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

By a sudden rupture, it is supposed, an opening was made, through which the waters rushed, and inundated the subjacent countries. For this supposition there are strong foundations of probability. The comparatively small sheets of water now partially occupying the space which the greater sea once covered, under the names of the Euxine, Azoph, Caspian, and Aral seas, are only the deeper pools of this great fountain, which has, in a succession of ages, been drained off, leaving the shallower parts dry land, with all the marks of an alluvial soil. The spot where the great rupture is supposed to have taken place is indicated by volcanic remains: basalt, scoriæ, and other debris of calcination, lying all around. The strait itself bears all the marks of a chasm violently torn open, the projections of one shore corresponding to the indentations of the other, and the similar strata of both being at equal elevations, while the bottom is a succession of descents, over which the water still tumbles with the rapidity of a cataract. The opinions of antiquaries accord with natural appearances. The first land which this mighty inundation encountered was the continent of Greece, over which it swept with irresistible force. Tradition has handed down to us the flood of Deucalion; and ancient writings have assigned as its cause, “the rupture of the Cyanean rocks:” so that both poets and historians concur in preserving the memory of this awful event.

      After the first effects of this inundation had ceased, a current was still propelled by the Danube, the Borysthenes, and other great rivers, which pour their copious streams into the Euxine, and have no other outlet: hence it still runs down with considerable velocity. In some places, where the convulsion seems to have left the bottom like steps of stairs, this is dangerously increased. It is possible that the continued attrition of the water, for thousands of years over this rocky surface, has worn it down to a more uniform level; still three cataracts remain, one is called shetan akindisi, or “the devil’s current:” it is necessary, from its laborious ascent, to haul ships up against it with considerable toil. To the ancients it was accounted a perilous navigation, when the broken ledges were still more abrupt. Among the acts of daring intrepidity was deemed the navigation of this strait. Hence Horace says−

      “To the mad Bosphorus my bark I’ll guide,

      And tempt the terrors of its raging tide.”

      There is not a promontory or recess in all its windings, that is not hallowed by the recollection of either fictitious mythology or authentic history. The ancient name of Bosphorus signifies “the traject of the ox;” the passage being so narrow that such animals swam across it, and hence it is sometimes spelled Bosporos. But the fanciful mythology of the Greeks assigned a more poetic derivation of the name. They assert that Iö, having assumed the form of a cow, to escape the vigilance of Juno, in her solitary wanderings swam across this strait, and consigned to fame the tradition of the event by the name it bears. One promontory preserves the name of Jason, who landed there in his bold attempt to explore the unknown recesses of the Euxine. Another retains that of Medea, for there she dispensed her youth-giving drugs, and conferred upon the place that reputation of salubrity which still distinguishes it. The narrow pass, that divided Europe from Asia, was also the transit chosen by great armies. Here Darius crossed, when the hosts of Asia first poured into Europe, and the rage of conquest led the gorgeous monarch of the East, from the luxuries and splendour of his own court, to penetrate into the rude and barbarous haunts of the wandering Scythians. Here it was that Xenophon, and his intrepid handful of Greeks, crossed over, to return to their own country. Here it was that the Christian crusaders embarked their armies, to rescue the holy sepulchre from the infidels; and here it was that the infidels, in return, entered Europe, and destroyed the mighty Christian empire of the East.

      The accompanying illustration exhibits the scene of these events, and so commemorates the deeds of remote and recent ages. The strait is here not more than seven stadia, or furlongs, across; and, as Pliny truly says, “You can hear in one orb of the earth, the dogs bark and the birds sing in the other; and may hold conversation from shore to shore when the sound is not dispersed by the wind.” In particular seasons, during the migration of fish, boats are seen, extending in a continued line, and forming a bridge from side to side. The rock on which Darius sat is still pointed out; and, if a stranger occupy the rude seat at such a moment, it will powerfully recall to his imagination those times when mighty armies crossed and recrossed on a similar fragile footing.

      The events connected with Roumeli Hissar, or the Castle of Europe, are of surpassing interest. When the fierce Mahomet determined to extinguish the feeble Roman empire, and transfer the Moslem capital to a Christian soil, he found two dilapidated towers, one in Asia, and the other in Europe, which had been suffered to fall into utter decay. He re-edified that on the Asiatic shore, and, having been allowed to do this without opposition, crossed over and rebuilt the European castle also, so as completely to command the navigation of the straits, by occupying two forts on the most prominent points of the nearest parts of it. When the emperor remonstrated against this violation of his territory, he was tauntingly but fiercely answered, that “since the Greeks were not able to protect their own possessions, he would do it for them;” and he threatened to slay alive the next person who came to remonstrate. To establish his usurped right, he prohibited the navigation of the strait by foreigners. The Venetians refused to comply with this arbitrary mandate, and attempted to pass; but their vessel was struck by a ball from one of those enormous cannon which Mahomet had caused to be cast for the destruction of the Greek empire: the crew were beheaded, and their bodies hung out of the castle, to deter others from similar attempts. The castle was thence called Chocsecen, “the amputator of heads;” and such is the immutability of Turkish ferocity, that, with reason, it retains the name at this day.

      Roumeli Hissar consists of five round towers, connected by massive embattled walls, ascending the slope of the hill. It is now useless as a fortress, but is applied to other more characteristic and equally important Turkish purposes. In the wall which fronts the Bosphorus, there is a low doorway concealed behind a large platanus: this is the postern of death. The fortress had for many years been converted into a prison, and may well bear the inscription which Dante read on the infernal portals,

      “Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate.”

      No prisoner is ever known to repass the gate of death; hence the Turks call their dismal fortress, the “towers of oblivion,” adopting the appellation given to them under the despotism of the Greek empire, when the castles were named “Lethé,” and for a similar reason.

      During the struggles of the present sultan with the janissaries, it was his constant practice to have his opponents secretly arrested, and conveyed to this place. Every morning some Oda missed their old officers. They had been conveyed to this place after it was dark, entered the low doorway, and were seen no more. During this period, some Franks, who had taken a caïque to Buyukderé, where they were detained longer than they intended, were returning late. Boats are not permitted to pass the fortresses after sunset, and the signal-gun is fired: so they had to make their way secretly along, under cover of the shore. When arrived near the castles, they saw a large caïque advancing from Constantinople, and, to avoid detection, remained close under a rock, not far from the fatal gate. The strange boat approached, and landed just before it. Two distinguished-looking men, wrapped up in their pelisses, disembarked; they were held up by the arm on each side. One of them passed on in silence; the other sighed heavily as he approached, turned round, and seemed to cast a lingering look upon the world he was about to leave for ever. He then stooped his head, and disappeared, with his more impassive companion, under the fatal arch; the gate, groaning on its rusty hinges, closed behind them. The caïque returned immediately to Constantinople. The Franks then slipped past, and arrived without being stopped. The next morning it was known that two Binbashis, or colonels, who had great influence on their respective Odas, and strongly opposed the nizam geddite, were missing. They never re-appeared.

      The navigation of the Bosphorus is the most lovely that ever invited a sail. Its length, in all its windings, is fifteen miles; and when the caïque glides down with the current, there is something exquisitely beautiful and grateful to the senses in every thing around. Nothing can exceed, in picturesque scenery, the whole coast on each side. It affords a continued succession of romantic wooded promontories, projecting into the stream, and presenting, at every winding of the strait, new and diversified objects. As you pass each headland, some placid bay opens to your