 294.
Gypsy encampment in the walls, ii. 114.

H.
Hafiz, murder of, grand vizier of Murad IV., ii. 173.
Haidar Pasha, plain of, ii. 225.
Hall of the Divân, ii. 165;
described, ii. 167.
Hanum, a, shopping, 144.
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