A Fantasy of Mediterranean Travel Part 3

We employed a guide to take us to the Mosque of Sancta Sophia and the other princ.i.p.al show places. This man had formerly called himself "Teddy Roosevelt," but he changed his name to "George Washington Taft,"

in honor of our worthy President, thus making his cognomen thoroughly American and bringing it up to date at a stroke of the pen; but we told him this was no kind of a name for a guide in Turkey, and then and there changed it to "Muley-Molech;" he was much pleased with his new historical t.i.tle. "Muley-Molech" had a nose of vast proportions--while not so large as the _Lusitania's_ helm, yet it was exactly the same shape; and he wore a moustache that ended in large, hirsutical corkscrews; his teeth were like small bits of marble stained with tobacco juice, and they had the effect of an arc made from the spear of a sword fish, grim and terrible. Altogether he was a remarkable man--one to be feared at night when near the Bosphorus; although, if the bitter truth must be told, he avoided impartially both salt water and fresh, whenever possible. My word! "Muley" was no ordinary, amateur Munchhausen! he was full of exact statements which he encrusted with legends that were utterly bare-faced. After hearing one of his flights of fancy, a fat brewer from the West remarked:

"It's better not to believe so much or to know so many facts that aren't so; but this is the devil of a place, anyhow; that's right!"

Muley looked at him with fine scorn and went on at his usual gait.

Later I told him (Muley), the story of the Irish judge who once said to a prisoner whom he was about to sentence:

"We don't want anything from you but silence--and very little of that!"

This hint had a depressing effect, and Muley lost his nerve and the character he had enjoyed with us of being a picturesque and fearless liar.

Sancta Sophia was built in Stamboul across the Golden Horn by the Emperor Justinian in 537 A.D. (fire having destroyed the edifice originally erected by Constantine and replaced by the church built by Theodosia, which was also burned). The dome is one hundred and eighty feet from the floor. To adorn it, the Temple of Diana at Ephesus was ravaged of eight serpentine columns, and eight more of porphyry were taken from the Temple of the Sun at Baalbek to add to its beauty. It is alleged that its cost approached $64,000,000, including the "graft."

Its artistic value is greatly depreciated by the squalor of its environment. Looking at this great pile, a speculative wag remarked, with a twinkle in his eye:

"It's all a question of money. Give me the financial a.s.sistance of J.

D. R., and with one of the big American construction companies to take the contract I can produce a building fully equal to this in less time and for very much less money."

He was right. It would be only a question of deciding to do it. The Landis' comic-opera fine would be sufficient.

The Sultan's Palace and the ancient Hippodrome are also places of great interest. In the latter were deposited the four gilded bronze horses, supposed to have been brought from Scio, once mounted on Trajan's Arch at Rome, brought here by Constantine. They were taken to Venice by Dandolo, then Napoleon gave them to Paris, and finally after Waterloo they were restored again to St. Mark's at Venice.

In Constantinople we also saw three or four other Mosques of great size, and the Seraglio grounds and Palace. In the latter we saw the gates through which the odalisks who had lost the sultan's favor pa.s.sed beyond to be executed. The pa.s.sage of this gate made our flesh creep when we thought of all it meant to the unfortunates; but near by, in agreeable contrast, is the "Gate of Felicity," which is the entrance to the sultan's harem. Through this the new favorites entered and remained till they had grown old and lost their charm.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THE MOOSKI," CAIRO. THERE ARE MILES OF STREETS IN THIS ARTISTIC MARKET WHERE RUGS, TAPESTRIES, LACES, AND ORIENTAL _BRIC-A-BRAC_ MAY BE SECURED BY THE ANXIOUS AT AN ALARMING SACRIFICE.

EVERY MINUTE IS A BARGAIN DAY]

The Imperial Ottoman Museum is full of good things purloined from other art centres. It contains many fine examples of Greco-Roman sculptures, statues and reliefs, in marbles, terra-cotta and bronze. The figures of dancing women have a swing and their draperies a palpable swish--as if a breeze were stirring them--seen only in this school of art. It also contains Alexander the Great's sarcophagus, which is regarded as one of the finest examples of Greek art in existence.

The Grand Bazaar is both a sight and a town in itself, full of streets, entries, lanes and alleys, covered here and there as an arcade, into which the sun never penetrates. The dim light, the great crowds of strangely costumed people,--veiled women with their children in hand, attended by eunuchs, some chattering, some silent and aloof--but all intent on bargaining and eager for the fray. This novel and engrossing picture is made possible and is enhanced by the bewildering variety and display of Oriental goods and wares--rugs, perfumes, cosmetics, weapons, shawls, embroideries, inlaid tables, porcelains, bra.s.sware, silks, fans, jewels, laces, gold and silver ornaments of infinite variety--all piled up and strewn about as if they had been pitchforked by some magician into an enchanted market-place, with the G.o.d of greed and chance presiding.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SAMPLES Of CONSTANTINOPLE'S BRAND OF "WHITE WINGS."

IT'S A SIGHT FOR G.o.dS AND MEN TO SEE THESE JOLLY DOGS GOBBLE THE TURKISH TIDBITS AFTER THE SUN HAS SET]

Limited s.p.a.ce forbids the further description of things that are wonderful and interesting, but a few words must be said in regard to facts we would rather not think about. The population is about 1,125,000, and most visitors think there is a mangy, flea-bitten dog for each inhabitant; but the official dog census has placed the canine population at about 125,000. The dogs of Stamboul and Constantinople are a necessity and a book might be written about them alone, as they have ruled these cities from a sanitary point of view for over a thousand years. If they did not set out at night and partially clean up the town, Heaven only knows what it would be like! Their sway is undisputed, and woe betide him who either hurts or kills them--he is a marked man, not only by the Moslems but by the followers of other religions. They have no distinctive owners and just live by their wits, which are keen to an advanced degree; they have rules of the road of their own making, and the luckless cur that breaks them is put out of business in the twinkling of an eye. No one likes them, but they are a thoroughly protected nuisance, for that protection means life to the people. Without their services as devourers the population would die like flies, from epidemics and pestilence. All attempts at doing away with the dogs have resulted in riots and bloodshed: when Mehemet II. rounded them up and exiled them to an island, a great epidemic immediately set in and the rioters compelled the Sultan at the point of the sword to bring them back again. A later attempt was made by an Ottoman chief-of-police to deport these canine "white wings" to Asia Minor: he threw them overboard when out of sight of land, and when this was made public the mob literally tore him limb from limb. So it does not pay to monkey with the Sultan's pets in the home of their nativity.

Although no one would suspect it, they have a high order of intelligence and an acute instinct for local government. By some unwritten law they divide the town into districts with sharply defined boundaries invisible to the human eye, yet plainly apparent to the animal. If an intruder crosses this line he is sorry for it before he reaches his first bone. The neighboring dogs pounce on him from all directions, biting his legs, tail and ears, but stopping short when they in turn reach the line, for fear they may also get into trouble for trespa.s.sing. When one of the members of a district becomes sick and helpless his comrades do not wait for him to die; they just eat him up and have done with it. So no one ever sees a dead dog in Stamboul: professional pride and _esprit de corps_ step in, and the victim is wafted to the happy hunting grounds in less time than it takes to tell of it.

The porters are celebrated for their great strength and the big loads they can carry. To see them do their work is a most interesting sight: four of them will carry a great cask filled with fluid and suspended from two poles placed on their shoulders--a fair load for a team of horses. They carry these loads with the aid of ingenious appliances and harness, and the amount of lumber, coal, dressed beef and live animals they transport for short distances is simply incredible.

Soldiers are drilling everywhere and a raw lot they are. The treasury is empty, and many of them have only one shoe, and some none at all, only a coa.r.s.e stocking bound round with rags. They may be experts at killing women and children, but they would make a sorry showing against trained soldiers. And then there are the "battleships:" fierce, devilish-looking bulldogs that could demolish any tin-lined fort in existence if they could only hit it, or even if the sailors could manage to fire the guns--or in fact, if only the guns could be fired by any one--which is exceedingly doubtful.

In smells, the vilest of the vile, including the acrid variety that cuts the nostrils like a razor, Constantinople stands forever and alone on a plinth of infamy, and no language that can be dragged into the arena of expression can be utilized to describe them. They paralyze the intellect and dull the sense of punishment and acute agony. No gladiator could enter the lists with them in deadly combat and live to tell the tale. They arise in part from the debris and remnants of cheese whose position in the flight of time was contemporaneous with that of Alexander the Great; from fish that must have darted beneath the keels of the ships at the battle of Salamis; from tallow, used to grease the chariot wheels at the battle of Marathon (now sold as b.u.t.ter); and from the embalmed beef that was left over from the Crimean War. These with many powerful additions supply the main force and foundation of all this pervading "sweetness;" but the distinguishing "high lights" come from minor causes, such as the onions of last year rotting in nets hanging in the sun, strings of garlic returned to circulation by the Argonauts when they came back from hunting the golden fleece, but now hung as a badge of trade on the door-jambs; and the frying of eggs, that have long lost their market value, with Bombay _ghee_ and young garlic, the whole mellowed and perhaps refined by the continual vapors from open sewers. One fragrance that perhaps tickles the olfactory nerve with more delicacy than all others and might be called a perfumed "dream," comes from baking a garlic pie piping hot in the open, with Turkish Limburger as a substantial ingredient. This zephyr when in full action sets at naught the vain attempt of asafoetida to hold its place in the history of smells that used to rank with Araby the Blest. If Alexander had inhaled one whiff of this combination in its full purity it would have floored him in Constantinople and he could not have lived to conquer the world. One of the "Corks" fainted when he hit the embalmed beef zone and was taken to the rear in a red cross ambulance.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A CROWD AT THE CHURCH OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE, JERUSALEM, WAITING FOR THE DOORS TO OPEN. EACH TRIBE IS IMPATIENT TO ENTER AND OCCUPY ITS OWN s.p.a.cE]

The sights in these places are too dreadful for publication, and as for the taste--well, I tried a speck of fried sausage and thought I had touched a live wire! it left a scar on my tongue. We made a special excursion to see these sights and experience the smells. The driver of our carriage took advantage of a stop to take a drink at a Turkish _cafe_; the procession of vehicles began to move, and as we were in the middle of it our horses had to move too. This left us without a driver and I had to mount his seat and drive half a mile at a walk before our man caught up with us. In the crowded, narrow streets this experience was not a pleasant one, but I did the best I could and nothing happened of note excepting that in turning a sharp corner the team ran up on the sidewalk, from which I was chased with wild gestures and eastern profanity by a Turkish son of a wooden gun, much to the amus.e.m.e.nt of the natives and the rest of the procession. Still, the Turks, who are steeped in these conditions, seem to enjoy them: they laugh and joke at the unsuccessful attempts of the outlander to acquire their tastes. If they are happy, why should we object?

[Ill.u.s.tration: THIS IS QUEEN HATSHEPSET'S DER-AL-BAHARI TEMPLE AT THEBES, ORNAMENTED WITH FINE GOLD. THE ORIGINAL METHODS BY WHICH "HATTY" SWIPED THE MONEY TO BUILD THIS TEMPLE LEAVE WALL STREET TIED TO THE HITCHING POST AT THE SUB-TREASURY STEPS]

The costumes of the Turk are without number: there is no cut nor pattern of garment that is not embraced in their fashion plates and the colors run riot through all the gamut of the rainbow. But, seriously, they beat all other nations in the arrangement of their head-dress; no Turk is too poor or too low in caste to devote his time and attention to what he wears on his head. Of course, the rich ones have immense turbans, woven with stranded ropes of cloth in bright parti-colors, placed on the head as a finish to the toilet with as much care as a wedding cake is posed on a table; but the _poor_ Turk takes a red fez as a basis to build on, and will, with cheese-cloth, or a strip of old toweling, or a wisp of worn-out silk and some feathers, turn out an effect that it is almost impossible to imitate even where ample facilities are at hand. Some of them wear their turbans well back on the head, some pitched forward, many with a rake to the side; but all with the artistic instinct that compels instant admiration. They are the "old masters" of headgear and their masterpieces may be seen by the thousand in any crowded street.

[Ill.u.s.tration: OUR HOSPITABLE HOST AND HOSTESS IN THEIR SALON WHERE THEY ENTERTAINED US AT JERUSALEM]

About the time we were in Constantinople, the new Turkish political force known the world over as the "Young Turks' movement," was just springing into life. The members of this body were eager to meet and mix with visitors and obtain their views and opinions of the probabilities of success, and a general endors.e.m.e.nt of their work; so it was no trouble to have them visit us on the _Cork_, as she lay at anchor at the mouth of the Golden Horn. We conversed with them freely and listened to the recital of their wrongs and how they proposed to right and correct them. Political corruption and "graft," they said, were rampant everywhere, destroying the country and blighting every enterprise and industry. A Young Turk told me that many manufactories would be started were it not that the rapacity of the horde of petty officials was such that all must get a share of the spoils before a license could be granted, and that paying this toll would amount to much more than the cost of the factory. From the sultan down to the smallest custom house official, all must get a squeeze out of the victim whom they meet in any kind of business. The appellation, "The Sick Man of the East," presents in brief the picture of an unwholesome looking man, who is allowed to sit tight on his throne and plunder his people because the Powers can't agree on the division of his empire.

When one looks at Abdul in his carriage one sees at a glance a coffee-colored knave who, when he gazes at the crowd from behind the mask of his face, is simply engaged in scheming a new twist in "graft,"

and wondering whether or not they can stand it and live. The Sultan is an expert pistol-shot and has killed many native visitors without the slightest proof that they were about to do him harm; if they made a suspicious movement of any kind he shot them down in cold blood and had them thrown into the Bosphorus. Abdul had an eye on the main chance and did not consider it wise to have all his eggs in one basket, so he deposited the hundred million dollars he wrung from his people--what is called his "private fortune"--in banks all over the world. The Young Turks are after this "pile," and he is not likely to retain it all and save his neck from the rope. Perhaps his most horrible crime was instigating the annihilation of 360,000 Armenians: this act alone places him on the pedestal of infamy for all time. But the pedestal is rocking, and his hour is near at hand. His territory in Europe has shrunk from 230,000 to 60,000 square miles. In a little while there won't be much left to divide, but there are other forces at work, and these serious natives tell you that nothing can now stop the progress of the task they are engaged in and that the days of the sultan are numbered. We believed in their sincerity and determination, and wished them every success. As a wind-up it will perhaps amuse the reader to note the high-sounding list of t.i.tles that the sultan--this "cutpurse and king of shreds and patches"--has given to himself. Here they are, all fresh roasted, with a few added words to fill in the interstices of his portrait:

THE SULTAN'S t.i.tLES

"Abdul Hamid, Beloved Sultan of Sultans, Emperor of Emperors;"

"The Shadow of G.o.d upon the Earth;"

"Brother of the Sun"--(_Times_ and _Tribune_);

"Dispenser of Crowns"--(half-crowns and tu'penny-bits)--"to Those who Sit upon Thrones"--(and gunny-bags);

"Sovereign of Constantinople"--(and of all its mangy, flea-bitten dogs);

Easy Boss of Broussa, as well as Damascus, which is the "Scent of Paradise;"

"King of Kings"--(and two-spots); whose army is the asylum of "graft"

and dummy guns; at the foot of whose throne sits Justice with the bandage off one eye so she can watch the coin!

SMYRNA

We left Constantinople without regret and steamed up into the Black Sea, making a circle in it, and then returned down into the Sea of Marmora, so as to get a good view of both the Asiatic and European sides of the city; then out, through the Dardanelles and on to Smyrna.

This pa.s.sage was all over cla.s.sic ground, and every mile of it has made history for thousands of years.

Smyrna has 225,000 people, and is the cleanest and most respectable city the Turks own. In ancient times Croesus lived here after he had made his pile, and at the present day great numbers of wealthy men make it their home, and there is a good deal of luxury seen in the suburbs.

It has the trade from Asia Minor. Homer was born here, and wrote and sang his immortal poetry along its rocky sh.o.r.es. It was conquered by Alexander the Great, and after he had destroyed it he ordered it rebuilt a few miles farther off so as not to forget it, and it became very prosperous. The Knights of Malta and the Arabs fought the Turks for many years for its possession, but the Turks have held it against all comers up to date. It was shaken down to ruins by an earthquake in 180 A.D., and this was followed by disastrous shocks in 1688, 1788, and 1880.

Its great trade is in figs, dates, sponges, silks, and rugs; but the greatest of these is the rug. These stuffs come in loaded on long trains of camels. I may say that no one has any idea of what this animal is like if he has only seen it in a zoo or in a circus parade.

I watched the trains by the hour with absorbing interest. The professional, business camel is a big, fine, intelligent animal, who carries himself with the utmost dignity and strides along looking neither to the right nor the left, refusing to take notice of any noise or disturbance that would--and often does--upset his owners, whom he follows with implicit confidence. He is willing to make an honest and prompt return for his food and the care that is given him. I could not help thinking that if a man from Mars came down and did not know the conditions here, he would think the camel was master, and not the noisy crowd that surrounded him.

St. Polycarp, the second Bishop of Smyrna, was executed here because he would not recant his faith; he was a disciple of the Apostle John, and this incident shows the antiquity of the place.

The trade of Smyrna exceeds that of Constantinople: five thousand people are engaged in making rugs, but the best ones are brought in on camel back from seven hundred miles away. They have a curious way of selling the rugs that arrive from the interior: the dealer must buy the unopened bales with no opportunity to examine the rugs, so it is really a lottery and feeds the desire for gambling that prevails in business dealings in the Orient.

Smyrna is a beautiful, oriental city; it produces nothing, but exchanges everything and gets a shave for doing it: it is the home of Eastern luxury and of the finest women in Asia. Much more could be written about this city with a guide-book as a basis of information, but it would not be interesting produced in this way.

We heard a native "ragtime" band, playing tom-tomic strains--the lyric style of dinner-gong music that tears holes in the air. The leader was an imitator of Sousa and had his gymnastic eccentricities down to a fine point. He executed a fantasia on his horn of plenty that brought a shower of silver on the stage. We were told that the members of the orchestra were called the "Flowers of Music from Stamboul," and were working their pa.s.sage to the "halls" of the European capitals. May the hat never be returned empty nor the charm of their work grow less!

THE HOLY LAND

JAFFA