SCENES IN TURKEY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXV, Issue 8986, 25 February 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

SCENES IN TURKEY.

CELEBRATION OF A GREEK FEAST. A DOWNTRODDEN PEOPLE. AT THE SACRED WELL OF BALOUKLI.

NE of the most popular pilgrimages around Con- , stantinople is, without doubt, that to the " Fountain of tho Fishes," or Baloukli. This festival is celebrated on the first Friday after Easter (0. S.), and

is made the occasion of a grand fair, as well as sacred pilgrimage, for on this day the waters of the cistern are said to possess peculiar miraculous power. Everybody has either heard or read the legend attaching to the fishes that are sporting in this holy fountain. How a good friar was cooking fish in an old monastery near this spot, when a brother friar rushed in, and, in breathless haste, announced that Byzantium was taken by the Moslem hordes. The brother with the frying-pan exclaimed he would sooner believe those half-fried fishes would jump from the pan into the water close by. Hardly had he spoken, when, lo ! the fishes jumped into the cistern, and their descendants are still to be seen there, and, to testify to the truth of the legend, one of their sides is brown, the other red.

From the earliest days of Moslem rule this has been an orthodox Greek pilgrimage, but of late years Greeks by no means furnish the whole contingent of visitors. Many Armenians and Turks, also, believe in the healing power of this sacred fountain. and countless numbers resort to it not only from Constantinople and its suburbs, but from distant towns and villages, for its virtues are heralded far and wide/

Formerly none were excluded, but it was found that such immense gatherings of those afflicted with "all the ills that flesh is heir to" spread many a fearful contagion. At length "the powers that be" decreed that none should come whose disease was at all contagious. Now you see

the blind, the halt, the deaf, those subject to epilepsy, countless scores, in short, of wretched human beings flocking here, and —such is the power of their blind faith —returning bearing bottles and jugs of the blessed water to heal afflicted friends left at home. Nothing can be more romantic than a drive to Baloukli, a good part of the way over a very ancient, but well-preserved Roman road, past the " Seven Towers," the remains of the palace of Belisarius, and the crumbling walls of the city. Especially is it interesting at this time, when .the road is filled with the most picturesque groups .and fantastic turnouts. One of the most noteworthy is the bullock carriage of an Armenian family, in which are often seated ten or twelve of all ages, on cushions and soft rugs, eating their lunch and taking in the sights as they creep along, the oxen half covered with bright worsted tassels and finery, and glittering about the head with beads and gold foil, as talismen to keep off" theevil eye." Sometimes a long, curved stick extends backward from each yoke, adorned with gay Again you may see a reckless Greek urging his good hack at> the top of his

speed (when not prevented by the crowd); then you are attracted by a. stately Turk moving majestically along, the hand of his froom resting on the neck of his well-fed orse, his pipe-bearer walking just five paces behind. But more characteristic still are tho groups of closely-veiled Turkish women seated on the low walls that line the way, or scattered in quiet groups smoking cigarettes, and looking on with pleased interest while the carriages in which they have driven out await their pleasure. This whole region has been the scene of so many bloody contests for tho site of empire that every square foot of ground is historic. Each battered tower and crumbling battlement tell a tale of carnage end

conquest, as do the miles upon miles of cemeteries that stretch away in the distance, together with the more modern and strongly-built walls that hedge you in, long stretches of which are formed of the headstones of past generations that have been thus utilised and their places occupied by more recent erections. lam told that mourners following their friends to their graves in these old cemeteries are often shocked by the sickening sight of a pile of human bones, thrown aside to give place for the one now seeking a resting-place. You move on 6lowly with the throng that is, like tho flowing of a river—until, as you approach Baloukli, your ear catches a sound like the roar of old ocean in a storm ; but soon you find it is simply the mingled voices of the vast throng already collected in the well-shaped cemeteries in the immediate vicinity of the church and holy cistern. It is mostly a very sedate and decorous crowd you find here, though the man with the monkey and the bear, Punch and Judy with tho hand-organ, the clown with his tinkling bells, the " flying horses," all are here, together with a few tents in which are exhibited the usual monstrosities.

The vendors of savoury viands to refresh the inner-man are plentifully scattered about, and appear to be reaping a rich harvest, but nowhere do you see a beverage moro stimulating than coffee offered for sale. For the most part, the people seem to find full satisfaction in sitting about in groups on horizontal gravestones, eating, chatting, or meditatively smoking the narga/ie (water pipe) or cigarette. The elderly ones look on with pleased interest when occasionally a number of youths engage in that most monotonous of all sports, the Armenian dance. Right democratic it is, too, for anyone can enter the charmed circle without an invitation, and as silently depart whenever the fancy takes them. The dance begings by each placing his hand on the shoulder of his neighbour, or by firmly grasping a handkerchief held by the one next him ; they then move slowly around in a circle, poising first on one foot, then on the other, much as you have seen a chicken do on a frosty morning, the whilo keeping time to the discordant grinding of a hand-organ or the rattle of the tambourine. Thus they spin round and round for hours, the leader alone appearing to make any exertion. The most who assemble here on this day are of the peasantry and labouring class, as this Easter week—is the greatest holiday of the whole year. They think nothing of making long pilgrimages on foot to meet their friends, with a view of great social enjoyment, as well as receiving a benefit from " the moving of the water"paying their devotions at some shrine and having the golden cross pressed to their lips by a priest—all of which empties their pockets of "piasters," but tills their hearts with gladness. One scans such an .assembly as this almost in vain when looking for any of those national characteristics which made Greece so long foremost among the nations of the earth. Years of oppression have so degraded those people that now they appear only fitted for the position they occupy in Turkey, and you are tempted to conclude that this priest-ridden condition is best for them at this time and under this Government. But I cannot resist the conviction that if the least hope of success dawned upon them they would rise en masse and strike for freedom. The peasantry of the Grecian isles are more unmixed in blood and of a higher type than those found in and about this great metropolis. We see hero some in their picturesque native costume, which, when carefully arranged, is one of the most becoming and effective in the world. The church of Boloukli is very ancient. In the insurrection of IS2I it suffered very much, but at the close of the movement it was rebuilt, with Russian help, in a more magnificent marmot 1 . One descends a flight of broad marble steps to reach the main entrance, as the church is mostly underground. The walls are profusely decorated with gilding and large, rude paintings. One represents this globe of ours just emerging from chaos ; another, Eve rising from the side of prostrate Adam ; then you see the pair in the garden of Eden, and again when sorrowfully bidding it adieu. There are many images of saints, some of them perfectly encased in heavy platings of pure gold and silver, the offerings of wealthy devotees. After mingling with the worshippers for a time we were conducted by a back stairway to a dimly-lighted gallery, where you look down on a scene that at first impresses you as "Pandemonium let loose." Such a scrambling, pressing, and crowding to secure a small cup of holy water! Here you see one man wetting his inflamed eyes with the precious fluid ; there one washing a festering wound; others pouring it over their heads, their hands, or crippled feet, while some are seen drinking it with a firm faith that is truly admirable.

As soon as a satisfactory supply of water has been obtained, all press their way to a counter where tapers are purchased and placed before some favourite shrine; the taper lighted, a few small coins deposited in the box provided, then the attendant priest is resorted to, who gives his benediction, a few more coins are bestowed, and the devotee departs in peace. The pool where the fish are said to be is so darkly shaded that though young eyes peer ever so earnestly into its depths, they are doomed to live on in ignorance regarding them. Close by this church of "Our Lady of Boloukli" is a very old Armenian cemetery, which is a curious place to wander through. The gravestones all lie horizontally, and are coverod with inscriptions and devices representing the various trades and occupations of their occupants when dwelling on this mundane sphere. Often, too, the manner of their death is portrayed, especially if they happen to have been of sufficient note to have met with capital execution. In that case the severed head is resting on the hands or hip of the distinguished victim.

The Saturday following Easter is also a special day for visiting 'Boloukli, but as it is the day for the higher classes, the crowd will not be so great nor the scene so interesting. The real popular fete was to-day. —Lotter in San IJrancisco Chronicle.