Читать книгу The City of the Sultan - Miss Pardoe - Страница 8

Table of Contents

Turning Dervishes—Appearance of the Tekiè—The Mausoleum—Duties of the Dervishes—Chapel of the Convent—The Chief Priest—Dress of the Brotherhood—Melancholy Music—Solemnity of the Service—Mistakes of a Modern Traveller—Explanation of the Ceremony—The Prayer—The Kiss of Peace—Appearance of the Chapel—Religious Tolerance of the Turks—The French Renegade—Sketch of Halet Effendi, the Founder of the Tekiè.

I paid two visits to the convent (if such, indeed, it may be termed) of Turning, or, as they are commonly called in Europe, Dancing Dervishes, which is situated opposite the Petit Champs des Morts, descending towards Galata. The court of the Tekiè is entered by a handsomely ornamented gate, and, having passed it, you have the cemetery of the brethren on your left hand, and the gable of the main building on your right. As you arrive in front of the convent, the court widens, and in the midst stands a magnificent plane tree of great antiquity, carefully railed in; while you have on one side the elegant mausoleum in which repose the superiors of the order; and on the other the fountain of white marble, roofed in like an oratory, and enclosed on all its six sides from the weather, where the Dervishes perform their ablutions ere they enter the chapel. The mausoleum is of the octagon form, the floor being raised two steps in the centre, leaving a space all round, just sufficiently wide for one person to pass along. The sarcophagi are covered with plain clay-coloured cloth, and at the head of each tomb is placed the geulaf, or Dervishes’ hat, encircled by a clear muslin handkerchief, embroidered with tinted silks and gold thread. A large gilt frame, enclosing the representation of a hat wrought in needlework, and standing on a slab, on which is inscribed a sentence from the Koran, rests against one of the sarcophagi, and huge wax-candles in plain clay-coloured candlesticks are scattered among the tombs.

The Tekiè is a handsome building with projecting wings, in which the community live very comfortably with their wives and children; and whence, having performed their religious duties, they sally forth to their several avocations in the city, and mingle with their fellow-men upon equal terms. Unlike the monks of the church of Rome, the Dervishes are forbidden to accumulate wealth in order to enrich either themselves or their convent. The most simple fare, the least costly garments, serve alike for their own use, and for that of their families: industry, temperance, and devotion are their duties; and, as they are at liberty to secede from their self-imposed obligations whenever they see fit to do so, there is no lukewarmness among the community, who find time throughout the whole year to devote many hours to God, even of their most busy days; and, unlike their fellow-citizens, the other Mussulmauns, they throw open the doors of their chapel to strangers, only stipulating that gentlemen shall put off their shoes ere they enter.

This chapel, which has been erroneously designated a “mosque,” is an octagon building of moderate size, neatly painted in fresco. The centre of the floor is railed off, and the enclosure is sacred to the brotherhood; while the outer circle, covered with Indian matting, is appropriated to visiters. A deep gallery runs round six sides of the building, and beneath it, on your left hand as you enter, you remark the lattices through which the Turkish women witness the service. A narrow mat surrounds the circle within the railing, and upon this the brethren kneel during the prayers; while the centre of the floor is so highly polished by the perpetual friction that it resembles a mirror, and the boards are united by nails with heads as large as a shilling, to prevent accidents to the feet of the Dervishes during their evolutions. A bar of iron descends octagonally from the centre of the domed roof, to which transverse bars are attached, bearing a vast number of glass lamps of different colours and sizes; and, against many of the pillars, of which I counted four-and-twenty, supporting the dome, are hung frames, within which are inscribed passages from the Prophets.

Above the seat of the superior, the name of the founder of the Tekiè is written in gold on a black ground, in immense characters. This seat consists of a small carpet, above which is spread a crimson rug, and on this the worthy principal was squatted when we entered, in an ample cloak of Spanish brown, with large hanging sleeves, and his geulaf, or high hat of grey felt, encircled with a green shawl. I pitied him that his back was turned towards the glorious Bosphorus, that was distinctly seen through the four large windows at the extremity of the chapel, flashing in the light, with the slender minarets and lordly mosques of Stamboul gleaming out in the distance.

One by one, the Dervishes entered the chapel, bowing profoundly at the little gate of the enclosure, took their places on the mat, and, bending down, reverently kissed the ground; and then, folding their arms meekly on their breasts, remained buried in prayer, with their eyes closed, and their bodies swinging slowly to and fro. They were all enveloped in wide cloaks of dark coloured cloth with pendent sleeves; and wore their geulafs, which they retained during the whole of the service.

I confess that the impression produced on my mind by the idea of Dancing Dervishes was the very reverse of solemn; and I was, in consequence, quite unprepared for the effect that the exhibition of their religious rites cannot fail to exert on all those who are not predetermined to find food for mirth in every sectarian peculiarity. The deep stillness, broken only by the breath of prayer, or the melancholy wailing of the muffled instruments, which seemed to send forth their voice of sadness from behind a cloud in subdued sorrowing, like the melodious plaint of angels over fallen mortality—the concentrated and pious self-forgetfulness of the community, who never once cast their eyes over the crowds that thronged their chapel—the deep, rich chant of the choral brethren—even the very contrast afforded by the light and fairy-like temple in which they thus meekly ministered to their Maker, with their own calm and inspired appearance, heightened the effect of the scene; and tacitly rebuked the presumption and worldliness of spirit that would have sought a jest in the very sanctuary of religion.

The service commenced with an extemporaneous prayer from the chief priest, to which the attendant Dervishes listened with arms folded upon their breasts, and their eyes fixed on the ground. At its conclusion, all bowed their foreheads to the earth; and the orchestra struck into one of those peculiarly wild and melancholy Turkish airs which are unlike any other music that I ever heard. Instantly, the full voices of the brethren joined in chorus, and the effect was thrilling: now the sounds died away like the exhausted breath of a departing spirit, and suddenly they swelled once more into a deep and powerful diapason that seemed scarce earthly. A second stillness of about a minute succeeded, when the low, solemn music was resumed, and the Dervishes, slowly rising from the earth, followed their superior three times round the enclosure; bowing down twice under the shadow of the name of their Founder, suspended above the seat of the high priest. This reverence was performed without removing their folded arms from their breasts—the first time on the side by which they approached, and afterwards on that opposite, which they gained by slowly revolving on the right foot, in such a manner as to prevent their turning their backs towards the inscription. The procession was closed by a second prostration, after which, each Dervish having gained his place, cast off his cloak, and such as had walked in woollen slippers withdrew them, and, passing solemnly before the Chief Priest, they commenced their evolutions.

I am by no means prepared, nor even inclined, to attempt a Quixotic defence of the very extraordinary and bizarre ceremonial to which I was next a witness; but I cannot, nevertheless, agree with a modern traveller in describing it as “an absurdity.” That it does not accord with our European ideas of consistent and worthy worship is not only possible, but certain; yet I should imagine that no one could feel other than respect for men of irreproachable character, serving God according to their means of judgment.

The extraordinary ceremony which gives its name to the Dancing, or, as they are really and much more appropriately called, the Turning Dervishes—for nothing can be more utterly unlike dancing than their evolutions—is not without its meaning. The community first pray for pardon of their past sins, and the amendment of their future lives; and then, after a silent supplication for strength to work out the change, they figure, by their peculiar and fatiguing movements, their anxiety to “shake the dust from their feet,” and to cast from them all worldly ties.

As I could not reconcile myself to believe that the custom could have grown out of mere whim, I took some pains to ascertain its meaning, as well as visiting the chapel a second time during its observance, in order to ascertain whether the ceremonies differed on different days, but I remarked no change.

Immediately after passing with a solemn reverence, twice performed, the place of the High Priest, who remained standing, the Dervishes spread their arms, and commenced their revolving motion; the palm of the right hand being held upwards, and that of the left turned down. Their under-dresses (for, as I before remarked, they had laid aside their cloaks) consisted of a jacket and petticoat of dark coloured cloth, that descended to their feet; the higher order of brethren being clad in green, and the others in brown, or a sort of yellowish gray; about their waists they wore wide girdles, edged with red, to which the right side of the jacket was closely fastened, while the left hung loose: their petticoats were of immense width, and laid in large plaits beneath the girdle, and, as the wearers swung round, formed a bell-like appearance; these latter garments, however, are only worn during the ceremony, and are exchanged in summer for white ones of lighter material.

The number of those who were “on duty,” for I know not how else to express it, was nine; seven of them being men, and the remaining two, mere boys, the youngest certainly not more than ten years of age. Nine, eleven, and thirteen are the mystic numbers, which, however great the strength of community, are never exceeded; and the remaining members of the brotherhood, during the evolutions of their companions, continue engaged in prayer within the enclosure. These on this occasion amounted to about a score, and remained each leaning against a pillar: while the beat of the drum in the gallery marked the time to which the revolving Dervishes moved, and the effect was singular to a degree that baffles description. So true and unerring were their motions, that, although the space which they occupied was somewhat circumscribed, they never once gained upon each other: and for five minutes they continued twirling round and round, as though impelled by machinery, their pale, passionless countenances perfectly immobile, their heads slightly declined towards the right shoulder, and their inflated garments creating a cold, sharp air in the chapel, from the rapidity of their action. At the termination of that period, the name of the Prophet occurred in the chant, which had been unintermitted in the gallery; and, as they simultaneously paused, and, folding their hands upon their breasts, bent down in reverence at the sound, their ample garments wound about them at the sudden check, and gave them, for a moment, the appearance of mummies.

An interval of prayer followed; and the same ceremony was performed three times; at the termination of which they all fell prostrate on the earth, when those who had hitherto remained spectators flung their cloaks over them, and the one who knelt on the left of the Chief Priest rose, and delivered a long prayer divided into sections, with a rapid and solemn voice, prolonging the last word of each sentence by the utterance of “ha—ha—ha”—with a rich depth of octave that would not have disgraced Phillips.

This prayer was for “the great ones of the earth”—the magnates of the land—all who were “in authority over them;” and at each proud name they bowed their heads upon their breasts, until that of the Sultan was mentioned, when they once more fell flat upon the ground, to the sound of the most awful howl I ever heard.

This outburst from the gallery terminated the labours of the orchestra; and the superior, rising to his knees while the others continued prostrate, in his turn prayed for a few instants; and then, taking his stand upon the crimson rug, they approached him one by one, and, clasping his hand, pressed it to their lips and forehead. When the first had passed, he stationed himself on the right of the superior, and awaited the arrival of the second, who, on reaching him, bestowed on him also the kiss of peace, which he had just proffered to the Chief Priest; and each in succession performed the same ceremony to all those who had preceded him, which was acknowledged by gently stroking down the beard.

This was the final act of the exhibition; and, the superior having slowly and silently traversed the enclosure, in five seconds the chapel was empty, and the congregation busied at the portal in reclaiming their boots, shoes, and slippers.

I had never hitherto seen such picturesque groups as those which thronged the Dervishes’ chapel on my second visit; nor did I ever witness more perfect order in any public assembly. A deep stillness reigned throughout the whole ceremony, only broken by the sobs of a middle-aged Turk who stood near me, and who was so much overcome by the saddening wail of the orchestra that he could not restrain his tears; a circumstance by no means uncommon in this country, where all ranks are peculiarly susceptible to the influence of music.

The interior of the edifice was a perfect picture, of which the soberly-clad Dervishes occupied the centre; while the exterior circle was peopled with groups of soldiers in their coarse wrapping coats and red caps—venerable Turks in claret-coloured pelisses, richly furred—descendants of Mahomet, with their green turbans and portly beards—and peasants in their rude suits of dusky brown; all equally intent, and all equally orderly.

The Turks are extremely tolerant with regard to religious opinions; their creed being split into as many sects as that of the Church of England; and each individual being left equally free to follow, as he sees fit, the dictates of his conscience. The Dervishes are of several different orders. The Mivlavies are materialists in their faith; the Zerrins worship the Virgin Mary; and the Bektachis believe in the Saviour and the twelve apostles; every order has its peculiar constitution, differing from the dogmas of simple Islamism; but they are universally venerated by Musselmauns, despite their sectarian prejudices. They are generally versed in astrology and music; exorcise sufferers from witchcraft and the evil eye; and are always of quiet and submissive manners, never mingling either in the intrigues of the court, or the cabals of the Ulémas.

It is not surprising that the Turks should venerate their own Dervishes, when they not only tolerate but even respect the Christian monks, and regard their monasteries as holy places, bearing the names of saints, and inhabited by men wholly devoted to God. To such a height, indeed, do they carry this reverence, that they permit the communities of several convents built on the charming little group of islands, called “Princes’ Islands,” situated in the Propontis, not more than two leagues from Constantinople, to be summoned to their chapel to prayer by the ringing of bells; a privilege which is not accorded to any Christian church devoted to a general congregation; but perhaps the greatest proof that can be adduced of their veneration for religious societies exists in the fact that in the mausoleum of the principal Tekiè at Iconium lies one of the most celebrated of Musselmaun saints, Mollah Hunkiar, and beside him a Christian monk, to whom he had been so tenderly attached during his life, that he desired in his will that they should not be separated after death. The two tombs still exist, and what renders the anecdote still more worthy of record, is the circumstance that it is the Chèïk or Abbot of this very monastery, who has the privilege of girding on the sword of the Sultan in the Mosque of Eyoub, on his accession to the Ottoman throne.

The Turks do not consider their women worthy to become Dervishes, but they, nevertheless, respect the Christian nuns; and a somewhat curious proof of this fact was given in 1818, on the receipt by the Sultan and his favourite minister, Halet Effendi, of two petitions drawn up by a sisterhood at Genoa, in which were set forth the injuries done to their convent by the French Republicans, terminating with a prayer to “his very pious Highness,” to send to them, as a present, three Turkey carpets to cover the floor of their chapel, one of which was to be crimson, a second purple, and the third green; and in return they promised to pray for the health, prosperity, and glory of the august head of the Ottoman Empire. The Sultan gallantly acceded to their request, and the compatriotes of Roxalana received with the least possible delay the magnificent donation by which a Musselmaun Emperor contributed to the adornment of a temple dedicated to Christian worship.

In the cemetery of the Tekiè at Pera lies the body of the Marquis de Bonneval, a French renegade who died a pasha; and the stone slab yet remains there that once covered the head of Halet Effendi, the founder of the convent, which, I have omitted to mention, is built entirely of marble. The head of the Effendi has, however, been removed to a less sacred place of burial, and has found a traitor’s grave.

Halet Effendi, once the favourite of the Sultan, was the cause of the Greek insurrection, which he brought about to conceal his own disloyal views. Having, by his intrigues, caused the appointment of Michel Suzzo to the principality of Moldavia, and having been reproached with the disaffection of Suzzo towards his Imperial master, the minister, who was responsible for the conduct and loyalty of his Greek protégé, boldly replied that the disaffection towards the Sultan was not that of Suzzo individually, but of his whole nation; an assertion which he immediately proceeded to bear out by exciting the Greeks covertly to rebellion; and he was so well seconded by his creature that, when Ypsalanti reared his standard in the provinces, Suzzo joined his banner, and the insurrection in the Morea, and the revolt of the Greeks in Constantinople, with the murder of the Patriarch, were the fearful consequences of the rebellious coalition; a treason which Mahmoud visited on his favourite with a sentence of exile to Iconia, giving him, at the same time, an autograph letter, in which he pledged himself to respect both his life and property; but, after the lapse of a few years, repenting an act of clemency so misplaced, the Sultan dispatched a Capedjee-basha, furnished with a Firman of recall, to his banished courtier, who found Halet Effendi at Iconia, and presented his credentials. The exile, overjoyed at so sudden and unlooked-for a change in his fortunes, lost no time in preparing for his return to Constantinople; but he had not long confided himself to the keeping of the Capedjee-basha when the bowstring terminated his existence, and the executioner hastened back to Stamboul, carrying along with him the head of his victim.

This ghastly memorial of their benefactor was consigned, at their urgent request, to the Dervishes of Pera, who buried it in their grave-yard, beneath the small slab of stone, which, in a Turkish cemetery, indicates to the initiated that the deceased above whom it is placed has perished by violence; but it had not lain there more than a few days, when the Sultan chanced to inquire how it had been disposed of; and, hearing that it had received burial at this Tekiè, of whose order, entitled Mevlavies, he is himself a member, (and whose chapel in which he formerly performed his evolutions he still frequents, although in private, occupying, on his visits, one of the latticed closets,) he ordered that it should be immediately disinterred and carried to Balata, where the common sewers of the city empty themselves into the Bosphorus. This was accordingly done; and the turban-crested pillar that surmounts the slab now only serves to indicate the spot where rested for a few brief days the dishonoured head of Halet Effendi.