Constantinople and the Scenery of the Seven Churches of Asia Minor. Robert Walsh

      CONSTANTINOPLE, FROM THE GOLDEN HORN

      The situations of Oriental cities, in general, possess advantages, in point of view, of which those in the west are deprived: London, Paris, Vienna, and St. Petersburg present only flat levels; and it is necessary to climb some impending height, to obtain a bird’s-eye view, so as to take in any portion except the first line of houses, and the tops of a few of the more lofty edifices which rise behind them. But in the East, every city has its Acropolis: some lofty eminence is chosen to build on, the summit of which is crowned with a fortress, and the sloping sides covered with streets and houses. In this way ancient towns are described by writers, who compare them to amphitheatres, with their streets, like the seats, rising one above the other. Constantinople participates in this advantage in an eminent degree.

      The approach to this magnificent city, from the Sea of Marmora, is more beautiful, perhaps, than that of any other city in the world. Before the spectator lies a romantic archipelago of islands covered with pine, arbutus, and oak woods, from whence emerges, on every summit, some monastery of the Greek church. These lovely islets seem to float upon a sea generally calm and unruffled, and are beautifully reflected from a surface singularly pure and lucid. Beside them is the coast of Asia Minor, from which rises, at a distance, the vast contour of Mount Olympus, not, as the poet describes it, with “cloudy tops,” but usually unveiled and distinct; its flanks clothed with forests, and its summits crowned with eternal snows, glittering in sunlight, imparting to the heated atmosphere below an imagined feeling of refreshing coolness. In some states of the air, the effect of refraction is so deceptive, that the mountain seems almost to impend over the spectator.

      From hence the coast sweeps round to the mouth of the Bosphorus, in a recess of which lies the town of Chalcedon. Beside it stretches, for more than three miles, the great cemetery of the Moslems, the most extensive, perhaps, in the world; and rising from the plain, and ascending the side of a hill, is the fine city of Scutari, associated with early historical recollections. It is of considerable extent, covering the inclined plain of the hill on which it is built, till the ascent is terminated by the lofty mountain of Bourgourloo, a detached portion of the great Bythinian chain. From thence a splendid view is commanded, including the romantic windings of the Bosphorus, almost for the whole extent of the strait, from the Euxine to the Propontis.

      Below the promontory of Scutari, the Bosphorus rushes out with its rapid current, and, no longer confined within its narrow shores, expands itself into the open sea. The limpid torrent, like that of some great river tumbling down from its source, now wheels and boils, and creates such commotion that boats are oftentimes dangerously entangled.

      On the European shore, and opposite to Scutari, two promontories project into the Bosphorus. The first is the peninsula of Pera, its lower part terminated by the ancient city of Galata, where the enterprising Genoese established one of their commercial marts under the Greek emperors, and where their language still attests their origin. The walls, with their ramparts and towers, are still entire; and the gates are nightly shut by the Turks with the same vigilant precaution as they were by their former masters. This is the crowded mart, where merchants of all nations have their stores and counting-houses, and which the active and busy genius of the Genoese still seems to animate.

      The town of Pera occupies the elevated ridge of a high promontory between the harbour and the Bosphorus. On the spine of this eminence the European natives have established their residence. The merchants, whose stores and offices are below, have their dwelling-houses on this lofty and healthful elevation, to which they are seen climbing in groups every evening, when the business of the day is over. Their habitations form a strong contrast to those of the Turks. They are lofty, solid, and convenient, and from their height command a magnificent view of the circumjacent seas, with all their bays and islands. Here also the ambassadors of the different powers of Europe have their palaces, among which the British, before its destruction by fire, was the most beautiful and conspicuous.

      Below the promontory of Pera, the noble harbour of “The Golden Horn” opens to the view, its entrance formed by the points of Galata and that of the seraglio. Here it is that ships of all nations are seen floating side by side, and indicating, by the peculiarity of their structure, the people to which they belong. But the most remarkable and characteristic are those which are sent from the different parts of the vast Turkish empire, in Europe, Asia, and Africa.

      The enormous vessels that compose the Turkish fleet are the most conspicuous objects. Some of them rise out of the water with a length and breadth so imposing, as to excite wonder how a nation, so ignorant of maritime affairs, and limited in their commercial intercourse, could have built such stupendous specimens of naval architecture. Many of them carry 140 brass cannon, of a calibre so enormous on the lower deck, as to throw balls of 100 lbs. weight. They are navigated by crews of 2000 men, and seem capable of opening a cannonade that could instantly sink the largest opponent. The brightness of their guns of burnished brass, the freshness of their cordage, the snowy whiteness of their sails, the gaiety and richness of their painting, always fresh and bright, give an impression that the nation to which they belong must have brought the art of ship-building to the highest perfection. On the bow of each is a colossal lion, highly carved and naturally coloured, which presents the emblem of the Turkish empire in its most formidable attitude. The first impression made by these great engines of naval warfare, is the vast superiority they possess, and the hopelessness of any opposition to them. Yet they are utterly powerless in the unskilful hands that guide them. The Turks, like their predecessors the Persians, are impotent by sea; and as the ancient Greeks with ease destroyed the fleets of the one, so did the modern Greeks those of the other with their tiny ships. Their small craft, like fishing-boats, with decayed timbers, ragged sails, and rotten cordage, which are now sometimes seen in the harbour lying peaceably beside the Turkish men-of-war, were more than a match for those gorgeous but unmanageable masses; and their rusty iron guns, whose explosion sounded like the shot of a pistol in comparison, silenced the immense batteries of ordnance, that seemed capable of blowing a Greek island out of the water.

      The galleys of Africa next attract attention; these are always summoned, and ready to join the naval armaments of their sovereign, like the military vassals of some feudal lord. Their habits of ferocity, though restrained, still continue; when attached to the Turkish fleet, they carry ruin and desolation wherever they sail. These allies destroyed, in Greece, whatever the less merciless Turks had spared, and would have utterly exterminated the remnant of that people, had not Christian Europe interfered.

      Beside these pirate galleys of the Mediterranean, are to be seen moored the lofty merchantmen of the Euxine. The singular structure of these vessels is peculiar to the eastern coasts of the Black Sea, and has been preserved from the earliest times. These immense and unwieldy ships rise to a considerable height out of the water, both at the bow and the stern, and seem altogether incapable of resisting a gale of wind. They have seldom more than one mast and one immense mainsail,