"O who is more brave than a dark Suliote,In his snowy camese and his shaggy capote?"
"O who is more brave than a dark Suliote,
In his snowy camese and his shaggy capote?"
The interior of the country is less advanced than the capital. The great want is that ofinternal communication. Greece is a country made by nature both for commerce and for agriculture, as it is a peninsula, and the long line of coast is indented with bays, and the interior is very fertile; and if a few short roads were opened to connect the inland valleyswith the sea, so that the farmers and peasants could send their produce to market, the exports of the country might soon be doubled. One "trunk" road also is needed, about a hundred miles long, to connect Greece with the European system of railroads. The opening of this single artery of trade would give a great impulse to the industry of the country; but as it would have to cross the frontier of Turkey, it is necessary to have the consent of the Turkish Government, and this the Greeks, though they have sought it for years, have never been able to obtain.
But the obstacles to improvement are not all the fault of the Turks; the Greeks are themselves also to blame. There is a lack of enterprise and of public spirit; they do not work together for the public good. If there were a little more of a spirit of coöperation, they could do wonders for their country. They need not go to England to borrow money to build railroads. There is enough in Athens itself, which is the residence of many wealthy Greeks. Greece is about as large in territory as Massachusetts, and has about the same population. If it had the same spirit of enterprise, it would soon be covered, as Massachusetts is, with a network of railroads, and all its valleys would be alive with the hum of industry.
This lack of enterprise and want of combination for public ends, are due to inherent defects of national character. The modern Greeks have many of the traits of their illustrious ancestors, in which there is a strange compound of strength and weakness. They are a mercurial and excitable race, very much like the French, effervescing like champagne, bubbling up and boiling over; fond of talk, and often spending in words the energy that were better reserved for deeds. They have a proverb of their own, which well indicates their readiness to get excited about little matters, which says, "They drown themselves in a tumbler of water."
A still more serious defect than this lightness of manner,is the want of a high patriotic feeling which overrides all personal ambition. There is too much of party spirit, and of personal ambition. Everybody wants to be in office, to obtain control of the Government, and selfish interests often take the precedence of public considerations; men seem more eager to get into power by any means, than to secure the good of their country. This party spirit makes more difficult the task of government. But after all these are things which more or less exist in all countries, and especially under all free governments, and which the most skilled statesmen have to use all their tact and skill to restrain within due bounds.
But while these are obvious defects of the national character, no one can fail to see the fine qualities of the Greeks, and the great things of which they are capable. They are full of talent, in which they show their ancestral blood, and if sometimes a little restless and unmanageable, they are but like spirited horses, that need only to be "reined in" and guided aright, to run a long and glorious race.
I have good hope of the country also, from the character of the young King, whom I had an opportunity of seeing. This was an unexpected pleasure, for which I am indebted to the courtesy of our accomplished Minister here, Gen. J. Meredith Reed, who suggested and arranged it; and it proved not a mere formality, but a real gratification. I had supposed it would be a mere ceremony, but it was, on the contrary, so free from all stiffness—our reception was so unaffected and so cordial—that I should like to impart a little of the pleasure of it to others. I wish I could convey the impression of that young ruler exactly as he appeared in that interview: for this is a case in which the simplest and most literal description would be the most favorable. Public opinion abroad hardly does him justice; for the mere fact of his youth (he is not yet quite thirty years old), may lead those who know nothing of him personally, to suppose thathe is a mere figure-head of the State, a graceful ornament indeed, but not capable of adding much to the political wisdom by which it is to be guided. The fact too of his royal connections (for he is the son of the King of Denmark, and brother-in-law both of the Prince of Wales and of the eldest son of the Czar), naturally leads one to suppose that he was chosen King by the Greeks chiefly to insure the alliance of England and Russia. No doubt these considerations did influence, as they very properly might, his election to the throne. But the people were most happy in their choice, in that they obtained not merely a foreign prince to rule over them, but one of such personal qualities as to win their love and command their respect. Those who come in contact with him soon discover that he is not only a man of education, but of practical knowledge of affairs; that he "carries an old head on young shoulders," and has little of youth about himexcept its modesty, but this he has in a marked degree, and it gives a great charm to his manners. I was struck with this as soon as we entered the room—an air so modest, and yet so frank and open, that it at once puts a stranger at his ease. There is something very engaging in his manner, which commands your confidence by the freedom with which he gives his own. He welcomed us most cordially, and shook us warmly by the hand, and commenced the conversation in excellent English, talking with as much apparent freedom as if he were with old friends. We were quite alone with him, and had him all to ourselves. There was nothing of the manner of one who feels that his dignity consists in maintaining a stiff and rigid attitude. On the contrary, his spirits seemed to run over, and he conversed not only with the freedom, but the joyousness of a boy. He amused us very much by describing a scene which some traveller professed to have witnessed in the Greek Legislature, when the speakers became so excited that they passed from words to blows, and the Assembly broke up in a generalmêlée. Of course no such scene ever occurred, but it suited the purpose of some penny-a-liner, who probably was in want of a dinner, and must concoct "a sensation" for his journal. But I had been present at a meeting of the Greek Parliament a day or two before, and could say with truth that it was far more quiet and decorous than the meeting of the National Assembly at Versailles, which I had witnessed several months before. Indeed no legislative body could be more orderly in its deliberations.
Then the King talked of a great variety of subjects—of Greece and of America, of art and of politics, of the Parthenon and of plum-puddings.[9]Gen. Reed was very anxious that Greece should be represented at the Centennial Exhibition at Philadelphia. The King asked what they should send? I modestly suggested "The Parthenon," with which Greece would eclipse all the world, unless Egypt should send the Pyramids! Of course, it would be a profanation to touch a stone of that mighty temple, though it would not be half as bad to carry off a few "specimen bricks" as it was for Lord Elgin to carry off the friezes of Phidias. But Gen. Reed suggested, what would be quite practicable, that they should send plaster casts of some of their greatest statues, which would not robthem, and yet be the most glorious memorial of Ancient Greece.
The King spoke very warmly of America. The relations of the two countries have always been most cordial. When Greece was struggling single-handed to gain her independence, and European powers stood aloof, America was the first to extendher sympathy and aid. This early friendship has not been forgotten, and it needs only a worthy representative of our country here—such as we are most fortunate in having now—to keep for us this golden friendship through all future years.
Such is the man who is now the King of Greece. He has a great task before him, to restore a country so long depressed. He appreciates fully its difficulties. No man understands better the character of the Greeks, nor the real wants of the country. He may sometimes be tried by things in his way. Yet he applies himself to them with inexhaustible patience. The greater the difficulty, the greater the glory of success. If he should sometimes feel a little discouraged, yet there is much also to cheer and animate him. If things move rather slowly, yet it is a fact of good omen that they moveat all; and looking back over a series of years, one may see that there has been a great advance. It is not yet half a century since this country gained its independence. Fifty years ago Turkish pachas were ruling over Greece, and grinding the Christian population into the dust. Now the Turks are gone. The people arefree, and in their erect attitude, their manly bearing and cheerful spirits, one sees that they feel that they are men, accustomed for these many years to breathe the air of liberty.
With such a country and such a people, this young king has before him the most beautiful part which is given to any European sovereign—to restore this ancient State, to reconstruct, not the Parthenon, but the Kingdom; to open new channels of industry and wealth, and to lead the people in all the ways of progress and of peace.
It will not be intruding into any privacy, if I speak of the king in his domestic relations. It is not always that kings and queens present the most worthy example to their people; and it was a real pleasure to hear the way in which everybody spoke of this royal family as a model. The queen,a daughter of the Grand Duke Constantine of Russia, is famed for her beauty, and equally for the sweetness of her manners. The whole nation seems to be in love with her, she is so gentle and so good. They have four children, ruddy cheeked little creatures, whom we saw riding about every day, so blooming and rosy that the carriage looked like a basket of flowers. They were always jumping about like squirrels, so that the King told us he had to have them fastened in with leather straps, lest in their childish glee they should throw themselves overboard. In truth it was a pretty sight, that well might warm the heart of the most cold-blooded old bachelor that ever lived; and no one could see them riding by without blessing that beautiful young mother and her happy children.
There is something very fitting in such a young king and queen being at the head of a kingdom which is itself young, that so rulers and people may grow in years and in happiness together.
I know I express the feelings of every American, when I wish all good to this royal house. May this king and queen long live to present to their people the beautiful spectacle of the purest domestic love and happiness! May they live to see Greece greatly increased in population and in wealth—the home of a brave, free, intelligent and happy people!
CHAPTER XXVIII.
CONSTANTINOPLE.
November 24th.
From my childhood no city has taken more hold of my imagination than Constantinople. For weeks we have been looking forward to our visit here; and when at last we entered the Dardanelles (passing the site of ancient Troy), and crossed the Sea of Marmora, and on Friday noon, Nov. 12th, caught the first gleam of the city in the distance, we seemed to be realizing a long cherished dream. There it was in all its glory. Venice rising from the sea is not more beautiful than Constantinople, when the morning sun strikes on its domes and minarets, rising out of the groves of dark green cypresses, which mark the places where the Turks bury their dead. And when we entered the Bosphorus, and rounding Seraglio Point, anchored at the mouth of the Golden Horn, we seemed to be indeed in the heart of the Orient, where the gorgeous East dazzles the traveller from the West with its glittering splendors.
But closer contact sometimes turns poetry to prose in rather an abrupt manner, and the impression of Oriental magnificence is rudely disturbed when one goes on shore. Indeed, if a traveller cares more for pleasant impressions than for disagreeable realities, he would do better not to land at all, but rather to stand afar off, moving slowly up and down the Bosphorus, beholding and admiring, and then sail away just at sunset, as the last light of day gilds the domes and minarets with a parting splendor, and he will retain his first impressions undisturbed, and Constantinople will remain in his memory as a beautiful dream. But as we are preparedfor every variety of experience, and enjoy sudden contrasts, we are rather pleased than otherwise at the noise and confusion which greet the arrival of our steamer in these waters; and the crowd of boats which surround the ship, and the yells of the boatmen, though they are not the voices of paradise, greatly amuse us. Happily a dragoman sent from the Hôtel d'Angleterre, where we had engaged rooms, hails us from a boat, and, coming on board, takes us in charge, and rescues us from the mob, and soon lands us on the quay, where, after passing smoothly through the Custom House, we see our numerous trunks piled on the backs of half a dozen porters, orhamals, and our guide leads the way up the hill of Pera. And now we get an interior view of Constantinople, which is quite different from the glittering exterior, as seen from a distance. We are plunging into a labyrinth of dark and narrow and dirty streets, which are overhung with miserable houses, where from little shops turbaned figures peer out upon us, and women, closely veiled, glide swiftly by. Such streets we never saw in any city that pretended to civilization. The pavement (if such it deserves to be called) is of the rudest kind, of rough, sharp stones, between which one sinks in mud. There is hardly a street that is decently paved in all Constantinople. Even the Grand Street of Pera, on which are our hotel and all the foreign embassies, is very mean in appearance. The embassies themselves are fine, as they are set far back from the street, surrounded with ample grounds, and on one side overlook the Bosphorus, but the street itself is dingy enough. To our surprise we find that Constantinople has no architectural magnificence to boast of. Except the Mosques, and the Palaces of the Sultan, which indeedareon an Imperial scale, there are no buildings which one would go far to see in London or Paris or Rome. The city has been again and again swept by fires, so that many parts are of modern construction, while the old parts which have escaped the flames, are miserable beyond description. It is throughsuch a part that we are now picking our way, steering through narrow passages, full of dogs and asses and wretched-looking people. This is our entrance into Constantinople. After such an experience one's enthusiasm is dampened a little, and he is willing to exchange somewhat of Oriental picturesqueness for Western cleanliness and comfort.
But the charm is not all gone, nor has it disappeared after twelve days of close familiarity. Only the picture takes a more defined shape, and we are able to distinguish the lights and shadows. Constantinople is a city full of sharp contrasts, in which one extreme sets the other in a stronger light, as Oriental luxury and show look down on Oriental dirt and beggary; as gold here appears by the side of rags, and squalid poverty crouches under the walls of splendid palaces. Thus the city may be described as mean or as magnificent, and either description be true, according as we contemplate one extreme or the other.
As to its natural beauty, (that of situation,) no language can surpass the reality. It stands at the junction of two seas and two continents, where Europe looks across the Bosphorus to Asia, as New York looks across the East River to Brooklyn. That narrow strait which divides the land unites the seas, the Black Sea with the Mediterranean. From the lofty height of the Seraskier tower one looks down on such a panorama as is not elsewhere on the face of the earth. Far away stretches the beautiful Sea of Marmora, which comes up to the very walls of the city, and seems to kiss its feet. On the other side of Stamboul, dividing it from Pera, is the Golden Horn, crowded with ships; and in front is the Bosphorus, where the whole Turkish navy rides at anchor, and a fleet of steamers and ships is passing, bearing the grain of the Black Sea to feed the nations of Western Europe. Islanded amid all these waters are the different parts of one great capital—a vast stretch of houses, out of which rise a hundred domes and minarets. As one takes in all the features of this marvellouswhole, he can but exclaim, "Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth, is"—Constantinople!
Nor are its environs less attractive than the position of the city itself. Whichever way you turn, sailing over these waters and along these shores, or riding outside of the ancient wall, from the Golden Horn over the hills to the Sea of Marmora, with its beautiful islands, there is something to enchant the eye and to excite the imagination. A sail up the Bosphorus is one of the most interesting in the world. We have taken it twice. The morning after our arrival, our friend Dr. George W. Wood, to whom we are indebted for many acts of kindness, gave up the day to accompany us. For miles the shores on either side are dotted with palaces of the Sultan, or of the Viceroy of Egypt, or of this or that Grand Vizier, or of some Pasha who has despoiled provinces to enrich himself, or with the summer residences of the Foreign Ministers, or of wealthy merchants of Constantinople.
The Bosphorus constantly reminded me of the Hudson, with its broad stream indented with bays, now swelling out like our own noble river at the Tappan Zee, and then narrowing again, as at West Point, and with the same steep hills rising from the water's edge, and wooded to the top. So delighted were we with the excursion, that we have since made it a second time, accompanied by Rev. A. V. Millingen, the excellent pastor of the Union Church of Pera, and find the impression of beauty increased. Landing on the eastern side, near where the Sweet Waters of Asia come down to mingle with the sea, we walked up a valley which led among the hills, and climbed the Giants' Mountain, on which Moslem chronicles fix the place of the tomb of Joshua, the great Hebrew leader, while tradition declares it to be the tomb of Hercules. Probably one was buried here as truly as the other; authorities differ on the subject, and you take your choice. But what none can dispute is the magnificent site, worthy to have been the place of burial of any hero or demigod.The view extends up and down the Bosphorus for miles. How beautiful it seemed that day, which was like one of the golden days of our Indian summer, a soft and balmy air resting on all the valleys and the hills. The landscape had not, indeed, the freshness of spring, but the leaves still clung to the trees, which wore the tints of autumn, and thus resembled, though they did not equal, those of our American forests; and as we wandered on amid these wild and wooded scenes, I could imagine that I was rambling among the lovely hills along the Hudson.
But there is one point in which the resemblance ceases. There is a difference (and one which makes all the difference in the world), viz., that the Hudson presents us only the beauty ofnature, while the Bosphorus has the added charm ofhistory. The dividing line between Europe and Asia, it has divided the world for thousands of years. Here we come back to the very beginnings of history, or before all history, into the dim twilight of fable and tradition; for through these straits, according to the ancient story, sailed Jason with his Argonauts in search of the Golden Fleece, and yonder are the Symplegades, the rocks which were the terror of navigators even in the time of Jason, if such a man ever lived, and around which the sea still roars as it roared thousands of years ago. On a hill-top stood a temple to Jupiter Urius, to which mariners entering the stormy Euxine came to offer their vows, and to pray for favorable winds; and here still lives an old, long-haired Dervish, to whom the Turkish sailors apply for the benefit of his prayers. He was very friendly with us, and a trifling gratuity insured us whatever protection he could give. Thus we strolled along over the hills to the Genoese Castle, a great round tower, built hundreds of years ago to guard the entrance to the Black Sea, and in a grove of oaks stretched ourselves upon the grass, and took our luncheon in full view of two continents, both washed by one "great and wide sea." To this very spot came Dariusthe Great, to get the same view on which we are looking now; and a few miles below, opposite the American College at Bebek, he built his bridge of boats across the Bosphorus, over which he passed his army of seven hundred thousand men. To the same spot Xenophon led his famous Retreat of the Ten Thousand.
Coming down to later times, we are sitting among the graves of Arabs who fought and fell in the time of Haroun al Raschid, the magnificent Caliph of Bagdad, in whose reign occurred the marvellous adventures related in the Tales of the Arabian Nights. These were Moslem heroes, and their graves are still called "the tombs of the martyrs." But hither came other warriors; for in yonder valley across the water encamped Godfrey of Bouillon, with his Crusaders, who had traversed Europe, and were now about to cross into Asia, to march through Asia Minor, and descend into Syria, to fight for the Holy Sepulchre.
Recalling such historic memories, and enjoying to the full the beauty of the day, we came down from the hills to the waters, and crossing in a caique to the other side of the Bosphorus, took the steamer back to the city.
While such are the surroundings of Constantinople, in its interior it is the most picturesque city we have yet seen. I do not know what we may find in India, or China, or Japan, but in Europe there is nothing like it. On the borders of Europe and Asia, it derives its character, as well as its mixed population, from both. It is a singular compound of nations. I do not believe there is a spot in the world where meet a greater variety of races than on the long bridge across the Golden Horn, between Pera and Stamboul. Here are the representatives of all the types of mankind that came out of the Ark, the descendants of Shem, Ham, and Japheth—Jews and Gentiles, Turks and Greeks and Armenians, "Parthians and Medes and Elamites, and dwellers in Mesopotamia," Persians and Parsees, and Arabs from Egypt and Arabia,and Moors from the Barbary Coast, and Nubians and Abyssinians from the upper Nile, and Ethiopians from the far interior of Africa. I have been surprised to see so many blacks wearing the turban. But here they are in great numbers, the recognized equals of their white co-religionists. I have at last found one country in the world in which the distinction between black and white makes absolutely no difference in one's rank or position. And this, strange to say, is a country where slavery long existed, and where, though suppressed by law, it still exists, though less openly. We visited the old slave market, and though evidently "business" was dull, yet a dozen men were sitting around, who, we were told, were slave merchants, and some black women who were there to be sold. But slavery in Turkey is of a mild form, and as it affects both races (fair Circassian women being sold as well as the blackest Ethiopian), the fact of servitude works no such degradation as attaints the race. And so whites and blacks meet together, and walk together, and eat together, apparently without the slightest consciousness of superiority on one side, or of inferiority on the other. No doubt this equality is partly due to the influence of Mohammedanism, which is very democratic, which recognizes no distinction of race, before which all men are equal as before their Creator, and which thus lifts up the poor and abases the proud. I am glad to be able to state one fact so much to its honor.
But these turbaned Asiatics are not the only ones that throng this bridge. Here are Franks in great numbers, speaking all the languages of the West, French and Italian, German and English. One may distinguish them afar off by their stove-pipe hat, that beautiful cylinder whose perpendicular outline is the emblem of uprightness, and which we wish might always be a sign and pledge that the man whose face appears under it would illustrate in his own person the unbending integrity of Western civilization. And so the stream of life rolls on over that bridge, as over the Bridge ofMirza, never ceasing any more than the waters of the Golden Horn which roll beneath it.
And not only all races, but all conditions are represented here—beggars and princes; men on horseback forcing their way through the crowd on foot; carriages rolling and rumbling on, but never stopping the tramp, tramp, of the thousands that keep up their endless march. Here the son of the Sultan dashes by in a carriage, with mounted officers attending his sacred (though very insignificant) person; while along his path crouch all the forms of wretched humanity—men with loathsome diseases; men without arms or legs, holding up their withered stumps; or with eyes put out, rolling their sightless eyeballs, to excite the pity of passers by—all joining in one wail of misery, and begging for charity.
In the mongrel population of Constantinople one must not forget thedogs, which constitute a large part of the inhabitants. Some traveller who has illustrated his sketches with the pen by sketches with thepencil, has given, as a faithful picture of this capital of the East, simply a pack of dogs snarling in the foreground as its most conspicuous feature, while a mosque and a minaret may be faintly seen in the distance. If this is a caricature, yet it only exaggerates the reality, for certainly the dogs have taken full possession of the city. They cannot be "Christian dogs," but Moslem dogs, since they are tolerated, and even protected, by the Turks. It is a peculiar breed—all yellow, with long, sharp noses and sharp ears—resembling in fact more the fox or the wolf than the ordinary house-dog. A shaggy Newfoundlander is never seen. As they are restrained by no Malthusian ideas of population, they multiply exceedingly. They belong to no man, but are their own masters, and roam about as freely as any of the followers of the prophet. They are only kept in bounds by a police of their own. It is said that they are divided into communities, which have their separate districts, and that if by chance a stray dog gets out of his beat,the others set upon him, and punish him so cruelly that he flies yelping to his own crowd for protection. They live in the streets, and there may be seen generally asleep in the day-time. You cannot look anywhere but you see a dog curled up like a rug that has been thrown in a corner. You stumble over them on the sidewalk. They keep pretty quiet during the day, but at night they let themselves loose, and come upon you in full cry. They bark and yelp, but their favorite note is a hideous howl, which they keep up under your window by the hour together (at least it seems an hour when you are trying to sleep), or until they are exhausted, when the cry is immediately taken up by a fresh pack around the corner.
The purely Oriental character of Constantinople is seen in a visit to thebazaars—a feature peculiar to Eastern cities. It was perhaps to avoid the necessity of locomotion, always painful to a Turk, that business has been concentrated within a defined space. Imagine an area of many acres, or of many city squares, all enclosed and covered in, and cut up into a great number of little streets or passages, on either side of which are ranged innumerable petty shops, and you have a general idea of the bazaars. In front of each of these a venerable Turk sits squatting on his legs, and smoking his pipe, and ready to receive customers. You wonder where he can keep his goods, for his shop is like a baby house, a space of but a few feet square. But he receives you with Oriental courtesy, making a respectfulsalaam, perhaps offering you coffee or a pipe to soothe your nerves, and render your mind calm and placid for the contemplation of the treasures he is to set before you. And then he proceeds to take down from his shelves, or from some inner recess, what does indeed stir your enthusiasm, much as you may try to repress it—rich silks from Broussa, carpets from Persia, blades from Damascus, and antique curiosities in bronze and ivory—all of which excite the eager desire of lovers of things that are rare andbeautiful. I should not like to say (lest it should be betraying secrets) how many hours some of our party spent in these places, or what follies and extravagances they committed. Certainly as an exhibition of one phase of Oriental life, it is a scene never to be forgotten.
To turn from business to religion, as it is now perhaps midday or sunset, we hear from the minaret of a neighboring mosque the muezzin calling the hour of prayer; and putting off our shoes, with sandaled or slippered feet, we enter the holy place. At the vestibule are fountains, at which the Moslems are washing their hands and feet before they go in to pray. We lift the heavy curtain which covers the door, and enter. One glance shows that we are not in a Christian church, either Catholic or Protestant. There is no cross and no altar; no Lord's Prayer, no Creed, and no Ten Commandments. The walls are naked and bare, with no sculptured form of prophet or apostle, and no painting of Christ or the Virgin. The Mohammedans are the most terrible of iconoclasts, and tolerate no "images" of any kind, which they regard as a form of idolatry. But though the building looks empty and cold, there is a great appearance of devotion. All the worshippers stand with their faces turned towards Mecca, as the ulema in a low, wailing tone reads, or chants, the passages from the Koran. There is no music of any kind, except this dreary monotone. But all seem moved by some common feeling. They kneel, they bow themselves to the earth, they kiss the floor again and again in sign of their deep abasement before God and his prophet. We looked on in silence, respecting the proprieties of the place. But the scene gave me some unpleasant reflections, not only at the blind superstition of the worshippers, but at the changes which had come to pass in this city of Constantine, the first of Christian emperors, and in a place which has been so often solemnly devoted to the worship of Christ. The Mosque of St. Sophia, which, in its vastness and severe and simplemajesty, is certainly one of the grandest temples of the world, was erected as a Christian church, and so remained for nearly a thousand years. In it, or in its predecessor standing on the same spot, preached the "golden-mouthed Chrysostom." This venerable temple is now in the hands of those who despise the name of Christ. It is about four hundred and twenty years since the Turks captured Constantinople, and the terrible Mohammed II., mounted on horseback, and sword in hand, rode through yonder high door, and gave orders to slay the thousands who had taken refuge within those sacred walls. Then Christian blood overflowed that pavement like a sea, as men and women and helpless children were trampled down beneath the heels of the cruel invaders. And so the abomination of desolation came into the holy place, and St. Sophia was given up to the spoiler. His first act was to destroy every trace of its Christian use; to take away the vessels of the sanctuary, as of old they were taken from the temple at Jerusalem; to cover up the beautiful mosaics in the ceiling and on the walls, that for so many centuries had looked down on Christian worshippers; and tocut out the cross. I observed, in going round the spacious galleries, that wherever the sign of the cross had been carved in the ancient marble,it had been chiselled away. Thus the usurping Moslems had striven to obliterate every trace of Christian worship. The sight of such desecration gave me a bitter feeling, only relieved by the assurance which I felt then, and feel now, that that signshall be restored, and that the Cross shall yet fly above the Crescent, not only over the great temple of St. Sophia, but over all the domes and minarets of Constantinople.
For the pleasure of contrast to so much that is dark and sombre, I cannot close this picture without turning to one bright spot, one hopeful sign, that is like a bit of green grass springing up amid the moss-covered ruins of a decaying empire.As it is a relief to come out from under the gloomy arches of St. Sophia into the warm sunshine, so is it to turn away from a creed of Fatalism, which speaks only of decay and death, to that better faith which has in it the new life of the world. The Christian religion was born in the East, and carried by early apostolic missionaries to western Europe, where it laid the foundation of great nations and empires; and in after centuries was borne across the seas; and now, in these later ages it is brought back to the East by men from the West. In this work of restoring Christianity to its ancient seats, the East is indebted, not only to Christian England, but to Christian America.
From the very beginning of American missions, Constantinople was fixed upon as a centre of operations for the East, and the American Board sent some of its picked men to the Turkish capital. Here came at an early day Drs. Dwight and Goodell, and Riggs and Schauffler. The first two of these have passed away; Dr. Schauffler, after rendering long service, is now spending the evening of his days with his son in Austria; Dr. Riggs, the venerable translator of the Bible, alone remains. These noble men have been succeeded by others who are worthy to follow in their footsteps. Dr. Wood was here many years ago, and after being transferred for a few years to New York, as the Secretary of the American Board in that city, has now returned to the scene of his former labors, where he has entered with ardor into that missionary work which he loved so well. With him are associated a number of men whose names are well known and highly honored in America.
The efficiency of these men has been greatly increased by proper organization, and by having certain local centres and institutions to rally about. In the heart of old Stamboul stands the Bible House, a noble monument of American liberality. The money was raised chiefly by the efforts of Dr. Isaac Bliss, and certainly he never spent a year of his life to better purpose.It cost, with the ground, about sixty thousand dollars, and when I saw what a large and handsome building it was, I thought it a miracle of economy. This is a rallying point for the missionaries in and around Constantinople. Here is a depot for the sale of Bibles in all the languages of the East, and the offices for different departments of work; and of the Treasurer, who has charge of paying the missionaries, and who thus distributes every year about one-third of all the expenditures of the American Board. Here, too, is done the editing and printing of different publications. I found Rev. Mr. Greene editing three or four papers in different languages, for children and for adults. Of course the circulation of any of these is not large, as we reckon the circulation of papers in America; but all combined, itislarge, and such issues going forth every week scatter the seeds of truth all over the Turkish Empire.
Another institution founded by the liberality of American Christians isthe Homeat Scutari, a seminary for the education of girls. It has been in operation for several years with much success, and now a new building has been erected, the money for which—fifty thousand dollars—was given wholly by thewomenof America. Would that all who have had a hand in raising that structure could see it, now that it is completed. It stands on a hill, which commands a view of all Constantinople, and of the adjacent waters, far out into the Sea of Marmora. Around this Home, as a centre, are settled a number of missionary families—Dr. Wood, who, besides his other work, has its general oversight; Mr. Pettibone, the efficient Treasurer; Drs. Edwin and Isaac Bliss; and Mr. Dwight, a son of the former missionary; who, with the ladies engaged in teaching in the Home, form together as delightful a circle as one can meet in any part of the missionary world.
The day that we made our visit to the Home, we went to witness the performance of the Howling Dervishes, who have a weekly howl at Scutari, and in witnessing the jumpings andcontortions of these men, who seemed more like wild beasts than rational beings, I could not but contrast the disgusting spectacle with the very different scene that I had witnessed that morning—a scene of order, of quiet, and of peace—as the young girls recited with so much intelligence, and sang their beautiful hymns. That is the difference between Mohammedanism and that purer religion which our missionaries are seeking to introduce.
But they are not allowed to work unopposed. The Government is hostile, and though it pretends to give toleration and protection, it would be glad to suspend the missionary operations altogether. But it is itself too dependent on foreign powers for support, to dare to do much openly that might offend them. We are fortunate in having at this time, as the representative of our Government, such a man as the Hon. Horace Maynard, who is not only a true American, but a true Christian, and whose dignity and firmness, united with tact and courtesy, have secured to our missionaries that protection to which they are entitled as American citizens.
The Home has just been completed, and is to be opened on Thanksgiving Day with appropriate services, at which we are invited to be present, but the dreaded spectre of a long quarantine, on account of the cholera, if we go to Syria, compels us to embark the day before direct for Egypt. But though absent in body, we shall be there in spirit, and shall long remember with the greatest interest and satisfaction our visit to the Home at Scutari, which is doing so much for the daughters of Turkey.
Last, but not least, of the monuments of American liberality in and around Constantinople, is the College at Bebek, which owes its existence chiefly to that far-sighted missionary, Dr. Cyrus Hamlin, and to which Mr. Christopher B. Robert of New York has given two hundred thousand dollars, and which fitly bears his honored name. It stands on a high hilloverlooking the Bosphorus, from which one may see for miles along the shores of Europe and Asia.
The college is solidly built, of gray stone. It is a quadrangle with a court in the centre, around which are the lecture rooms, the library, apparatus-room, etc. In the basement is the large dining-room, while in the upper story are the dormitories. It is very efficiently organized, with Dr. Washburn, long a missionary in Constantinople, as President, and Profs. Long and Grosvenor, and other teachers. There are nearly two hundred students from all parts of Turkey, the largest number from any one province being from Bulgaria. The course of study is pretty much the same as in our American Colleges. Half a dozen or more different languages are spoken by the students, but in the impossibility of adopting any one of the native languages as the medium of instruction, the teaching is in English, which has the double advantage of being more convenient for the instructors, and of educating the students in a knowledge of the English tongue. The advantage of such an institution is immeasurable. I confess to a little American pride as I observed the fact, that in all the mighty Turkish Empire the only institution in which a young man could get a thorough education was in the American College at Bebek, except in one other college—also founded by American missionaries, and established by American liberality—that at Beirut.
Grouped around the College at Bebek is another missionary circle, like the one at Scutari. Besides the families of the President and Professors, Mr. Greene of the Bible House lives here, going up and down every day. Here are the missionaries Herrick and Byington. A number of English families live here, as a convenient point near Constantinople, making altogether quite a large Protestant community. There is an English church, where Rev. Mr. Millingen preaches every Sabbath morning, preaching also at Pera in the afternoon.
It is cheering indeed, amid so much that is dark in the East, to see so many bright points in and around Constantinople.
Perhaps those wise observers of passing events, to whom nothing is important except public affairs, may think this notice of missionary operations quite unworthy to be spoken of along with the political changes and the military campaigns which now attract the eye of the world to Turkey. But movements which make the most noise are not always the most potent as causes, or the most enduring in their effects. When Paul was brought to Rome (and cast, according to tradition, into the Mamertine prison,) Nero living in his Golden House cared little for the despised Jew, and perhaps did not even know of his existence. But three centuries passed, and the faith which Paul introduced into Rome ascended the throne of the Cæsars. So our missionaries in the East—on the Bosphorus, in the interior of Asia Minor, and on the Tigris and the Euphrates—are sowing the seed of future harvests. Many years ago I heard Mr. George P. Marsh, the United States minister at Constantinople, now at Rome, say that the American missionaries in the Turkish Empire were doing a work the full influence of which could not be seen in many years, perhaps not in this generation. A strange course of events indeed it would be if these men from the farthest West were to be the instruments of bringing back Christianity to its ancient seats in the farthest East! That would be paying the debt of former ages, by giving back to the Old World what it has given to us; and paying it with interest, since along with the religion that was born in Bethlehem of Judea, would be brought back to these shores, not only the gospel of good-will among men, but all the progress in government and in civilization which mankind has made in eighteen centuries.
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE SULTAN ABDUL AZIZ.
Whoever comes to Constantinople must behold the face of the Sultan, if he would see the height of all human glory. Other European sovereigns are but men; but he is the incarnation of a spiritual as well as a temporal power. He is not only the ruler of a State, but the head of a religion. What the Pope is to the Roman Catholic Church, the Sultan is to Islamism. He is the Caliph to whom all the followers of the Prophet in Asia and Africa look up with reverence as their heaven-appointed leader. But though so great a being, he does not keep himself invisible, like the Brother of the Sun and Moon in China. Once a week he makes a public appearance. Every Friday, which is the Mohammedan Sabbath, he goes in great state to the mosque, and then whosoever will approach may gaze on the brightness of his face. This is one of the spectacles of Constantinople. It is indeed a brilliant pageant, not to be overlooked by those who would see an exhibition of Oriental pomp and magnificence. Sometimes the Sultan goes to mosque by water, in a splendid barge covered with gold, and as soon as he takes his seat under a canopy, all the ships of war lying in the Bosphorus fire salutes, making the shores ring with their repeated thunders. At other times he goes on horseback, attended by a large cavalcade, as when we saw him last Friday.
We took an open barouche with our dragoman as guide, and drove a little before noon to the neighborhood of the palace, where we found a crowd already assembled in frontof the gates, and a brilliant staff of officers in waiting Troops were drawn up on both sides of the street by which the Sultan was to pass. Laborers were busy covering it with sand, that even his horse's feet might not touch the common earth. While awaiting his appearance we drove up and down to observe the crowd. Carriages filled with the beauties of the harems of different pashas were moving slowly along, that they might enjoy the sight, for their secluded life does not extinguish their feminine curiosity. Very pale and languid beauties they were, as one might see through their thin gauze veils, their pallid expressionless faces not relieved by their dull dark eyes. Adjoining the palace of the Sultan is that of his harem, where we observed a great number of eunuchs standing in front, tall, strapping fellows, black as night, (they are generally Nubian slaves brought from the upper Nile,) but very well dressed in European costume, with faultless frock coats, and who evidently felt a pride in their position as attendants on the Imperial household.
While observing these strange figures, the sound of a trumpet and the hurrying of soldiers to their ranks, told that the Sultan was about to move. "Far off his coming shone." Looking back we saw a great stir about the palace gates, out of which issued a large retinue, making a dazzling array, as the sun was reflected from their trappings of gold. And now a ringing cheer from the troops told that their sovereign had appeared. We drew up by the side of the street "to see great Cæsar pass." First came a number of high officers of State in brilliant dress, their horses mounted with rich trappings. These passed, and there was an open space, as if no other presence were worthy to precede near at hand the august majesty that was to follow; and on a magnificent white charger appearedthe Sultan. The drums beat, the bands played, the troops presented arms, and cheers ran along the line. But I hardly noticed this, for myeye was fixed on the central figure, which I confess answered very well to my idea of an Oriental sovereign. It is said that the Sultan never looks so well as on horseback, as his rather heavy person then appears to the best advantage. He wore no insignia of his rank, not even a military cap or a waving plume, but the universalfez, with only a star glittering with diamonds on his breast. Slowly he passed, his horse never moving out of a walk, but stepping proudly as if conscious of the dignity of his rider, who held himself erect, as if disdaining the earth on which he rode; not bowing to the right or left, recognizing no one, and betraying no emotion at the sight of the crowd, or the cheers of his soldiers, or the music of the band, but silent, grave and stern, as one who allowed no familiarity, who was accustomed to speak only to be obeyed.
He passed, and dismounting on the marble steps of the mosque, which had been spread with a carpet, ascended by stairs to a private gallery, which was screened from the rest of the building, like a box in a theatre, where he bowed himself and repeated that "God is God, and Mohammed is his prophet," and whatever other form of prayer is provided for royal sinners.
But his devotions were not very long or painful. In half an hour he had confessed his sins, or paid his adoration, and stepped into a carriage drawn by four horses to return. As he drove by he turned towards us, his attention perhaps being attracted by seeing a carriage filled with foreigners, and we had a full view of his face. He looked older than I expected to see him. Though not yet fifty, his beard, which is clipped short, is quite gray. But his face is without expression. It is heavy and dull, not lighted up either by intelligence or benevolence. The carriage rolled into the gates of the palace, and the pageant was ended.
Such was the public appearance of the Sultan. But an actor is often very different behind the scenes. A tragichero may play the part of Cæsar, and stride across the stage as if he were the lord of nations, and drop into nothing when he takes off his royal robes, and speaks in his natural voice. So the Sultan, though he appears well on horseback, and rides royally—though he has the look of majesty and "his bend doth awe the world"—yet when he retires into his palace is found to be only a man, and a very weak man at that. He has not in him a single element of greatness. Though he comes of a royal race, and has in his veins the blood of kings and conquerors, he does not inherit the high qualities of his ancestors. Some of the Sultans have been truly great men, born to be conquerors as much as Alexander or Napoleon. The father of the present Sultan, Mahmoud II., was a man of force and determination, one worthy to be called the Grand Turk, as he showed by the way in which he disposed of the Janissaries. This was a military body that had become all-powerful at Constantinople, being at once the protectors of the Sultan, and his masters—setting him up and putting him down, at their will. Two of his predecessors they had assassinated, and he might have shared the same fate, if he had not anticipated them. But preparing himself secretly, with troops on which he could rely, as soon as he was strong enough he brought the conflict to an issue, and literallyexterminated, the Janissaries (besieging them in their barracks, and hunting them like dogs in the streets) as Mehemet Ali had massacred the Mamelukes in Egypt. Then the Sultan was free, and had a long and prosperous reign. He ruled with an iron hand, but though despotically, yet on the whole wisely and well. Had he been living now, Turkey would not be in the wretched condition in which she is to-day. What a contrast between this old lion of the desert, and the poor, weak man who now sits in his seat, and who sees the sceptre of empire dropping from his feeble hands!
The Sultan is a man of very small capacity. Thoughoccupying one of the most exalted positions in the world, he has no corresponding greatness of mind, no large ideas of things. He is not capable of forming any wise scheme of public policy, or any plan of government whatever, or of pursuing it with determination. He likes the pomp of royalty (and is very exacting of its etiquette), without having the cares of government. To ride in state, to be surrounded with awe and reverence, suits his royal taste; but to be "bored" with details of administration, to concern himself with the oppressions of this or that pasha in this or that province, is quite beneath his dignity.
The only thing in which he seems to be truly great, is in spending money. For this his capacity is boundless. No child could throw away money in more senseless extravagance. The amount taken for his Civil List—that is, for his personal expenses and for his household—is something enormous. His great father, old Mahmoud II., managed to keep up his royal state on a hundred thousand pounds a year; but it is said that this man cannot be satisfied with less than two millions sterling, which is more than the civil list of any other sovereign in Europe. Indeed nobody knows how much he spends. His Civil List is an unfathomable abyss, into which are thrown untold sums of money.
Then too, like a true Oriental, he has magnificent tastes in the way of architecture, and for years his pet folly has been the building of new palaces along the Bosphorus. Although he had many already, the greater part unoccupied, or used only for occasional royal visits, still if some new position pleased his eye, he immediately ordered a new palace to be built, even at a fabulous cost. Some of these dazzle the traveller who has seen all the royal palaces of Western Europe. To visit them requires a special permission, but we obtained access to one by a liberal use of money, and drove to it immediately after we had seen the Sultan going to mosque. It is called the Cheragan Palace, and stands just above thatwhich the Sultan occupies. It is of very great extent, and built of white stone, and as it faces the Bosphorus, it seems like a fairy vision rising from the sea. The interior is of truly Oriental magnificence. It is in the Moorish style, like the Alhambra. We passed through apartment after apartment, each more splendid than the last. The eye almost wearies with the succession of great halls with columns of richest marble, supporting lofty ceilings which are finished with beautiful arabesques, and an elaborateness of detail unknown in any other kind of architecture. Articles of furniture are wrought of the most precious woods, inlaid with costly stones, or with ivory and pearl. What must have been the cost of such a fairy palace, no one knows—not even the Sultan himself—but it must have been millions upon millions.
Yet this great palace is unoccupied. When it was finished, it is said that the Sultan on entering it, slipped his foot, or took a cold (I have heard both reasons assigned), which so excited his superstitious feeling (he thought it an omen of death) that he would not live in it, and so in a few weeks he returned to the palace which he had occupied before, where he has remained ever since. And so this new and costly palace is empty. Except the attendants who showed us about, we saw not a human being. It was not built because it was needed, but because it gratified an Imperial whim.
Extravagant and foolish as this is, there is no way to prevent such follies when such is the royal pleasure, for the Sultan, like many weak men—feeble in intellect and in character—is yet of violent temper, and cannot brook any opposition to his will. If he wants a new palace, and the Grand Vizier tells him there is no money in the treasury, he flies into a rage and sends him about his business, and calls for another who will find the money.
Yet the vices of the Sultan are not all his own. They are those of his position. What can be expected of a man whohas been accustomed from childhood to have his own way in everything; to be surrounded with a state and awe, as if he were a god; and to have every caprice and whim gratified? It is one of the misfortunes of his position that he never hears the truth about anything. Though his credit in Europe is gone; though whole provinces are dying of famine, he is not permitted to know the unwelcome truth. He is surrounded by courtiers and flatterers whose interest it is to deceive him, and who are thus leading him blindly to his ruin.
In his pleasures the Sultan is a man of frivolous tastes, rather than of gross vices. From some vices he is free, and (as I would say every good word in his favor) I gladly record this. He is not a drunkard (as were some of his predecessors, in spite of the Mohammedan law against the use of strong drinks); and, what is yet more remarkable for a Turk, he does not smoke. But if he does not drink, heeatsenormously. He is, like Cardinal Wolsey, "a man of unbounded stomach," and all the resources of the Imperial cuisine are put in requisition to satisfy his royal appetite. It is said that when he goes to the opera he is followed by a retinue of servants, bearing a load of dishes, so that if perchance between the acts his sublime Majesty should need to refresh himself, he might be satisfied on the instant.
For any higher pleasures than mere amusements he has no taste. He is not a man of education, as Europeans understand education, and has no fondness for reading. In all the great palace I did not see a single book—and butonepicture. [The Mohammedans do not like "images," and so with all their gorgeous decorations, one never sees a picture. This was probably presented to the Sultan from a source which he could not refuse. It was a landscape, which might have been by our countryman, Mr. Church.] But he does not care for these things. He prefers to be amused, and is fond of buffoons and dancing girls, and takes more delight injugglers and mountebanks than in the society of the most eminent men of science in Europe. A man who has to be treated thus—to be humored and petted, and fed with sweetmeats—is nothing more or less than a big baby—a spoiled child, who has to be amused with playthings. Yet on the whims and caprices of such a creature may depend the fate of an empire which is at this moment in the most critical situation, and which needs the most skilful statesmanship to guide it through its dangers. Is it that God intends to destroy it, that He has suffered such a man to come to the throne for such a time as this?
It is a most instructive comment on the vanity of all earthly things, that this man, so fond of pleasure, and with all the resources of an empire at command, is not happy. The Spanish Minister tells me that henever saw him smile. Even in his palace he sits silent and gloomy. Is it that he is brooding over some secret trouble, or feels coming over him the shadow of approaching ruin?
Notwithstanding all his outward state and magnificence, there are things which must make him uneasy; which, like Belshazzar's dream, must trouble him in the midst of his splendor. Though an absolute monarch, he cannot have everything according to his will; he cannot live forever, and what is to come after him? By the Mohammedan law of succession the throne passes not to his son, but to the oldest male member of the royal house—it may be a brother or a nephew. In this case the heir apparent is Murad Effendi, a son of the late Sultan. But Abdul Aziz (unmindful of his dead brother, or of that brother's living son) is very anxious to change the order of succession in favor of his own son (as the viceroy of Egypt has already done,) but he does not quite dare to encounter the hostility of the bigoted Mussulmans. Formerly it was the custom of the Sultan, in coming to the throne, to put out of the way all rivals or possible successors, from collateral branches of the family, by the easymethod of assassination. But somehow that practice, like many others of the "good old times," has fallen into disuse, and now he must wait for the slow process of nature. Meanwhile Murad Effendi is kept in the background as much as possible. He did not appear in the procession to the mosque, and is never permitted to show himself in state, while the son of the Sultan, whom he would make his heir, is kept continually before the public. Though he is personally insignificant, both in mind and in body, this poor little manikin is madethe commander-in-chief of the army, and is always riding about in great state, with mounted officers behind his carriage. All this may make him a prince, but can never make him aman.
What is to be the future of the Sultan, who can tell? His empire seems to be trembling on the verge of existence, and it is not likely that he could survive its fall. But if he should live many years he may be compelled to leave Constantinople; to leave all his beautiful palaces on the Bosphorus, and transfer his capital to some city in Asia. Broussa, in Asia Minor, was the former capital of the Ottoman Empire, before the Turks conquered Constantinople, four hundred and twenty years ago, and to that they may return again; or they may go still farther, to the banks of the Tigris, or the shores of the Persian Gulf, and the Sultan may end his days as the Caliph of Bagdad.
CHAPTER XXX.
THE EASTERN QUESTION.—THE EXODUS OF THE TURKS.
It is impossible to be in Constantinople without having forced upon us the Eastern Question, which is just now occupying so much of the attention of Europe. A child can ask questions which a philosopher cannot answer, and a traveller can see dangers and difficulties which all the wisdom of statesmen cannot resolve.
Twenty years ago France and England went to war with Russia for the maintenance of Turkey, and they are now beginning to ask, whether in this they did not make a great mistake; whether Turkey was worth saving? If the same circumstances were to arise again, it is doubtful whether they would be so ready to rush into the field. All over Europe there has been a great revulsion of feeling caused by the recent financial breakdown of Turkey. Within a few weeks she has virtually repudiated half the interest on her national debt; that is, she pays one-half, andfundsthe other half, promising to pay it five years hence. But few believe it will then be paid. This has excited great indignation in France and England and Italy,[10]where millions of Turkish bonds are held, and they ask, have we spent our treasure and shed our blood to bolster up a rotten state, a state that is utterly faithless to its engagements, and thus turns upon its benefactors?
To tell the whole truth, these powers have themselvespartly to blame for having led the Turkish government into the easy and slippery ways of borrowing money.Before the Crimean war Turkey had no national debt.Whatever she spent she wrung out of the sweat and blood of her wretched people, and left no burden of hopeless indebtedness to curse its successors.
But the war brought great expenses, and having rich allies, what so natural as to borrow a few of their superfluous millions? Once begun, the operation had to be repeated year after year. Nothing is so seductive as the habit of borrowing money. It is such an easy way to pay one's debts and to gratify one's love of spending; and as long as one's credit lasts, he may indulge his dreams to the very limit of Oriental magnificence. So the Sultan found it. He had but to contract a loan in London or Paris, and he had millions of pounds sterling to build palaces, and to carry out every Imperial desire.
But borrowing money is like taking opium, the dose must be constantly increased, till finally the system gives way, and death ends the scene. Every year the Sultan had to borrow more money to pay the interest on his debts, and to borrow at ever increasing rates; and so at last came, what always comes as the result of a long course of extravagance, a complete collapse of money and credit together.
The indignation felt at this would not have been so great, if the money borrowed had been spent for legitimate objects—to construct public works; to build railroads (which are greatly needed to open communications with the interior of the empire); and to create new branches of industry and new sources of wealth. Turkey is a very rich country in its natural resources, rich in a fertile soil, rich in mines, with an immense line of sea-coast, and great harbors, offering every facility for commerce; and it needs only a very little political economy to turn all these resources to account. If the money borrowed in England and France had been spent inbuilding railroads all over European Turkey, in opening mines, and in promoting agriculture and commerce, the country to-day, instead of being bankrupt, would be rich and independent, and not compelled to ask the help or the compassion of Europe.
But instead of applying his borrowed money to developing the resources of his empire, there has not been a freak of folly that the Sultan did not gratify. He has literally thrown his money into the Bosphorus, spending it chiefly for ships on the water, or palaces on the shore. I have already spoken of his passion for building new palaces. Next to this, his caprice has been the buying of ironclads. A few years since, when Russia, taking advantage of the Franco-German war, which rendered France powerless to resist, nullified the clause in the treaty made after the Crimean war, which forbade her keeping a navy in the Black Sea, and began to show her armed ships again in those waters, the Sultan seems to have taken it into his wise head that she was about to attack Constantinople, and immediately began preparations for defence on land and sea. He bought a million or so of the best rifles that could be found in Europe or America; and cannon enough to furnish the Grand Army of Napoleon; and some fifteen tremendous ships of war, which have cost nearly two millions of dollars apiece. The enormous folly of this expense appears in this, that, in case of war, these ships would be almost useless. The safety of Turkey is not in such defences, but in the fact that it is for the interest of Europe to hold her up awhile longer. If once France and England were to leave her to her fate, all these ships would not save her against Russia coming from the Black Sea—or marching an army overland and attacking Constantinople in the rear. But the Sultan would have these ships, and here they are. They have been lying idle in the Bosphorus all summer, their only use being to fire salutes every Friday when the Sultan goes to mosque. They never go to sea; ifthey did they would probably not return, for they are very unwieldy, and the Turks are no sailors, and do not know how to manage them; and they would be likely to sink in the first gale. The only voyage they make is twice in the year: once in the spring, when they are taken out of the Golden Horn to be anchored in the Bosphorus, a mile or two distant—about as far as from the Battery to the Navy Yard in Brooklyn—and again in the autumn, when they are taken back again to be laid up for the winter. They have just made their annual voyage back to their winter quarters, and are now lying quietly in the Golden Horn—not doing any harm,nor any goodto anybody.
Then not only must the Sultan have a great navy, but a great army. Poor as Turkey is, she has one of the largest armies in Europe. I have found it difficult to obtain exact statistics. A gentleman who has lived long in Constantinople tells me that they claim to be able, in case of war, to put seven hundred thousand men under arms, but this includes the reserves—there are perhaps half that number now in barracks or in camp. A hundred thousand men have been sent to Herzegovina to suppress the insurrection there. So much does it cost to extinguish a rising among a few mountaineers in a distant province, a mere strip of territory lying far off on the borders of the Adriatic. What a fearful drain must the support of all these troops be upon the resources of an exhausted empire!
While thus bleeding at every pore, Turkey takes no course to keep up a supply of fresh life-blood. England spends freely, but, shemakesfreely also, and so has always an abundant revenue for her vast empire. So might Turkey, if she had but a grain of financial or political wisdom. But her policy is suicidal in the management of all the great industries of the country. For example, the first great interest isagriculture, and this the government, so far from encouraging, seems to set itself toruin. Of course the people must tillthe ground to get food to live. Of all the produce of the earth the government takesone-tenth. Even this might be borne, if it would only take it and have done with it, and let the poor peasants gather in the rest. But no; after a farmer has reaped his grain, he cannot store it in his barn until the tax-gatherer has surveyed it and taken out his share. Perhaps the official is busy elsewhere, or he is waiting for a bribe; and so it may lie on the ground for days or weeks, exposed to the rains till the whole crop is spoiled. Such is the beautiful system of political economy practised in administering the internal affairs of this country, which nature has made so rich, and man has made so poor.
So as to thefisheriesby which the people on the sea-coast live. All along the Bosphorus we saw them drawing their nets. But we were told that not a single fish could be sold until the whole were taken down to Constantinople, a distance of some miles, and the government had taken its share, and then the rest could be brought back again.
Another great source of wealth to Turkey—or which might prove so—is itsmines. The country is very rich in mineral resources. If it were only farmed out to English or Welsh miners, they would bring treasures out of the earth. The hills would be found to be of brass, and the mountains of iron. But the Turkish government does nothing. It keeps a few men at work, just enough to scratch the surface here and there, but leaving the vast wealth that is in the bowels of the earth untouched.
And not only will it do nothing itself, but it will not allow anybody else to do anything. Never did a great government play more completely the part of the dog in the manger. For years English capitalists have been trying to get permission to work certain mines, offering to pay millions of pounds for the concession. If once opportunity were given, and they were sure of protection, that their property would not be confiscated, English wealth would flow into Turkey ina constant stream. But on the contrary the government puts every obstacle in their way. With the bigotry and stupidity of its race, it is intensely jealous of foreigners, even while it exists only by foreign protection—and its policy is, not onlynotone of progress—it is absolutely one of obstruction. If it would only get out of the way and let foreign enterprise and capital come in, it might reap the benefit. But it opposes everything. Only a few days since a meeting was held here of foreign capitalists, who were ready and anxious to put their money into Turkish mines to an almost unlimited extent, but they all declared that the restrictions were so many, and the requirements so complicated and vexatious, and so evidently intended to prevent anything being done, that it was quite hopeless to attempt it.
But, although this is very bad political economy, yet it is not in itself alone a reason why a nation should be given up as beyond saving, if it were capable of learning wisdom by experience. Merely getting in debt, though it is always a bad business, is not in itself a sign of hopeless decay. Many a young and vigorous state has at the beginning spent all its substance, like the prodigal son, in riotous living, but after "sowing its wild oats," has learned wisdom by experience, and settled down to a course of hard labor, and so come up again. But Turkey is the prodigal son without his repentance. It is continually wasting its substance, and, although it may have now and then fitful spasms of repentance as it feels the pangs of hunger, it gives not one sign of a change of heart, a real internal reform, and a return to a clean, pure, healthy and wholesome life.
Is there any hope of anything better? Not the least. Just now there is some feeling in official circles of the degradation and weakness shown in the late bankruptcy, and there are loud professions that they are going to "reform." But everybody who has lived in Turkey knows what these professions mean. It is a little spasm of virtue, which will soonbe forgotten. The Sultan may not indeed throw away money quite so recklessly as before, but only because he cannot get it. He is at the end of his rope. His credit is gone in all the markets of Europe, and nobody will lend him a dollar. Yet he is at this very moment building a mosque that is to cost two millions sterling, and if there were the least let-up in the pressure on him, he would resume the same course of folly and extravagance as ever. No one is so lavish with money as the man who does not pretend to pay his debts. He cannot change his nature. "Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots?" The Turk, like the Pope,never changes. It is constitutionally impossible for him to reform, or to "go ahead" in anything. His ideas are against it; his very physical habits are against it. A man who is always squatting on his legs, and smoking a long pipe, cannot run very fast; and the only thing for him to do, when the pressure of modern civilization becomes too great for him, is to "bundle up" and get out of the way.
Thus there is in Turkey not a single element of hope; there is no internal force which may be a cause of political regeneration. It is as impossible to infuse life into this moribund state as it would be to raise the dead. I have met a great many Europeans in Constantinople—some of whom have lived here ten, twenty, thirty, or even forty years—and have not foundonewho did not consider the condition of Turkey absolutely hopeless, and its disappearance from the map of Europe only a question of time.
But if for purely economical reasons Turkey has to be given up as utterly rotten and going to decay, how much darker does the picture appear when we consider the tyranny and corruption, the impossibility of obtaining justice, and the oppression of the Christian populations. A horde of officials is quartered on the country, that eat out the substance of the land, and set no bounds to their rapacity; who plunder the people so that they are reduced to the extremepoint of misery. The taxation is so heavy that it drains the very life-blood out of a poor and wretched people—and this is often aggravated by the most wanton oppression and cruelty. Such stories have moved, as they justly may, the indignation of Europe.