IV THE SELAMLIK

On Friday of each week—the Mohammedan Sabbath—occurs the Selamlik, the one occasion on which the public may see the Sultan, although at a great distance for most of them. The Moslem law requires the head of the church to make a formal prayer at some mosque at least once a week, and Friday is the day naturally chosen. Therefore the Sultan must go, sick or well, to worship publicly. If he could not perform this duty his ministers would dress up a dummy and send it in a closed carriage in his place, because the act of reverence must be performed though the heavens fall. The Sultan has his own little mosque attached to the palace, where he prays frequently and with great regularity, often abruptly leaving his ministers and others with whom he is engaged on business when the cry of the muezzin is heard from the neighboring minaret. No man is more devout or scrupulous in the observances of the ritual in which he believes, and in that way he sets a good example to his subjects.

Abdul Hamid’s public worship is performed at Hamidieh Mosque, a pretty structure within the imperial park and close to the high iron fence which surrounds it, so that those who enter and leave the temple may be seen from the street. There is a large vacant lot, with rising ground, across the road, intended for a drilling ground for cavalry, and on every Friday it is crowded with the carriages of those who are curious to see the Sultan, and are not allowed to approach any nearer to him. Formerly the Selamliks were more public. There was a wooden pavilion, a sort of grand stand for spectators, which was generally crowded by strangers visiting the city, members of the diplomatic corps, and others who were fortunate enough to get tickets, but since the assassination of King Humbert of Italy and President McKinley, it has been torn down and no more invitations are issued, although upon the personal application of the ambassadors the Sultan will sometimes admit foreigners whom they vouch for. Guests are allowed to witness the ceremony from the windows or the roof of the neighboring palace, but no one else is permitted inside the grounds except officials of the government, officers of the army and pilgrims who constantly visit Constantinople in large numbers. The public must be contented with looking through the bars of the iron fence or witnessing the pageant through field-glasses from the tops of the neighboring hills.

We were at Constantinople during the pilgrim season, when faithful Mohammedans on their way to Mecca were arriving daily from Russia and the surrounding states as well as from all parts of the Ottoman Empire to pay their respects to the Sultan, who is the visible head of their church, and to the Sheik-ul-Islam, his vicar in charge of ecclesiastical affairs. They are admitted to the Selamlik when properly vouched for, but the police are very careful to see that no assassin disguised as a pilgrim shall pass the gates. The pilgrims occupy a plot bordering upon the roadway over which the Sultan drives. As he approaches they utter a peculiar cry. It sounds more like a wail than a cheer, and is supposed to express reverence and admiration rather than enthusiasm. It is the salutation of the true believer to the head of his church, but if anyone were to make such a noise at the approach of President Roosevelt or any of the sovereigns of Europe he would be immediately arrested as a dangerous person. When the Sultan has gone by, the pilgrims bow their heads in reverence and afterward push forward and kiss the ground over which the wheels of his carriage have passed. Many of them are venerable men, priests as well as laymen, and as each wears the costume of his country the group usually presents a picturesque appearance and adds much to the interest of the scene. Those with green turbans are descendants of the Prophet Mohammed and constitute a clan of themselves. They have maintained their individuality during all the centuries, like the house of David among the Jews, but it gives them no material advantages. They honor themselves more than they are honored by others. You see laborers wearing green turbans; yea, even the children of the prophet begging bread from infidels.

There is very little to be seen at a Selamlik except the military display. And that is splendid. Nearly the entire garrison of Constantinople, numbering 12,000 or 15,000 of the picked soldiers of the Turkish army, appear every Friday in brilliant and peculiar uniforms, line the roadway over which the Sultan passes, surround the mosque in which he worships and are packed into the grounds until their red fezzes and glistening bayonets light up the entire park. There are regiments of Nubians, Soudanese, Albanians, Arabs, Syrians, Kurds, Turkestanese, Bokharans, Georgians, Circassians and other races unknown to us, which cannot be seen elsewhere. The red fez, white turbans, gold lace, stripes and sashes, white gloves, red and green banners and the glitter of the arms make a brilliant combination, and one must acknowledge that the soldiers of the Sultan are fine-looking fellows, although they may be as wicked and as cruel as represented. They are all Moslems. No Christian is admitted to the army, but every Christian, Jew and Gentile subject of military age is required to furnish a Moslem substitute. There are numerous military bands playing modern music very poorly, and it may gratify Mr. Sousa to know that his marches are as popular in Turkey as elsewhere. The pashas and generals wear dazzling uniforms, covered with gold braid and lace, and other officers, bedecked with equal brilliancy, seem innumerable. The grounds of the palace suddenly become an ocean of gold lace and red fezzes.

When a carriage arrived with a black man upon the box in the footman’s place, we knew it brought ladies from the harem with a eunuch in charge. While all black men are not eunuchs, all eunuchs are black. They are brought from Africa and Arabia when children and are purchased like other slaves. The Sultan’s wives and sisters usually attend the Selamlik, but have their own place in the mosque partitioned off by screens. They cannot even enter the same door with their sovereign master. He must pray alone. Only the Sheik-ul-Islam, the high priest of the Moslems, or some great mufti designated to represent him, is admitted, whose presence is necessary to carry out the ritual.

The guardian of the harem, the kizlar-aghasi, or chief eunuch, who ranks next to the grand vizier and the Sheik-ul-Islam, was present, having in charge four sultanas. Each had her own carriage drawn by white horses and a military escort and was attended by ladies-in-waiting. Three of the Sultan’s sons rode on horseback among the pashas that formed his bodyguard, and another, a little chap about ten years old, had a tiny brougham drawn by ponies similar to that used by Tom Thumb. He was accompanied by his tutor, an officer of the army, and by a little aide-de-camp of his own age, a miniature imitation of those who attended his imperial father. The little prince was in the uniform of a colonel of the army, wearing a sword and baby revolvers, and his aide was dressed to correspond.

Another carriage, one of the latest arrivals, was occupied by a little girl—one of the Sultan’s daughters, attended by a woman with unveiled face, wearing a violet satin gown. Hence we knew her to be a foreigner and were told that she was the little sultana’s French governess. We noticed that she sent one of her attending eunuchs with a coin to a crippled beggar who caught her eye outside the gates.

After the carriages came two covered vans like those used in the United States to move furniture. They backed up to the entrance of the mosque and discharged a lot of rugs, chairs, chests and other things that were carried inside, but I could not find out what they were for or why they should be delivered just at this time. Then a squad of servants in long white robes came out of the mosque, washed the marble steps and dried them carefully with cloths, after which they spread a long rug that reached from the gravel roadway to the vestibule, so that His Majesty’s feet might not touch the vulgar earth, and fastened it down with brass rods. Then appeared a dozen carts loaded with sand, which was sprinkled along the roadway to absorb the moisture and deaden the noise of the wheels. When these preparations were complete the notes of a trumpet were heard in the distance—the signal that the Sultan had left the palace and was on his way. A white-robed muezzin with a big turban appeared upon the balcony of the beautiful minaret and gave the conventional call to prayer, only his cry was louder and the wail more prolonged than usual. Two columns of pashas and generals in brilliant uniform, on horseback, appeared around the curve, riding slowly, and when the leaders reached the steps of the mosque they opened ranks, facing each other, and formed an aisle for the Sultan to pass through. They were an additional guard for his safety.

The general of the army, a stern-looking man with an intellectual forehead, large gray eyes, a Roman nose and a grizzled beard, mounted upon a magnificent charger, next appeared, surrounded by his staff. Formerly Osman Pasha, the hero of the Russo-Turkish war, held this position and attended his sovereign regularly each Friday until his death. Closely following him, surrounded by a squad of officers running on foot, came a low carriage drawn by a pair of beautiful white horses, in which sat Abdul Hamid, the Sultan of Turkey and the successor of the Prophet of Islam. On the opposite seat was the minister of war—one more precaution—and it is said that the standing order to the bodyguard is to shoot down that official instantly in case an attack is made upon the Sultan. He is held responsible for the safety of his imperial master, and if the protection provided by him proves inadequate his punishment is death. Riza Pasha, the present minister of war, is a large, fat man, so large that the diminutive figure of the Sultan looked very small by contrast. Abdul Hamid is slight of stature and weighs only 135 pounds. He looks like the late Jay Gould and the late Matias Romero, for many years Mexican ambassador to the United States. He wore a shabby military overcoat and a red fez. His face is very melancholy. His eyes are large and have a wandering look. He is said to be the saddest man on earth, and he looks it. An escort of young officers on foot followed the carriage, the Sultan’s aides-de-camp and secretaries, and as the pageant proceeded everybody saluted and bowed. The crowd outside the gates cheered, but were not very enthusiastic. The Sultan’s eyes took in everything. They surveyed the scene with extraordinary rapidity. His officers say that he never overlooks anything that is amiss. He can see where a button is off the coat of a soldier as he rides by.

The imperial group was followed by an empty phaeton drawn by a pair of white horses with gold-mounted harness and half-blankets of leopard skin, and also by five saddle horses—the most beautiful animals you ever saw—so that the Sultan could choose among them if he should take the whim to ride back to the palace from the ceremony. As he passed the pilgrims he bowed to them several times. When he reached the mosque he stopped upon the steps, turned around, faced them and bowed and bowed again, while they uttered the peculiar wail that I have described. He then entered the vestibule, followed by the minister of war and several of his aides.

While the Sultan was at prayer strips of matting were unrolled upon the pavement, and the pilgrims, swarming out, kneeled upon it with their faces toward Mecca and went through their devotions, a priest leading them. This continued for half an hour or so, until the Sultan reappeared, got into the phaeton, took the reins in his own hands and drove back to the palace surrounded by his aides-de-camp and secretaries on foot, who are compelled to run at full speed to keep up with him. This pageant is witnessed every Friday, but it is conducted with so many safeguards and precautions that the military display is not seen at its full effect.

There is no particular place for the burial of Sultans. Each Sultan usually builds his own tomb, according to his own taste and extravagance, but throughout the city may be found several turbets, or tombs, containing the bodies of one or more Sultans with their favorite wives beside them. The graves are covered with plain cenotaphs of stuccoed brick four or five feet high and seven or eight feet long, draped with covers of black broadcloth or velvet, exquisitely embroidered with silver or gold, and upon them are usually several cashmere shawls of the very finest texture, fabrics of priceless value, gifts and tributes from neighboring kings and governors. Distinguished men, Sultans and others, are buried in the different mosques, the most sacred being that of Eyub Ansari, the standard-bearer and most intimate companion of the Prophet Mohammed, who was killed by the Arabs at the siege of Constantinople, A.D. 668. His burial-place was revealed in a dream to a celebrated priest during the attack of Mohammed II. upon Constantinople, and its discovery inflamed the fanaticism of the Turkish soldiers to such a degree that their next attack upon the city was irresistible. After the capture Mohammed II. erected the mosque of Eyub upon the site of the grave, and it is held so sacred that no Christian has ever been allowed to enter the gates of the walls that surround it, or even to live in the neighborhood. It is a beautiful building of white marble, with a large dome, two small domes and many semi-domes, and two graceful minarets. It stands on the banks of the Golden Horn about five miles from the city, and upon the accession of a new Sultan a ceremony corresponding to the coronation of a Christian sovereign takes place there. After performing an elaborate service of prayer the new Sultan is girded with the sword of Osman, the founder of the dynasty, by the superior of the dervishes. The sword of Osman always lies upon the tomb of Eyub, constantly watched by relays of the priests and monks who have charge of the temple. The tomb is of silver gilt and elaborate workmanship, covered with a cloth of gold, surrounded by a high gilt railing and overhung with many costly lamps.

At the village is a factory in which are made the fezzes worn by the soldiers of the Turkish army.

A STREET OF CONSTANTINOPLE