Michael Greenhalgh Islamic Architecture Through

Islamic Architecture through Western Eyes
Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

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Islamic Architecture
through Western Eyes
Volume 1
Spain, Turkey, India and Persia
By
Michael Greenhalgh
LEIDEN | BOSTON

Cover illustration: Agra, Uttar Pradesh, India: the Chini Ka Rauza, or Tomb of Afzai Khan Shirazi, Prime
Minister to Shah Jahan. Built 1635, and seen here in a print of 1844 by William Henry Sleeman, a British
administrator; at that date, a lieutenant-colonel in the Bengal Army, and later a major-general.
The complete endnotes are available at https://doi.org/10.6084/10.6084/m9.figshare.21229334.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at https://catalog.loc.gov

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022947601
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Contents
Preface for the Three Volumes IX

List of Illustrations xi
1 Introduction 1
1 Overview 1
2 Crusades in East and West 4
3 Contacts through Trade Trigger Westernised Modernisation 5
4 Constantinople 7
5 Arrangement of the Book 7
2 Churches, Mosques and Travellers 9

1 Westerners Travel around the East 9
1.1 Maps and Street Plans 11
2 Ambassadors Study the Empire 15
2.1 Prosperity 17
2.2 Amenability 18
2.3 Survivability 18
3 Viewing Mosque Architecture 19
3.1 Mosques, Churches and Antiquities: The Diet of Greece and Rome 21
4 Drawing Mosque Exteriors and Interiors 26
5 A Conflicting Mix of Ideas and Beliefs 29
6 Forgotten? Westerners and the Eastern Crusades 30
7 Dress and Doctors 32
8 Western Habits and Actions Offend Muslims: Footwear and
Spitting 33
9 The End of Islam? The Empire in Decline? 36
9.1 Disparities between West and East 39
9.2 Dilapidated Buildings and Imperial Decline 40
10 The Various Inhabitants of the Empire 42
11 Architecture in the Empire: Wood, Maintenance and
Competence 44
11.1 Wooden Houses 44
11.2 Maintenance of Mosques and Other Foundations 46
11.3 The Turks as Builders 47
12 Advice to Western Travellers from Western Authors 49
12.1 The Costs of Travel 49
13 East Is East: The Development of Curiosity Travel 50
13.1 Writing Travel Books 53
13.2 The Illustrated Book 56
vi Contents
3 Spain 60
1 Christians versus Muslims 60
2 The Alhambra, Granada (Reconquered 1492) 61
3 Charles V and Architecture 66
4 Córdoba: the Great Mosque (Mezquita) 69
4.1 Adverse Criticisms of the Mezquita 73
4.2 Madinat al-Zahra Near Córdoba 76
5 Seville (Recaptured in 1248) 76
6 Girault de Prangey and Arab Architecture 77
4 Constantinople and Adrianople with a Note on Greece 84

1 The Imperial Firman 84
2 The Ottoman Building Programme 89
3 Collecting Manuscripts in Constantinople 91
4 Adrianople 93
4.1 Üç Şerefeli Mosque 94
4.2 Selimiye Mosque 95
4.3 The Beyazidiye 99
5 Constantinople 99
6 Cityscape: “‘Tis Distance Lends Enchantment to the View” 100
6.1 Domes and Minarets 103
6.2 Other Points of View 105
7 Cityscape: Strolling the Streets 108
7.1 An Overview of Mosques 109
7.2 Mosques and Cleanliness 113
8 Seeing Hagia Sophias Everywhere They Look: Royal Mosques 115
8.1 The Beyazide/Bajazet 119
8.2 Hagia Sophia 120
8.3 Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century Descriptions 122
8.4 Eighteenth Century Descriptions 125
8.5 Nineteenth Century Descriptions 126
8.6 Nineteenth Century Criticisms – and Spolia 129
8.7 Slippers and Bad Behaviour 134
8.8 Mosaics 136
8.9 Later Nineteenth Century Opinions 141
9 Domes, Minarets, and Dimensions 143
9.1 Domes and Their History in the West 145
9.2 A Note on Christopher Wren 148
9.3 Domes and Their History in the East 149
9.4 The Dome of Hagia Sophia 152
10 Some Constantinople Mosques Visited by Travellers 155
10.1 Kuchuk H. Sophia 155
Contents vii
10.2 Sultan Achmet (1609–1616) 156

10.3 Süleymaniye (1550–57) 162
10.4 Early Accounts 162
10.5 The Nineteenth Century 163
10.6 Hagia Sophia as the Model for the Süleymaniye 165
10.7 Marble and Porphyry Spolia 167
10.8 Yeni Cami, the New Mosque of the Valide Sultan (1597ff, Completed
Only in 1665) 170
10.9 Scutari: Mosque of Sultan Sélim III 171
10.10 Eyup Too Sacred for Christians 172
11 Topkapi / Seraglio 174
12 Greece: Athens 177
13 Tripolitza 179
5 Asia Minor 188

1 On and Off the Beaten Track 188
2 Aleppo 190
3 Alexandria Troas 194
4 Ankara 195
5 Ayasoluk – Selçuk – Ephesus 196
5.1 Identifying the Sites 196
5.2 Isa Bey Mosque and Church of Saint John 197
6 Bursa 202
7 Cyzicus 205
8 The Dardanelles and Its Cannon 206
9 Erzerum 207
10 Karaman, Mut and Nigde 209
11 Konya 211
11.1 Tiles and Travellers 214
12 Lampsacus 216
13 Magnesia / Manisa 216
14 Miletus 219
15 Mylasa 220
16 Nicaea 220
17 Pergamum 222
18 Smyrna 223
6 India and Persia 227

1 India 227
1.1 Agra 228
1.2 Ahmadabad 234
1.3 Aurangabad 235
viii Contents
1.4 Bijapur 236

1.5 Delhi 238
1.6 Fatehpur Sikri 241
1.7 Golconda 242
1.8 Sikandra 243
2 Persia 244
3 Collecting Persian Tiles 247
3.1 Ardebil 249
3.2 Erivan 251
3.3 Isfahan 252
3.4 Kashan 258
3.5 Mashhad 259
3.6 Nakhchivan 262
3.7 Persepolis 263
3.8 Qazvin 263
3.9 Qom 264
3.10 Samarra 266
3.11 Semnan 267
3.12 Shiraz 268
3.13 Soltaniyeh 270
3.14 Tabriz 276
3.15 Teheran 283
4 A Miscellany of Mosques 284
4.1 Ahar 284
4.2 Ani 284
4.3 Baku 284
4.4 Benares 285
4.5 Diarbekir 285
4.6 Ghazni 285
4.7 Karbala 286
4.8 Kirkuk 287
4.9 Merv 287
4.10 Varamin 288
7 Coda: Mecca and Medina 293
Bibliography – Sources 297

Bibliography – Modern Scholars 332
Index 338
Illustrations 345

Preface for the Three Volumes
Islamic Architecture through Western Eyes offers a commented anthology of

western descriptions of Islamic buildings, with the accounts for each structure
arranged in chronological order. The majority are from the seventeenth cen-
tury through the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries as travel from the West
became easier, more popular, and cheaper, thanks to viable roads and then
steamships and railways. The anthology ends about the time of the First World
War, which changed forever most of the countries it covers.
The anthology will appear in three volumes, each volume independent of
the other two, and each with its own complete bibliography. Each will offer
often lengthy accounts of the studied buildings, referenced in the printed book
as brief notes (author, date, page) at the end of each chapter, and in full https://
doi.org/10.6084/m9.figshare.21229334. [#Exact URL s for successive volumes to
be added later]. These source notes will total up to some three hundred thou-
sand words for each volume. There follows a tasting list of the contents of each
volume.
Volume 1: Spain, Turkey, India and Persia, the book you are now reading,
examines the more northern latitudes, beginning with Iberia, Islamic for some
eight hundred years from the Umayyad Conquest of 711. In Córdoba, con-
quered by Ferdinand II of Castile in 1236, the Mezquita immediately became
a church. The whole peninsula became Christian after the fall of the Nasrid
Kingdom of Granada in 1492, when the Alhambra at Granada became the
Court of Ferdinand and Isabella. We shall examine why, apart from these stars,
so few Islamic buildings survive throughout the peninsula. Our attention then
moves to Constantinople, as did that of western states who sent ambassadors
to the Ottoman Empire (settled there in 1453), where they are the source of
much information on that city’s buildings. A note on Greece, in Ottoman
hands until 1829, helps clarify how the Ottomans dealt with the antique, espe-
cially its marble, as do a multitude of accounts of travel into the large expanses
of Asia Minor. The volume ends with a brief survey from Arabia to Persia and
British India, offering accounts by traders, politicians, and diplomats, many of
whom journeyed through Turkey to get there. Each of these countries deserves
its own volume, and perhaps the notes here will inspire full accounts.
Volume 2: Syria, Egypt and North Africa will examine southerly lati-
tudes, namely the Mediterranean from Syria and the Holy Land, Lebanon,
Egypt, Algeria, Tunisia, and Morocco. Jerusalem, much visited by pilgrims of
three faiths, made its money from shepherding them (often with entrance
fees) through what were now Muslim, not Christian buildings; Jews could
face charges to pray at the Temple Wall, Christians to baptise in the Jordan.

x Preface for the Three Volumes
Damascus attracted attention for its Umayyad Mosque, which could have been
as difficult to access as the late seventh century Dome of the Rock itself. Easier
to visit were the mosques and tombs of Cairo, which boasts the finest collec-
tion of Islamic architecture anywhere in the world. Selim I conquered the
Mamluk Sultanate in 1517, signalling the end of Cairo’s years of architectural
glory. This is because the heavy Ottoman hand eventually nurtured a version of
modernity for which trade imports and finance, both from the West, were the
main motors. In North Africa, mosques were (and remain) forbidden to non-
Muslims (except for Algeria and Tunisia when they were under French control),
and hence our travellers had to resort to third party accounts. Morocco was to
remain independent, its architecture safe from foreign hands. Not so in Algeria
or (later) Tunisia where, although many monuments survived and indeed were
assiduously restored (as in Cairo), French hegemony – westernised modernisa-
tion again – destroyed many Islamic buildings and town layouts.
Volume 3: Palaces around the Mediterranean studies only civil architec-
ture. We know of many early and prestigious palace complexes (Samarra,
Konya), but have no descriptions until Topkapi Sarayi in Constantinople was
visited by ambassadors and their secretaries, who reckoned assessing imperial
strength in part by what they saw there. Palaces proliferated (with a veritable
rash of them in Constantinople) because, in contradistinction to the attitude
in the West, where some survived for centuries (Louvre, Buckingham Palace,
Karlsruhe) Islamic rulers were generally averse to the continuing occupation
of earlier structures. Hence, most of the palaces we deal with in this volume
are late constructions, dating from the seventeenth to the nineteenth centu-
ries, all rich in fittings and ornaments if not (to western eyes) in architectural
form. In Damascus, some sumptuous eighteenth and nineteenth century pal-
aces were much visited and described at length, perhaps as compensation for
the difficulties of entering the Umayyad Mosque. Remembering Ibn Khaldun’s
fourteenth century description of how such contents were moved around and
their original structures were left to rot, we can understand why few earlier
palaces have survived into our century. Travellers’ descriptions often allow us
to assess the impact of western trade, taste, and imports on their decoration
and fitments, and to examine the encroachment of westernised modernism,
responsible according to many commentators for the degradation of Islamic
styles.
The full endnotes can be accessed via this QR code and the following dynamic
link: https://doi.org/10.6084/m9.figshare.21229334.

Illustrations
1 Boullaye le Gouz in Levantine dress 1653 347

2 William Lithgow in “Turkish” dress 1611–12 347
3 Ali Bey self portrait 1816 347
4 John Ireland in Arab dress, travelling 1851–56 348
5 Thomas Cook: A cruise dragoman 348
6 Thomas Cook: Palestine encampment in 1903 348
7 Owen Jones: Granada, Alhambra, section 1842 349
8 Owen Jones: Granada, Alhambra, Plan of complete hill 1842 349
9 Owen Jones: Granada, Alhambra, Patio de la Aberca 1842 349
10 James Murphy: Granada, Alhambra, Hall of the Two Sisters 1813 349
11 Owen Jones: Granada, Alhambra, a capital and decoration 1842 349
12 Philibert-Joseph Girault de Prangey: Córdoba, Mezquita, Villa Viciosa
Chapel 1841 350
13 James Murphy: Córdoba: Mezquita 1813 350
14 Ricardo Velazquez Bosco: Aqueduct to Medinet al Zahra 1912 350
15 Philibert-Joseph Girault de Prangey: Palermo, Zisa 1841 351
16 Philibert-Joseph Girault de Prangey: Palma da Majorca, Arab baths 1841–2 351
17 Antoine Melling: Constantinople, panorama 1819 352
18 Guillaume-Joseph Grelot: Constantinople, S Sophia exterior 1680 352
19 Guillaume-Joseph Grelot Constantinople, S Sophia interior 1680 352
20 Guillaume-Joseph Grelot Constantinople, S Sophia interior 1680 352
21 Guillaume-Joseph Grelot: How Muslims pray 1680 352
22 Guillaume-Joseph Grelot: Constantinople, Sultan Achmet Mosque 1680 353
23 Thomas Knox: Constantinople, dervishes 1879 353
24 Thomas Knox: Constantinople, dogs 1879 353
25 James Dallaway: Table of church and mosque dimensions 1799 354
26 Giuseppe Rosaccio: Constantinople, plan 1598 354
27 Simon Pinargenti: Constantinople, plan 1573 354
28 Pieter Coecke van Aelst: Constantinople, Hippodrome 1533 355
29 Jean Baptiste Marchebeus: Constantinople, Hippodrome 1839 355
30 William Hogarth: Constantinople, Hippodrome by 1723–24 355
31 Karl Otto Hartmann: Konya, Sahib Atta Mosque, photograph 1910 356
33 Gertrude Bell: Konya city wall, photograph 1900 356
34 Charles Texier: Konya, city gate 1849 356
35 Charles Texier: Konya, Palace ruins 1849 356
36 Konya: Ince Minare Minaret, modern photograph 357
37 Konya: Palace tiles, now Karatay Medrese Ceramic Museum 357

xii Illustrations
38 Konya: Palace tiles, now Karatay Medrese Ceramic Museum 357

39 Edward Falkener: Ayasoluk/Ephesus, Sultan Selim Mosque 1862 358
40 Ayasoluk/Ephesus, Sultan Selim Mosque, modern photograph 358
41 Ayasoluk/Ephesus, Sultan Selim Mosque, 19thC photograph 358
42 Edward Falkener: Ayasoluk/Ephesus, Sultan Selim Mosque, interior 1862 358
43 Charles Texier: Ayasoluk/Ephesus, Sultan Selim Mosque, 1862 358
44 Charles Texier: Ankara, Temple of Augustus 1839 359
45 Joseph Pitton de Tournefort: Ankara, view from a distance 1718 359
46 Pierre Trémaux: Miletus, Ilyas Bey Mosque, 1858 photograph 359
47 Charles Texier: Erzerum, city view with imaret gateway 1842 360
48 Charles Texier: Bursa, the Green Mosque 1839 360
49 Ahmed Djemal Pasha: Aleppo, citadel with palace remains 1918 360
50 Peter Mundy: Sikandra, Akbar’s Mausoleum 1632 361
51 William Henry Sleeman: Sikandra, Interior of Akbar’s Mausoleum 1844– 361
52 James Fergusson: Agra, Mausoleum of Itimad ud Dowla 1869 361
53 William Henry Sleeman: Delhi, Qutub Minar 1844 361
54 Le Tour du Monde: Fatehpur Sikri, the mosque, print after a
photograph 1872 362
55 John B. Ireland: Bijapur, the Gol Gumbaz (Tomb of Mohammed
Shah) 1859 362
56 William Henry Sleeman: Agra, China Tomb, “now in ruins,” 1844 362
57 James Fergusson & Major Gill: Aurungabad, stereo photos 1864 362
58 Ida Pfeiffer: Agra, Taj Mahal 1851 363
59 Agra: Taj Mahal, modern photograph 363
60 James Fergusson: Bijapur, Jumma Masjid 1876 364
61 James Fergusson: Bijapur, Gol Gumbaz, 1866 photograph 364
62 James Fergusson: Bijapur, Roza complex, 1866 photograph 364
63 Charles Texier: Tabriz, Blue Mosque, section 1842 365
64 Friedrich Sarre: Tabriz, Blue Mosque, 1901 photograph 365
65 Charles Texier: Sultanieh, view of the mosque/mausoleum 1842 365
66 Charles Texier: Sultanieh, section of the mosque/mausoleum 1842 365
67 Charles Texier: Tabriz, Blue Mosque, gateway 1842 366
68 Jules Laurens: Tabriz, Blue Mosque, gateway, painting 1846–48 366
69 James Baillie Fraser: Mashad, Imam Riza Mausoleum 1834 367
70 Friedrich Sarre: Samarcand, tiles from unnamed monument in his
collection 1901 367
71 Friedrich Sarre: Mashad, tile from Imam Riza Mausoleum in his
collection 1901 367
72 Sir Robert Ker Porter: Ispahan, panorama of the Meidan 1821 368
73 André Daulier-Deslandes: Ispahan, Meidan 1673 368

Illustrations xiii
74 Charles Texier: Ispahan, section of the mosque 1842 368

75 L’Illustration, Journal Universel: Ispahan in the popular press 1846–7 369
76 James Fergusson: Ghazni, minaret 1876 370
77 Godfrey Vigne: Kabul, the mosque at Babar’s tomb 1840 370
78 James Morier: Ardebil, mosque 1818 370
79 Sir Robert Ker Porter: Nazirabad, caravanserai 1821 371
80 William Macmichael: Hafsa Sultan, caravanserai 1819 371
81 Philibert-Joseph Girault de Prangey: Rome from Trajan’s Column,
photograph, late 1840s? 372
82 Anonymous: Constantinople, panorama, later 19th century
photograph 372
83 Germain Bapst: Construction of a panorama building, photograph 1891 372
84 Istanbul Historical Museum: Conquest of Constantinople, panorama 372
85 Thomas Allom: Poster advertising his panorama 1850 373
86 Jacob Spon: Athens, view 1674 374
87 Jean Le Tavernier: Siege of Constantinople in BnF MS Fr 9087 374
88 William Wrighte: Design for a folly 1790 374
89 Francis Hervé: Constantinople, street view 1837 375
90 Thomas Allom: Constantinople, street view 1839 375
91 Jaspar Isaac: Constantinople as he imagined it 1583–1624 375
92 Carsten Niebuhr: View of Mecca, Great Mosque 1773 376
93 Carsten Niebuhr: View of Medina, Great Mosque 1773 376
94 Mecca: Great Mosque Courtyard, modern photograph 376
95 Jean Le Tavernier: Bertrand de la Broquière (in the East 1432–33) offers a
Koran to Duke Philip of Burgundy in BnF MS Fr 9087 376

Chapter 1
Introduction
1 Overview
This survey traces the growing western interest in the architecture of Islam
from the First Crusade to about 1900, analysing westerners’ reactions to the
often splendid buildings they saw in the East and Iberia, and especially in the
Ottoman Empire.1 Rich mosques, tombs, and palaces, which often recycled
marble, granite, and porphyry from ancient and early Christian structures, form
one piece in the jigsaw of the development of architectural history, in the eigh-
teenth and especially the nineteenth centuries as, thanks to increasing travel,
the West expanded its knowledge of foreign forms. Naturally, the architecture
studied here is that visited by westerners, who travelled for a variety of reasons,
as we shall see, but none of whom had an examination of Islamic architecture
as their principal purpose. The following accounts deal with buildings accord-
ing to the dates when they were visited, and the locations are identified by
modern country names. Constantinople as the seat of Empire is of course a
focus, full of resident embassies from western states. Some of these, especially
the French ones of the marquis de Nointel, the comte de Choiseul-Gouffier,
and comte Andréossy, worked systematically to increase knowledge of the
Empire for their readers back home.[1]
There are many modern scholarly accounts of Christianity’s engagement
with Muslims, but few dealing largely with architecture rather than religion,
the military, trade, or social mores. There is plentiful information in travel-
lers’ accounts ranging from puzzlement and admiration to comparisons with
forms back home and condemnation of both the architecture and religion
of Islam. Unless they were simply converted churches or even earlier monu-
ments, mosques were usually of a form unknown in Europe, and sometimes
provoked comparisons with works back home (of which a memorable one is
Carlisle’s comparison of royal mausolea in Constantinople with that at Castle
Howard).[2]
1 Yerasimos 1991 is an essential source for fifteenth and sixteenth century travellers, for both
published books and for manuscripts. His inventory, covering some 340 pages, lists (when
possible) places visited page by page, and notable monuments, together with a bibliography
for each entry, and detailed maps. The introductory chapters detail access itineraries, as well
as visitors by country, and by type, with official missions and visits by nobles as most fre-
quent; followed by visits for pilgrimage, commerce, military, and scientific reasons.
© Michael Greenhalgh, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004524859_002Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

2 Chapter 1
Religion must necessarily form a leitmotif throughout the volume because

visits to the East were predicated on religion, trade, curiosity, politics, and
sometimes loot, or perhaps a mixture of these. Religion attracted pilgrims to
Jerusalem, where conspicuous Islamic monuments stood amongst Christian
ones. We shall see how opinions on the religion of Islam informed some visi-
tors’ assessments of monuments they saw and, similarly, how Muslim atti-
tudes to Christians wishing to visit their holy places could often frustrate any
adequate, let alone detailed knowledge of their architecture, whether for the
monuments of Jerusalem, Cairo, and Constantinople, or elsewhere in Islam,
from Córdoba and Tunis in the west to Delhi and Agra in the east.
One theme running through this volume is the difficulty Christians often
had in entering mosques. The first chapter is entitled Churches, Crusades,
Mosques, and we may be certain that the eastern Crusades did not bulk large in
the thoughts of nineteenth century westerners until Emmanuel Guillaume Rey
(1837–1916) pioneered the study of crusader castles. Muslim attitudes were far
different. Large communities of Christians and Jews living in the Empire were
taxed as inferior and often prohibited from entering mosques. This prohibition
could and often did extend to western travellers so that gaining entry some-
times became a three-way battle between enlighted officials kow-towing to
influential visitors or enchanted by the “modernism” the West represented, the
Muslim “street” (often described as fanatical in their opposition to Christians)
and the travellers themselves, curious to learn about such unusual architecture
forms. It is disappointing to realise that, had knowledgeable western visitors
gained access more easily to the Umayyad Mosque in Damascus before the
devastating fire of 1893, or to more of Cairo’s mosques before the equally dev-
astating “repairs” of the late nineteenth century, a topic briefly addressed in
the chapter on Cairo and Alexandria (both in Volume II), we would know more
about Islamic architecture, the study of which was consequently delayed.
Another theme we shall frequently encounter is the firman, which “denotes
any order or edict of the Ottoman sultan”2 (see especially the chapter on
Constantinople). Note that a firman in our realm of interest might not sim-
ply be a laissez-passer to enter a monument, but a guarantee of safe conduct
en route through the Empire, perhaps offering protection in the form of a
military escort, or other help were trouble encountered. Although not nec-
essary for merely setting foot in the Empire, a firman greased the wheels of
travel through its various provinces. Forbin, for example, in Jerusalem in 1819,
equipped with an Imperial firman, insisted on being allowed to “take views of
2 EoI_II_1991 s.v. farman.

Introduction 3
the city and adjoining territory. Abdil-Kerym, after a long explanation respect-
ing the object and the means, at length granted me this favour.”[3] Equally, a fir-
man was needed by local churches or synagogues to restore or rebuild, and this
was either grudgingly given or dependent upon money; thus in 1830 Brewer
found ruinous and impoverished buildings near Constantinople, so that “the
consequence is that monasticism in the vicinity of Constantinople is almost at
an end.”[4] Although generally useless without a firman, documents could also
be provided from home, as Bernard wrote in 1621: “Passeport du Roy, et autres
lettres nécessaires pour le voyageur de la terre Saincte.”[5]
A third theme is the inability of many of our travellers to provide detailed
architectural descriptions of the buildings they encountered. This is because
such education among the broad and literate population did not extend
beyond a knowledge of classical architecture, seen throughout Europe until
about the mid-nineteenth century as the sine qua non of quality and correct-
ness. Mosques could seem especially strange (not minarets, which were com-
parable to church bell towers), less so domes or large-scale structures, which
often provoked a comparison with monuments back home. Indeed, some trav-
ellers were fixated on such comparisons. Thus Ludovico de Varthema (1470–
1517), who took a Muslim name if not the religion[6] states,
Tous les monuments qu’il rencontre sur sa route sont comparés par lui à
ceux de Rome. Il estime que l’étendue de la ville du Caire égale celle de
Rome; la mosquée des Omeyyades à Damas lui rappelle Saint-Pierre et le
temple de la Mekke, le Colysée; il trouve que la mosquée de Taez [Yemen]
ressemble à l’église de Sainte-Marie-la-Rotonde.[7]
Terms for describing architecture were scarce, and only in the developing nine-
teenth century was an extensive vocabulary developed, together with an inter-
est in earlier architecture. As we follow strains of Gothic (sometimes equated
with Saracenic or Islamic forms) throughout the century, we should be aware
that interest does not equate with knowledge. Overconfidence in the restora-
tion of earlier decaying structures in the West (with Viollet le Duc as a prin-
cipal nightmare) was to spill over into mainly French “restorations” of Cairo
monuments. Lacking accurate drawings or photographs, our knowledge of
the earlier appearance of Islamic buildings is not much helped by tongue-tied
travellers, and perhaps even less by some “restorations.” Nevertheless, it is only
through our travellers that we can learn of how Islamic buildings were used,
visited, and decorated and (in Volume III: Palaces around the Mediterranean)
about the attractions of palaces long gone.

4 Chapter 1
2 Crusades in East and West
Following a request from the Byzantine Emperor for aid against the Seljuk Turks,
in 1095 Pope Urban II told a crowd in Clermont that he had been informed that
“a foreign people and a people rejected by God, had invaded lands belonging
to Christians, destroying them and plundering the local population.” The First
Crusade arrived before the walls of Jerusalem in 1099, over four hundred years
since Islam had captured the city and then sections of the depleted Byzantine
Empire. Even if it scarcely touched most later travellers, the idea of crusad-
ing survived well into the Renaissance, when new crusades were instituted,
because scholars and clerics, and of course the military, were well indoctri-
nated into the continuing dangers of Islamic (and then Ottoman) expansion-
ism (nor should we forget serious and bloody crusades against Protestants in
England (the Armada) and the Low Countries. These later expeditions are
addressed in the second volume, dedicated to Syria, Egypt and North Africa.
In the Renaissance West, governments could not forget the loss of
Constantinople to the Turks because they knew Islam still threatened. Some
four hundred years after Urban’s speech at Clermont, crusading still affected
both North Africa and Iberia. Granada fell to Ferdinand and Isabella in 1492,
ending over seven hundred years of Muslim occupation and building. Their
grandson, the Emperor Charles V, spent nearly a third of his life in Spain, and
yearned to undertake a crusade to the East, or to North Africa, whither the
Muslims from Spain had fled or been expelled. Vienna was besieged by the
Ottomans in 1529, and this triggered the prospect of further conflict. For exam-
ple, in 1538 Charles projected but never executed a plan to take Constantinople
with 60,000 men, 200 galleys and plenty of ships. He had evidently heeded the
call of Pope Paul III in 1535 that, while Suleiman was engaged in fighting fur-
ther east, the conquest of Constantinople was a “wonderful opportunity given
by God.” Yes, but success was difficult to achieve.
Leclercq, writing in 1881, admired the arts and sciences of those who had
built splendid palaces and marvellous mosques at Córdoba and Granada, but
saw the Reconquista as a turning point in their fortunes:
Les Maures n’ont cessé de dégénérer du jour où ils furent chassés d’Espagne.
Gouvernés tantôt par des princes faibles et ignorants, tantôt par des
tyrans sanguinaires, ils ont gardé leurs usages, leur langue, leur religion,
mais ils ont perdu les arts et les sciences, et cette nation autrefois si éclai-
rée s’est transformée en une horde de sauvages.[8]

Introduction 5
3 Contacts through Trade Trigger Westernised Modernisation
Western visitors ranged far and wide through the Ottoman Empire, assessing
where their goods might be profitably sold, and judging the strength of local
competition, found to be generally weak. Most visitors might have done better
to leave such tasks to local consuls whose business it was. But the general aim
was for a western takeover. Thus, as one visitor reported in 1796, Constantinople
would be an excellent centre for trade, if only the French were imported to do
the work: “un peuple qui fût aussi grand par son courage que par les succès de
son industrie et de ses arts, les Français en feraient la dominatrice des mers, la
reine des villes commerçantes, le séjour des sciences et le trône de la liberté.”[9]
Modernisation entailed not only westernisation, but also the concomitant
placing of religion at the personal not the state level – the French doctrine
of laïcité – both of which Ataturk promoted for the watchwords of the new
Turkey after the upheavals of the First World War.
Confining this volume to the Ottoman Empire tells only part of the story
of the West’s engagement with Islamic architecture, which also took place in
India under very different circumstances. All westerners were foreigners to the
Ottomans, and of course to the inhabitants of India. But there the British held
financial, military, and eventually imperial sway, with their officers and admin-
istrators often interested in local antiquities, making discoveries which were
published in the journals of local learned societies, such as the Asiatic Society
of Bengal (established 1784) and the Royal Asiatic Society (established 1824,
which dealt with Islamic North Africa as well). Naturally, Islamic architecture
was but one of their many interests.
There are two crucial events and their extensive consequences that affected
travel, influence, and financial direction in the nineteenth century Ottoman
Empire. The first was the Crimean War. Following Russian naval aggression in
1853, British and French armies defeated Russia in the Crimea in 1854–1856.
The war crippled the Empire financially, leading to vast loans and influence
from their victorious allies, and the opening up of some Islamic monuments.
Throughout the whole of the nineteenth century, Britain, France, and the
united Germany controlled or influenced large parts of the Ottoman Empire,
which aided the dissemination of knowledge about Islamic architecture.
The second event was the construction of the Suez Canal. French engineer
Ferdinand Lesseps (the son of the French political agent, and a friend of Said,
second successor to Muhammad Ali, ruling from 1854–63) began work on the
Suez Canal in 1859, and it opened in 1869, thereby placing Egypt in debt to

6 Chapter 1
European lenders, especially the French. The canal offered advantageous travel
to India, and the British were initially against the whole scheme. However,
in 1875 they snapped up Ismail’s four per cent of the Suez Canal Company’s
shares for a mere GBP of four million.
Trade, which in earlier years had meant the import of exotic and luxury
goods to the West, changed radically from the later eighteenth century. The
West had to find markets for its industrially produced products, and these
found favour in the East, where travellers’ reports confirm that displaying
designer labels is far from just a modern fashion. The need to trade, together
with the finance needed to encourage potentates to buy expensive products
(glass, chandeliers, gas, small arms, steamers, etc.) were the motors for the
modernisation of the Ottoman Empire and the pseudo-Ottoman dependen-
cies in North Africa.
Our travellers often remark on this creeping westernisation, and usually
decry its effects on the buildings they visit. If curiosity was one incentive
for well heeled travellers in earlier centuries, the nineteenth century arrival
in the East of passable roads and then railways and steamships visiting their
ports, led not only to increased trade in both directions, but also to increased
tourism, and then group travel, fed by well produced guidebooks. Westerners
were not only visiting old civilizations, but were carriers for a new polity. For
Thackeray, writing at Smyrna, and let us hope jocularly, it was the steamer that
carried civilization:
wherever the captain cries “Stop here” Civilisation stops, and lands in the
ship’s boat, and makes a permanent acquaintance with the savages on
shore.[10]
Travel broadens the mind, and it is ironic that travellers went east to see the
East, not the transplanted West. But like birds carrying seeds that were to
propagate foreign plants in far-off lands, so our travellers were helping the
natives paint the East in new imported colours, thereby spoiling what they
had come to see. From the mid-nineteenth century travel was ever easier – but
why head east when the simulacrum of an Arab street could be seen at exhibi-
tions in Europe or America, with imported Arabs, donkeys, etc., and coffee to
be enjoyed behind the mosque façade? Tourism, as we are well aware today,
eventually defeats its own purpose.

Introduction 7
4 Constantinople
The three cities of Jerusalem, Cairo and Constantinople have been chosen as
exemplars for the three volumes because they form, as it were, the tripos of
western experience, representing pilgrimage, trade and imperial authority
(Jerusalem and Cairo will be dealt with in detail in the second volume, entitled
Syria, Egypt and North Africa). Constantinople became a Muslim city only in
1453, so although the earlier Ottoman capitals of Bursa and Edirne established
the Empire’s developing architectural credentials, all her mosques post-date
Cairo’s best buildings. Visitors often combined Cairo with a visit to Jerusalem,
but Constantinople as capital of the Empire was the seat of ambassadors,
some of them keen to report on architecture and antiquities, and to welcome
visitors from their home country who had similar interests. The government
here was the focus for trade talks, and the usual starting point for westerners
to explore Anatolia or Syria. Some of them, taking Christianity as an archi-
tectural yardstick, were wont to dismiss her mosques as but inferior versions
of Hagia Sophia, although it was difficult not to be impressed by their size.
European visitors to Cairo did not see many mosques being built there, but
those in Constantinople did, and wrote about (for example) the materials and
labourers employed for the Süleymaniye and the Sultan Achmet. Many visitors
confined their attention to visiting some of the Royal Mosques (as they were
often called); these were expressions of Ottoman competence and grandeur,
and the government was usually eager to display them to admiring visitors.
Many, of course, were also captivated by the panoramic skyline of the city from
the water, far from any engagement with the locals or the dubious and narrow
streets, and equalled by few ports in Europe.
5 Arrangement of the Book
The following chapters explore especially British and French engagement

with Islamic architecture in Spain and then in the northern provinces of the
Ottoman Empire. They are supported by notes to the work of modern scholars,
and sources from earlier centuries. The text, references, and illustrations of the
book are extended by an online URL offering endnotes with extensive quota-
tions from earlier authors, as well as a comprehensive range of images of the
monuments and decorative arts discussed in the text.

8 Chapter 1
After a chapter offering an overview of Churches, Mosques, and Travellers,

the chapters proceed from west to east, with Spain and her various crusades
against her Moors followed by Adrianople and then Constantinople, the cen-
tre of the Ottoman Empire from 1453, concluding with some notes on Greece.
This chapter is followed by accounts of Asia Minor, where the Ottomans and
their predecesors built mosques before the capture of Constantinople. Asia
Minor was part of the land route to Persia and India, and India and Persia
deals with the British engagement in India, and then with European travel-
lers and traders and their admiration for Persian monuments. Short notes on
A Miscellany of Mosques finish this chapter. The book concludes with a short
Coda dealing with Mecca and Medina.
[1] bersolt_1918_214.
E [5] B
ernard_1621_25–34. [9] Howel_1796–7_156–157.
[2] C
arlisle_1855_41. [6] V
arthema_1888_XVII. [10] T
itmarsh_1846_93–94.
[3] F orbin_1819B_135. [7] V
arthema_1888_IX.
[4] Brewer_1830_174. [8] Leclercq_1881_4–5.

Chapter 2
Churches, Mosques and Travellers
1 Westerners Travel around the East
The Ottoman Empire and its expansionist tendencies were of continuing con-
cern to Europe from well before the 1453 conquest of Constantinople, and
many visitors were commissioned by governments to report back with suit-
able intelligence. Rycaut was one of many who was alarmed by the Empire,
arguing that
it hath been the happy fortune of the Turk to be accounted barbarous

and ignorant; for upon this perswasion Christian Princes have laid them-
selves open and unguarded to their greatest danger, contending together
for one Palm of land, whilst this puissant Enemy hath made himself mas-
ter of whole Provinces, and largely shared in the rich and pleasant pos-
sessons of Europe.[1]
Our travellers visited and sometimes toured the Ottoman Empire for reasons
of diplomacy, trade and curiosity about people, places, religion and monu-
ments. Some, like John Newberie in 1581–2,[2] were not interested in archi-
tecture; some, such as James Spilman in 1739,[3] were devoted exclusively to
trading opportunities. Others, such as John Fryer in 1698, mentioned mosques,
but offered no extensive descriptions.[4] Nor was it necessarily the case that
photography saw a blossoming of mosque photography. It did for some, such
as Friedrich Sarre, but we also find Williams Jackson in 1911 providing over two
hundred illustrations, mostly from photographs, but with nothing to say in
detail about architecture. Even in the twentieth century, authorities could still
be on their guard about photography. The same Williams Jackson, in Semnan
(Persia) in 1911, photographed the inside of a mosque, and this was reported
back to Teheran, without consequences, which “speaks well in general for the
growing spirit of toleration in Persia that no attempt at violence was offered
because of the unwitting offence, and also for the progressive tendency shown
in the immediate cognizance of the affair by the Semnan police.”[5]
Scholars were also sent out to collect manuscripts, artefacts and antiqui-
ties, for eastern goods had been fashionable throughout the West for centuries.
(They were to be found for example in Tuscany1 and in France, with Islamic
1 Mercurio 1995; Damiani 2002.

10 Chapter 2
glass featuring in the treasury at Saint Denis, of which Suger was Abbot from
1122. Along with ceramics, such glass was also popular during the Renaissance.2)
There is ongoing discussion about just how much Islam influenced western
religious and military architecture in the Middle Ages, but not enough about
our thirst for their decorative arts (textiles, ceramics, glass, and bronzes), dis-
played in our museums and churches treasuries (both topics largely absent
from the following pages).
Large cities were important foci, but visitors often learned more about archi-
tecture as they travelled hither and thither through these enormous empires,
hence the parade of chapters listed in the introduction. Persia was a focus for
western traders from the Renaissance, and we shall briefly examine the British
engagement with India, the only location where westerners wielded more
power than imams, and mosques were usually accessible without difficulty.
(Algeria and then Tunisia became French, as we shall see in Syria, Egypt and
North Africa, but there the imams generally ruled.)
A knowledge of the past and the history it offers is necessary to correctly
locate people, events and objects, as well as architecture. The developing study
of history is a feature of eighteenth century scholarship and, for our purposes,
of the history of art and architecture later in that century. Travellers from the
mid-nineteenth century could consult the potted history of monuments in
their travel guides, but earlier enquiry had to rely on pioneering scholarly stud-
ies, before popular works for the general market became available.3 (Goethe
was able to adjust to the unusual styles he saw in Italy, but then he was an
intellectual, with lines of contact with Winckelmann.) Most travellers had
been educated in the classics, and frequently compared what they saw in the
East with the glory that was Greece and the grandeur that was Rome, as well as
with signal modern monuments back home.
We should keep in mind that information about Islamic art and architecture
was incidental to the majority of travel plans, and until late in the nineteenth
century, there were no expeditions or societies commissioned specifically to
study mosques. This is because the aim of eighteenth century scholarship on
architecture was directed to Rome (Palladio and Palladianism), and then to
Greece. The Society of Dilettanti (founded 1734) spread its wings from Italy
to Athens (Stuart and Revett, 1751–1754) and Asia Minor (Chandler to Ionia).
None of these men were instructed to draw, measure and report on all the
monuments they encountered; they confined themselves to the classical,
and where available to the classical Greek. Membership of the Dilettanti was
2 Hess 2014.
3 Wood 2019, passim.

Churches, Mosques and Travellers 11
restricted to those who had been “in Italy, or upon some other Classic Ground
out of the King’s Dominions and at his own request.”[6] No similar societies
were founded within our time frame to deal exclusively with the architecture
of Islam, the study of which was sparse indeed until the later nineteenth cen-
tury, overshadowed by the Pharaohs and Babylonia, even if with a toehold in
museums, where objets d’art and mosque fittings, but not mosques themselves,
could be curated.
Study of the architectural past was certainly lopsided. For laudable as were
classical adventures, it is surely extraordinary that plans and elevations of
Greek temples and Roman buildings were available in Europe often a cen-
tury before those of the monuments in the home countries of Britain, France,
Spain or Germany. Byzantine architecture was later fitted into that tradition, as
indeed, for some scholars trying to develop a comprehensive history of archi-
tecture, were mosques. A few travellers were more broad-minded: the artist
William Hodges, writing of his Indian travels in 1794, confessed a partiality to
the Greeks, as a matter of both habit and education, “yet I freely avow that this
by no means prevents my entertaining a similar partiality for countries, where
different models have been brought to an equal perfection.”[7] Although the
Great Mosque of Córdoba (784ff) was a church following the Reconquista of
1236 (and then Seville in 1248, finally Granada in 1492), mosques in Syria and
North Africa were generally closed to non-Muslims, and Mecca and Medina
were completely out of bounds. This was not the case in India, where from
the mid-eighteenth century British diplomats, traders, soldiers, and schol-
ars admired, wrote about and even restored some Muslim buildings, while
destroying others.
After the Crusades, westerners were sightseeing or trade-related visitors to
the East. As we shall see below, from the mid-nineteenth century, a standard
opinion was that the Ottoman Empire was the “sick man of Europe”, and its
decline was religiously documented. The French occupied Egypt in 1798 and
were expelled by the Ottomans and the British in 1801. A British occupation
began in 1882 as a way of controlling Ottoman indebtedness, and the west-
ern grip culminated in the 1915 Sykes-Picot Agreement, dividing areas of the
Middle East between the British and the French.
1.1 Maps and Street Plans

Westerners arrived in the Ottoman Empire thanks to maps and sea charts, for
cartography had long been an aid to organising taxation, water supply, finance,
and the military, as well as travel. Written information on the landscape and its
riches went back to the Domesday Book (1086). Manuscript and then printed
itineraries, with distances and notable features (water, inns, and consuls)

12 Chapter 2
helped the traveller reach the Empire, and several include such itineraries in
their written accounts, sometimes with time taken for distances, and the vari-
ous costs involved. Atlases provided city views, often less than accurate, which
offered a comforting déjà vu to the trip. Travelling around Europe was easily
supported by access to town plans, prime but far from unique examples being
Jacopo de’ Barbari’s 1500 woodcut map of Venice (huge: 135 × 280cm) which
shows every single building, as does the Plan de Turgot of Paris, commissioned
by the municipality, showing the city in the 1730s, again with every building
and tree detailed, and naming every road (even bigger at 250.5 × 322cm).
However, such travel aids largely disappeared once the Empire was reached.
Frequently at war with the West, and encroaching nearly as far as Vienna, the
Sultans surely viewed maps as rich in military and naval secrets, just as the
Portuguese had done. There were maps of areas once Roman (such as Asia
Minor and Greece) of interest to classicists, but these were vague, and not up
to what we might call Ordnance Survey standards. Our travellers often pub-
lished illustrations of ancient sites, but no city plans.
We might surmise that such a dearth of plans coloured the way our travel-
lers proceeded on land. Viewing Constantinople from a cosy ship at anchor
produced some enchanting descriptions and panoramas, as we shall see. But
how to proceed once on land? One must engage local help to visit the office to
get a firman, to find the palace and welcome of one’s ambassador, or the monu-
ments themselves, let alone visit them. Without such help, how to avoid the dirt
and the dogs so often complained about? As for sketching mosques, we shall
see that this was usually impossible, let alone employing the common instru-
ments to measure height – hence the variable estimates we shall encouter
when discussing domes (see chapter 4: Domes, minarets, and dimensions).
The situation improved with Choiseul-Gouffier (1752–1818), who was ambas-
sador to the Empire 1784–91, and already familiar with Greece and Asia Minor.
He published his Voyage pittoresque en Grèce in 1782. In hiding until Napoleon’s
amnesty for exiled nobles, he published the second volume of his renamed
Voyage pittoresque de la Grèce in 1809, and the third posthumously in 1822.
The scholarship and detail saw their republication in 1842. François Kauffer
(1751?–1801), who was to map Constantinople,4 was in Choiseul-Gouffier’s
extensive suite, and was funded by him. He produced maps of the Bosphorus
(1776) and the Dardanelles (1784), and in the same year of 1776 his first map of
Constantinople. This was republished with amendments long after his death,
for example by Edward Daniel Clarke in 1816. As the map states, it was levé
géometriquement with surveying instruments and mathematics – the first time
4 Pedley 2012.

these common western techniques had been applied further east, and obvi-
ously with the necessary Ottoman permission.
That is, Kauffer’s map broke the dam of any official resistance to such map-
ping. Helmuth von Moltke (1800–1891), Chief of the Prussian General Staff
1857–1888, was fluent in English and, indeed, the translator of Gibbon. A cap-
tain in 1835, and serving in Berlin, he was asked by the Sultan to help modernise
his army, and spent two years in Constantinople, surveying Constantinople,
the Bosphorus, and the Dardanelles, before acting as a military advisor. The
superlative and scholarly map-maker Heinrich Kiepert (1818–1899) travelled to
Asia Minor four times between 1841 and 1848, first producing his 1844 Karte des
osmanischen Reiches in Asien, followed by detailed and accurate maps across
the Middle East, which were hymned, adapted and used in guidebooks across
the region for much of the rest of the century.
Accurate maps were essential for productive travel, but how about town
plans? These were features of the early guidebooks, even being promised
on the title page, as with John Murray’s 1854 A Handbook for Travellers in
Turkey, which had grown out of his A Handbook for Travellers in the Ionian
Islands, Greece, Turkey, Asia Minor and Constantinople of 1845.5 But the pick-
ings were slim: the volumes offered maps of Europe, Turkey and Asia Minor,
but a plan only of Constantinople and the Bosphorus. This gave the villages
of the Bosphorus, and showed the streets in the city, but did not name them.
There was nothing here to allow the traveller to walk around the city without
a human guide as a shepherd, and all such guidebooks emphasise the need for
a local dragoman to show the visitor around and, where necessary, a horse, a
donkey (for the streets of Cairo), and a chef.
After mid-century visiting eastern towns became easier, thanks largely to
helpful and detailed guidebooks. Murray’s 1858 A Handbook for Travellers in
Syria and Palestine promised Maps and Plans on the title page, as did his 1859 A
Handbook for India which also added With Travelling Map and Plans of Towns.
Murray’s 1858 Syria provided maps of Palestine and northern Syria, and plans
of the Temple at Jerusalem, some tombs, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and
of Damascus and Palmyra – but no plan of the contemporary city of Jerusalem,
the implication surely being that the town’s past was important, but not its
present complexion.
The types of people travelling were changing, and the guidebooks were nec-
essarily alert to this because navigating changing tastes successfully controlled
increasing their income. Thomas Cook’s first organised tour was in 1841 from
Leicester to Loughborough, – some 18km. He soon realised that handbooks
5 Byerly 2013.

14 Chapter 2
were necessary to grow the business. Cook’s 1876 Palestine excused the publica-
tion for skimpy information:
travellers in Palestine pass through the land in the saddle, and by night
sleep in the tent. Neither tent nor saddle is conducive to close reading,
and, if the traveller be only a Tourist, his object is to fill his mind with
general impressions, and to leave the minute study of details for a more
convenient season.[8]
But then lauded its two-in-one nature:
the special raison d’etre of the present volume is, that a work is required
that shall be so clearly printed as to be read without difficulty, either on
horseback or in the dim light of the tent; shall be arranged in such a man-
ner, that in a moment any information may be ascertained; and shall con-
tain the full text of Scripture references, so as to avoid the inconvenience
of having to turn to the passage in the Bible.[9]
For Murray a Bible was required during travel: “the Bible is the best Handbook
for Palestine; the present work is only intended to be a companion to it.”[10]
As we shall see in our second volume (Islamic Architecture through Western
Eyes: Syria, Egypt and North Africa), this was a given for many visitors, who
expected to find the region as the Bible had left it – just as, perhaps, Pausanias
(110–180AD) provided a handbook for Greece. However, Pausanias provided
a guide to monuments he saw and described, providing essential help to
archaeology, whereas it could be argued than an implicit trust in the complete
veracity of the Bible has skewed investigation of the past all over the Middle
East, and absorbed floods of money which, directed rather to matters Islamic,
could have offered a more balanced picture of the contemporary region and its
Islamic monuments.
By the 1870s, another type of travel was creeping in (cf. Cook’s 1876 distinc-
tion: if the traveller be only a Tourist). Although many mediaeval pilgrimages
to the Holy Land had been in controlled groups, Thomas Cook, as we have
seen, reinvented the format (which he called associated travel) in 1844. In that
same year, we are told, “he longed to conduct a party of tourists to Egypt and
Palestine”,[11] and by 1876 offered two flavours for the traveller in Egypt acknowl-
edging, so to speak, horses for courses. Individuals could submit a list of where
they wished to visit, and Cook would provide an inclusive quote, and provide
hotel coupons.[12] But then he addressed the timid, surely comforting and
alarming them in equal measure, by describing the benefits of associated travel:

apart from the question of expense, travelling in the East, either alone,
or with only one or two companions, is not desirable. In Egypt, up the
Nile, and through the Desert, the mode of life, language, and customs of
the country are altogether different from anything to which the European
traveller has been accustomed ; the modes of travelling are novel, and the
difficulties to be encountered greater than in any part of Europe.[13]
In other words, Cook’s printed guides were pressing advertisements for how he
made his money, namely with escorted groups, or by offering associated ser-
vices. Already in 1869–70, “many parties went under the guidance of the Messrs.
Cook, or a representative, during the winter of 1869–70, to Palestine, the Nile,
Greece, and Turkey.”[14] Offices opened in Constantinople (with a branch office
in Galata) and Athens in 1883.[15] From 1885 Cook transported Muslim pilgrims
from India to Jeddah and back, and by 1902 was offering cruises little different in
itinerary and options from those available today. His Grand seventy day Cruise
(in the twin-screw steamship Moltke) visited Algiers, Athens, Constantinople,
Beirut (for Damascus), Jaffa (for Jerusalem and options), Alexandria, Cairo, the
Nile (optional), then back via Naples and Rome. His Palestine handbook of 1907
stated the obvious about travel, roads, railways and hotels, and offered help
for both the soft (rail, carriages, and hotels) and the tougher (the saddle and
camp life).[16] All tourists/travellers would know of the need for a dragoman.
For his 1902 Grand Cruise, extra confidence was assured by illustrating one of
the staff of dragomans – he carries a pistol and scimitar, and wear high boots,
a very present help in danger. Here Cook was re-interpreting the purpose of
the dragoman. In 1858 that official had filled “the threefold office of interpreter,
guide, and purveyor,”[17] whereas in 1902 the cruisers were promised “services
of local guides, interpreters, dragomans, etc., where necessary, and the services
of Cook’s representatives and Conductors throughout the Cruise.”[18] In other
words, the dragoman appeared as a security guard to comfort any passengers
who might be apprehensive about visiting the wild East.
2 Ambassadors Study the Empire
Dirò ora del sito della città di Costantinopoli, della sua ricchezza, gran-
dezza, bellezza … Dirò del serraglio nuovo del Gran-Signore … Dirò
l’ animo loro, e come siano uniti o disuniti tra loro; né tralascierò di dire
della milizia terrestre e marittima di quel potentissimo imperatore; degli
arsenali; delle entrate e spese che tiene; dei tesori; della forma del gov-
erno; dello stato suo …[19]

16 Chapter 2
Thus summarized the Venetian Costantino Garzoni, in 1573, in his report

back to the Signoria. This enumerates most of the concerns of foreign ambas-
sadors (and many civil travellers) when writing about the Ottoman Empire, to
be discussed in this section and touched on throughout the book.
If most westerners travelled through the Ottoman Empire for a whole
variety of reasons, their ambassadors (and those from eastern parts, such as
Persia), had a particular and long-standing agenda, concentrating on signs of
prosperity (or their lack), military and naval competence, volume and pre-
paredness, and triggers and bars to successful trading. Assessments were sent
home (sometimes almost year by year, as was the case for Venice), and the
exchange of presents at audiences with the Sultan resembled a thermometer
gauging prosperity and conviction, almost like a never-ending poker game.
Many reports detail presents given and received, often of the greatest value
or rarity. How to express conviction? Perhaps by the French, in 1581, present-
ing large quantities of cloth to the Sultan, and two mosque carpets.[20] This
war by other means (Persia at war with the Empire – 1578–90, 1603–18 and
1623–39) can conveniently be surveyed through Hammer-Pursgtall’s history of
the Empire, including Constantinople’s gifting of silk to Mecca for the Kaaba,
as well as prestigious yellow marble columns.[21] In 1567 the Persian ambas-
sador gifted “vingt grands tapis de soie, et plusieurs autres d’une moindre
dimension,”[22] and nine years later forty carpets and a mass of jewels.[23] In
1621 Persia gifted a thousand pieces of porcelain, forty silk carpets, four ele-
phants, a rhinoceros and two tigers,[24] and in 1637 “huit grands tapis d’étoffe
d’or et d’argent, une foule de tapis de soie,”[25] Three years after the end of war
in 1639 Persia presented “soixante plats de porcelaine, vingt-six grands tapis,
cinquante chameaux avec des harnis enrichis d’or, dix dromadaires et quatorze
chevaux de race.”[26]
Gifts from the Holy Roman Emperor to the Sultan in 1665 (like those of the
French almost a century earlier) included a nod to Islam in the form of twenty
carpets, five from Persia, and various splendid cloths.[27] At the same audi-
ence the Ottoman ambassador was caught out disparaging the quality of the
Emperor’s table carpet against the Persian carpets they were presenting.[28]
Often, ambassadors brought goods highly prized in the receiving country. Thus,
in 1682 France gave the Sultan “une glace de Venise dans un cadre d’argent, de
cinq pendules, d’un tapis des Gobelins, de plusieurs pièces de drap, de satin,
de velours et de lourdes étoffes vénitiennes.”[29] And if the East was collect-
ing western treasures such as mirrors and clocks, apparently the West sought
eastern exotica. In 1699 Vienna was given two leopards with silver leashes,
twenty-two pieces of embroidered Constantinople cloth, 120 pieces of muslin,

four large Persian carpets, but also “quinze de ces tàpis turcomans brodés sur
lesquels on s’agenouille pour faire la prière.”[30]
Ambassadors or members of their retinue have left detailed accounts of
their interaction with the Ottoman Empire which, through the exchange of
luxury items, usually gave them the entrée to mosques as well as palaces, help-
ing fill out the West’s understanding of their architecture as well as allowing
judgments to be made of prosperity, amenability, and survivability. These can
be easily followed through the reports sent by Venetian ambassadors and other
officials from Constantinople back to the Signoria.
2.1 Prosperity
Architecture could be a useful measure of prosperity because, if the buildings
were falling down, so too perhaps was the state. Rapacious conduct directing
wealth to the capital caught ambassadors’ attention. Thus, Pietro Zen reported
in 1523 just how much of value had been extracted from Cairo after the capture
of the Mamluk Sultanate in 1517, including precious marble (ripped from the
mosques),[31] and pointing at Mustapha: “Questo bassà ha uno bellissimo pal-
azo, fato per lui in Constantinopoli, adornato di piere portate del Cayro …”[32]
His colleague Bartolomeo Contarini had already reported that the Sultan had
ruined Cairo, then most excellent and very rich, in part by diverting the lucra-
tive silk imports to Constantinople.[33] Marco Minio held up a beacon of hope
in 1522 that Venetian merchants could work in Constantinople and Trebizond
but, ominously, “non facendo menzion alcuna della Soria nè dell’ Egitto”[34] –
hence Venetian complaints even about Constantinople in mid-century.
In 1554 Domenico Trevisano estimated the expense of Suleiman’s mosque,
as told to him by a Turk,[35] and noting the endowment of mosques by his
rich subjects.[36] Four years later Antonio Barbarigo also estimated the Sultan’s
wealth, and expenditure on troops and officials.[37] In 1553 Bernardo Navagero
reckoned the total income at 7,166,000 ducats – an enormous sum (per-
haps one billion USD.)[38] As an index of prosperity, Bernardo pointed to the
Seraglio, where he reported that two thousand servants tended the gardens,[39]
which included separate walled gardens for Sultan and Sultana.[40]
Matters change after Suleiman’s death in 1566, when for some the capital
no longer shone. Andrea Badoaro in 1573 (after the 1571 Battle of Lepanto in
which Venice played a major part) was charmed by the seven hills, like Rome,
but “fra i quali vi sono palazzi per li grandi, e moschee del Gran-Signore son-
tuosissime e ricchissime, ma il più delle case si può dir che siano piuttosto
alla rustica che alla civile.”[41] Indeed, reported Gianfrancesco Morosini in
1585, Constantinople was “posta nel più bello e vago sito che luomo si possa

18 Chapter 2
immaginare,” but with the usual city adornments missing, “tutto il resto della
città è confusione e sporchezze.”[42] Yes, wrote Matteo Zane in 1594, “Non si
vede altra bellezza di fabbriche che bagni e moschee e studj, che sono vera-
mente fabbriche egregie e sode,” but the rest of Turkish building was without
architecture; the importance of the Empire had been miscalculated, because
only the Sultan could keep the various parts together.[43]
2.2 Amenability
In the mid-sixteenth century, foreign merchants, including Venetians, were
doing badly in Constantinople, and were few in number.[44] Antonio Erizzo
reported in 1557 that not only were the pashas the enemy of Christians, but
their negotiations took two extrêmes, either force or war; Erizzo, surely a
smooth operator, noted that “però, poi che piace a Dio che non possiamo con
la prima per ora, ho giudicato sano consiglio l’ intertenerci con il secondo.”[45]
Things were little better in 1560, because of unfortunate misrepresentation
of the capitulations, which did not bother the Turks: “è permesso che gli Ebrei
navighino con nostre navi e galere come Veneziani, e questo non dicono i capi-
toli; però non tutto in un tratto si potrà provvedere, che per gli Ebrei il Turco
non cura nulla.”[46] Marcantonio Barbaro in 1573 likened trade negotiations
with the Turks like playing with a glass ball, which broke whatever one did.[47]
2.3 Survivability
Fear, uncertainty and doubt were easy to sow regarding the Empire, known
for its designs on Europe and on the Aegean, where Venice had lost several
toeholds. In 1534 Danielo de’ Ludovisi recounted the extent of the Sultan’s
dominions and appetites,[48] on which Domenico Trevisano enlarged in 1554,
summarising the state of the Empire and its fearsome military capacity.[49]
Might the divisions of Islam contribute to the end of the Empire? Here
the reports were preaching to the choir, for the Empire’s collapse would be
a centuries-long desire. Marcantonio Barbaro wrote in 1573 of the religious
divisions in Islam,[50] and Lorenzo Bernardo enlarged on these in 1592.[51] In
1583 Paolo Contarini had enumerated the extent of the Sultan’s possessions
and dependencies, and enumerated the military forces available, without indi-
cating whether the extent was a strength or a weakness.[52] Perhaps weakness
was understood, because Venetian officials evidently worked according to
strategy outlines which we see repeated again and again, including those for
the possible causes of Imperial decline, namely divisiveness, Persian aggres-
sion, and lust for riches. Marino Cavalli outlined these in 1560,[53] and Lorenzo
Bernardino ticked them off in 1592.[54] Was the Imperial navy to be feared? No,
reported Jacopo Ragazzoni in 1571, for their ships were sparsely armed.[55]

3 Viewing Mosque Architecture
Though Christians at present do not obtain access to the interior, you

may find in the books of travellers, a minute account of the porphyry,
jasper and marble columns, which the ruined cities of Asia Minor, Syria,
Egypt and Greece, have furnished for their principal ornament.[56] [1830]
Travellers wrote about the nuts and bolts of mosques. At the end of the six-
teenth century Teixeira noted their use, and “as we have lofty belfries in our
churches, and they are of various construction, but commonly like a ship’s
mast, cylindrical to the top, which is a circular gallery.”[57] In 1653 Boullaye le
Gouz explained the terminology if not the architecture:
Meskiet est vn mot qui signifie ches les Mansulmans le lieu où le peuple
s’assemble pour les Oraisons publiques, que nous appellons Eglise chez
les Catholiques, Temples chez les Hérétiques, Pagodes chez les Indou, &
Mosquées par corruption chez les Mansulmans.[58]
In 1823 Ouseley wrote of Persian minarets, which were “sometimes richly

decorated with glazed or lackered tiles of various colours.”[59] In 1745 Osborne
had already explained how mosques were supported, the poor aided, and any
excess funds “laid up with care for to repair or beautify the mosque, or to assist
the emperor in his wars against the Christians.”[60]
Travellers’ accounts were eventually integrated in the nineteenth century
into the developing world view building blocks of Architectural History. As for
their quality, naturally this was mixed, as it was often a case of the uninformed
meeting the unknown, and trying make what they saw familiar for their read-
ers (or heard by report, as in Brewer’s opening quote above). Unacknowledged
copying from author to author was rampant (as it continues to be with guide-
books today), so that Hill promised in 1866 that
nothing will be found in this volume which does not proceed from his
own reflections, uninfluenced by anything that has engaged the atten-
tion of others; and the title-page will have informed the reader that the
impressions received during these travels have been made upon one who
has visited many parts of the earth.[61]
Some accounts saw the beauty of Islamic structures without any reference to
Greece or Rome. As Wellsted wrote in 1840,

20 Chapter 2
nor can we, when we look to the architectural adornments of this people
(witness the Alhambra, and the mosque of Omar at Jerusalem), view the
boldness of their designs, their gigantic proportions, their delicate fret-
work and elaborate combination of ornament, but yield the palm to the
graceful power of the Saracenic architects.[62]
Other accounts were shaky on Islamic terminology. Many authors were sure
Islam featured priests, and some called mosques “churches” and minarets
“bell towers;” but then, Fraser wrote of “cupolas and minarets, and spires” in
Wurzburg.[63] Zalonkemeny, travelling in 1602 bemoaned the lack of clocks or
calendars in Persia: “M’étant une fois trompé dans mes calculs sur le temps,
je fus réduit, pendant six mois, jusqu’à mon retour en Moscovie, à vivre sans
distinguer un jour de l’autre.”[64]
Of course the pulpit was common, and the mihrab often described as a kind
of altar. But ostrich eggs, myriad chandeliers, and carpets were new, as were
descriptions (sometimes illustrated) of the acts and gestures of Muslims when
they prayed. Some differences in religious practice led to difficulties for would-
be visitors to mosques. For example, Muslims did not allow shoes to sully their
carpets, and were revolted by the western habit of spitting on their carpets or
marble floors.
Just as the Christian church was once a new architectural type, albeit
derived from older forms, so too was the mosque, which also developed and
changed existing models. Girault de Prangey, writing in 1841, bemoaned the
difficulties accessing mosques and writing a history of their architecture, and
listed the cities (such as Damascus, Constantinople, Cairo, Kairouan, and
several in Asia Minor) where he wished to examine structures and compare
them with Christian monuments in Rome and Byzantium: “à partir de la déca-
dence et, grâce au movement d’études et de recherches qui distingue si hon-
orablement notre époque, il est permis d’attendre, nous l’espérons, un aussi
important résultat.”[65] Maurice in 1806 suggested “that ancient nation of fire-
worshippers,” namely India, as the source for stately mosques with beautiful
domes.[66]
As early as the Muslim conquests, many churches were taken over by
Islam (“qui bâtit quatorze cents mosquées sur les ruines de quarante mille
églises”[67]), to revert to Christianity under the Crusades, when some mosques
were destroyed but many converted, or their materials reused. Indeed, “Il
fallait bien, faute d’artistes francs, se servir des artistes du pays, à qui l’on
pouvait et l’on voulait faire abjurer l’islamisme, mais non pas les traditions
artistes !”[68] Then back again to Islam (and during the nineteenth century

French occupation of Algeria, back to Christianity once more). Abu Salih, writ-
ing of Egypt c.1208, offers details. And there are plenty of mosques with reused
columns inscribed with crosses, as Porter described for Bosra.[69] Early travel-
lers found mosques only in the East, and by the later nineteenth century could
learn about them from guidebooks.[70] As Vernet pointed out in 1844, writing
from Alexandria, France had proclaimed liberty of worship – but there were no
mosques in France.[71]
Christians retained a few churches in Constantinople,[72] but churches (and
synagogues) sometimes had a tenuous existence in the Ottoman Empire; they
had to pay a capitation tax for the privilege,[73] and were milked for money,
because the Turks’ “superior thirst for gold is the potent preservative of those
Christians and Jews who live amongst them.”[74] As for travellers, “whoever
will live in quiet amongst them, must a neither meddle with their Law, their
Women, nor their slaves.”[75] Lusignan, in 1783, rejoiced in the religious lib-
erty in England, and urged the reader to “pray to Divine Providence, to deliver
your fellow Christians from their oppressors in the Ottoman Empire.”[76]
Restrictions were several, including lower buildings for Christians and Jews,
who should not reside near mosques.
Both mosques and churches were structures which interested many west-
ern travellers, whether for their size and magnificence, their rich (re)use of
marble, or the antiquities (especially inscriptions) that formed part of their
structure. That they sometimes had difficulty gaining access to mosque inte-
riors helps explain why the appreciation of such monuments came in fits and
starts, and why the understanding of Muslim architecture came nearly a cen-
tury behind that of the Greek and Roman monuments admired in that same
Ottoman Empire – monuments which classically schooled travellers found
much easier to assimilate. The evident borrowing of decoration from churches
helped depreciate the notion of Islamic architecture as wholly original, and
support a place linked to other styles. Butler, writing in 1884, traced the wall
decoration of many Cairo mosques and tombs back to Coptic builders, many
of whom were employed in building mosques.[77] He tentatively suggested that
the qibla niche came from Coptic practice as well.[78]
3.1 Mosques, Churches and Antiquities: The Diet of Greece and Rome
The architects of these two ideas [Islam and Christianity] had this in com-
mon: they destroyed to reconstruct; they built the new with the wrecks of
the ancient world: they found its skeleton extended on the sand, and they
stole its firmest bones and finest proportions.[79] [1839]

22 Chapter 2
As Dumas recognised in the above quote, many churches throughout the

Empire were built reusing antique marbles, for which Greek and Roman
monuments were routinely dismantled, such as the temples at Sunium and
Mylasa,[80] and the Grove of Aesculapius, near Epidaurus.[81] (Girault de
Prangey, for example, writing in 1841 used western churches to link that tra-
dition with the Great Mosque at Córdoba.[82]) Islam did likewise for new
constructions, and also took over many churches as mosques (many travel-
lers were alert to this: in 1664 Castillo, for example, both noted and illus-
trated such conversions.[83]) Hence many of the churches of Constantinople
disappeared, their materials used for mosques, while others simply became
mosques. Marble was the prestigious material preferred, and it is likely that no
marble quarries were in operation anywhere in the Mediterranean between
about 400AD and the fifteenth century. This was surely because available spo-
lia supplies were sufficient until the desire for larger monuments than pieces
of ancient marble could satisfy triggered the opening of quarries. Inevitably,
some travellers got the balance wrong: Père Jean-Baptiste Souciet affirming in
1819 that at Constantinople the Turks built only four or five mosques, the rest
being church conversions.[84]
Some travellers were alert to spolia usage at least in part because by apply-
ing “classical” norms they found such reuse clumsy or even grotesque, as
MacFarlane dubbed Murat I’s mosque at Adrianople, built from a church and
its ruins on the site. The later Greeks were responsible for such mis/reuse long
before the Turks arrived: “the great Sancta Sophia itself … is little more than
a collection of stolen goods.”[85] Some travellers were frustrated because they
could not equate the modern names and layouts with those ancient cities in
which they were interested. As Bell complained in 1716 of Persia:
this country in general hath undergone so many revolutions since the

time of Alexander the Great, her first conqueror, that, a few places
excepted, the present names, and descriptions of cities and provinces,
bear almost no resemblance to those of antiquity, so that one can scarce
imagine them accounts of the same places.[86]
Ornamental stones used to decorate the interior of mosques, both walls and
floors (opus sectile) were exclusively taken from earlier buildings. The Romans
started the vogue, importing stones from Europe and Asia, as well as using mate-
rials from Egyptian quarries. Examples survive in Alexandria, and Christian
churches easily acquired the taste, as subsequently did mosques. For Cairo,
then, where such reuse has been extensively studied,6 we have thrice-looted
6 www.eeescience.utoledo.edu/faculty/harrell/Egypt/Mosques/ASMOSIA_VI_Text_htm.

marble: from Roman to Christian, hence to mosques, and then again when the
Ottomans after 1517 occupied Egypt, stripped some mosques, and took their
prizes to decorate buildings in Constantinople instead. The courtyard wall
of the mosque of Sultan al-Nasr Muhammad in the Citadel at Cairo (1315–18,
#143) shows how crude such looting could be. Ornamental stones were one
of the features which, for visitors, demonstrated the influence of Byzantine
architecture, another being, for Salle in 1840, inspiration from Hagia Sophia to
the mosques and tombs of Cairo.[87]
Flat slabs containing classical inscriptions were much reused and were
the target of many western visitors to mosques, themselves not interested in
the architecture, but in copying inscriptions. Travellers were frequently dis-
appointed, because the guardian would not allow them into the mosque to
examine the floor slabs, as Dodwell found at Thebes in 1819.[88] Hence access
to mosques to carry out such copying was variable. By the late nineteenth cen-
tury, researchers were more likely to be jostled by curious locals than to be for-
bidden entry. Thus, Ramsay, at Afiom-Kara-Hissar in Asia Minor in 1881, took
just a Christian servant:
I went out alone to seek for inscriptions. A knot of people soon began
to follow. When I stopped to copy an inscription in the doorway of a
mosque, the knot grew into a large crowd, which pushed and struggled
and blocked the light, and began after a time to look so threatening, that
I felt it prudent to get away.[89]
Muslim lack of interest in ancient, figured sculpture was much remarked

upon, because westerners found so many works, perhaps once candidates for
museums back home, defaced or broken up. Febvre, writing in 1682, described
how the locals broke up columns to reuse the material as small stones, and
used such fragments to repair walls; he was particularly distressed in Athens
where he saw a statue halved, upended, and used as seats.[90] In 1900 Eliot
found mosque ceremonial plain, sane and dignified, but lacking Christian-like
mystery, emotion or poetry. And then perhaps the final insult: only the Shiite
Persians had much taste for art.[91]
As we have seen, educated travellers were brought up on a diet of Greece
and Rome and, had they undertaken a Grand Tour, imprinted with notions of
how architecture should look, hence some of the curious comparisons and dis-
missive remarks we shall find below. Such reactions expressed puzzlement, as
visitors tried somehow to fit what they saw in the East with what they knew
back home. Although some travellers were sent to the East expressly to collect
manuscripts, and others to take the temperature of Islam, as it were, none were
sent specifically to study Islamic architecture. Many travellers were there to

24 Chapter 2
collect classical inscriptions, and their introduction to mosques came about

because such inscriptions were frequently to be found reused in mosques as
well as in churches. Few classical buildings had survived from Antiquity; medi-
aeval communities Muslim and Christian were content to plunder the resul-
tant ruins to make their own buildings, and no quarries were opened within
the territory of the Empire until perhaps the seventeenth century. Hence the
relics of the ancient world (sculpture and architectural members as well as
inscriptions) were to be sought in more recent structures. But not only there,
for deserted ancient sites were also targeted, such as Hierapolis by Cochran in
1888: he wished to form a syndicate to buy the whole site, for “below the sur-
face, probably, there may be numerous treasures of art … reap a speedy harvest
of ancient art of priceless value, besides other old-world objects of worth.”[92]
Attitudes to the past varied greatly between westerners and Muslims. Most
travellers were alarmed at how many churches had been appropriated as
mosques, and how much marble and classical antiquities they saw disappear-
ing into new mosques.7 Because they knew little about how early churches
had been built in the West with spolia from classical monuments, they saw
Muslims as vandals obliterating classical monuments throughout the Empire,
not realising that the West had done likewise, only much earlier. Colton’s 1856
comment is typical:
a Mussulman treats with contemptuous disregard all relics, save those

which are in someway connected with his religion. He would … barter
away a Venus of Praxiteles for a pipe of tobacco.[93]
Classical archaeologists in the nineteenth century, trying to resurrect the clas-

sical past on paper and in museums, were well aware that mosques were still
being built with marble antiquities. Dirty dealing was sometimes de rigeur.
Thus, Newton in 1855 was beholden to the Aga of Datscha for his own work at
Cnidus; and reciprocally “he wants stone from Cnidus to build a mosque with,
which he hopes to obtain more easily through our excavation.”[94]
Classical archaeologists mapped and explicated much of antiquity by read-
ing classical inscriptions, the search for which constituted a continuing and
pressing reason for entering mosques. For this was where so many were now
to be found, not because they were necessarily prized for themselves, but
because they were written on high-quality, flat (and therefore easily reusable)
7 Guidetti 2016, chapters 5 (Material transfers in the early medieval Mediterranean: Marble
columns from churches to mosques) and 6 (More Christianorum: Marble and columns in
early medieval mosques).

slabs of marble. Thus, in 1802 Struve, seeing the debris of the classical world
in Constantinople’s mosques, returned home “journée à réfléchir sur les vicis-
situdes de la fortune, et sur les grandeurs passées des peuples dont ces diffé-
rens monumens nous avoient rappelé le souvenir.”[95] Clean, indeed, mosques
might have been, but in 1816 Clarke the antiquarian could still not get into
them to search for antiquities, because of “the intolerant Turks, who hold the
supreme rule here [Larissa], and oppose every inquiry of this nature.”[96] The
reuse of classical inscriptions in new mosques declined in the nineteenth cen-
tury, and it seems likely that the Ottoman introduction of faience instead of
marble to decorate their mosque interiors is an indication of the declining
availability of spolia.[97]
We should remind ourselves that even by the later eighteenth century art
and architectural history were at best unformed. Johann Joachim Winckelmann
(1717–1768), writing from the 1750s, felt his way through ancient art, especially
sculpture, and travellers naturally had to use the architecture they knew in
Europe as a fragile yardstick which might help them locate mosques within
the general development of building. That they often floundered will become
obvious. But this is because before the 1830s few travellers knew even classi-
cal Greece from on the ground visits, let alone from studying any Byzantine
architecture.
Lacking any basic groundwork or reliable textbooks, travellers were often
confused by what they saw in the Empire. How did the easily visitable Granada
and Córdoba fit into the picture? How was Hagia Sophia (now a great mosque)
to compare with domed architecture in the West? How much of the classical
world had been stripped to build mosques in Constantinople and Cairo? What,
indeed, were the origins of mosque architecture? This question was scarcely
addressed until late in the nineteenth century, and required knowledge of
building further east to complete the picture.
From the earliest nineteenth century, triggered by Napoleon’s invasion of
Egypt, the West was presented with the revelation of other civilisations rich
in newly discovered cities, palaces and monuments. If Greece and Rome were
prime, Pharaonic Egypt perhaps overshadowed Islam, with Wilkinson in his
1847 guidebook urging visitors to the mosques of Cairo to discover not Islamic
inscriptions but “trilingular stones,”[98] evidently hoping someone could come
up with a second Rosetta Stone. Some Pharaonic monuments were on a colos-
sal scale, as were those in Assyria. These could be hauled and shipped into
western museums, providing a richer feast for archaeology-struck visitors than
the small-scale exhibits of image-eschewing Islam. We might surmise that
such discoveries attracted funding and government effort at a great pitch than
Islam. And, after all, was not Islam dying? See below.

26 Chapter 2
4 Drawing Mosque Exteriors and Interiors
The best way to convey information about mosques to readers back home was
to draw them, print them in books, and add commentaries. Exteriors were
considerably easier to approach than interiors. A few naïve Turks were appar-
ently unaware of the very nature and possibilities of drawing itself, and Forbin
relates how, in 1819, he was asked “through an interpreter, whether the secrets
of my art did not go to the length of enabling me to divine what was passing
in the interior of the edifices the external form of which he could trace on the
paper.”[99] This was an exception: Hervé, sketching near Philipopoli in 1837, had
a travelling companion, one Castelli, who was always afraid the locals would
object to his drawing mosques; “but I never found them disposed to molest
me; and even when they perceived that I was sketching themselves, they have
generally laughed, and never shown any symptoms of repugnance.”[100] Even
when Turks ran up to see the sketch, and dogs with them, Castelli was “staid
and grumbled as usual till I had finished my sketch.”[101]
Cockerell, travelling 1810–1817, interested himself in the Constantinople
mosques, and Stratford Canning lent him “a large collection of fairly faithful
drawings of the interiors of mosques, some of them never drawn before, as
well as other curious buildings here, made by a Greek of this place.” Evidently
an expert at networking, Cockerell befriended that same Greek, gave him some
ink and pencils, and entertained another local artist who was “to introduce
me to some houses out of which I can draw.” He looked at drawings owned by
the Sicilian ambassador, and for a time lived with an English architect and the
son of a consul at Salonica.[102] Such industriousness in no way moderated his
opinion of Constantinople’s mosques, which we shall see frequently repeated:
to architecture in the highest sense, viz. elegant construction in stone,

the Turks have no pretension. The mosques are always copies of Sancta
Sophia with trifling variations, and have no claim to originality.[103]
Such aid to Cockerell was an early example of Stratford Canning’s interest in

the arts, demonstrated long before he became ambassador to the Porte (1825–
1828 and 1841–1858). Cockerell copied the drawings and sent them home, but
“I will tell you in confidence that I regret very little the impossibility of drawing
in them. They seem to me to be ill-built and barbarous.” This peevishness was
perhaps because his desire to make his own drawings came to nothing: “I had
a scheme of drawing from windows, but it has failed. I find no Jew or Christian
who is bold enough to admit me into his house for that purpose, so I have to
work from memory.”[104]

Artists in the suite of prestigious foreigners could sometimes draw freely.

In 1841 in Constantinople Damer recorded that the French artist in the suite
of the Prince de J – “was permitted to return the next day under the protec-
tion of an additional firman, to make some sketches, in which, however, to his
great discomfort, he was continually interrupted by the abuse which the Turks,
and especially the old women, did not cease to pour on him.”[105] Given such
abusive interruptions, which were common, serious large-scale drawing could
be very difficult.
A mysterious figure in mosque-drawing in Constantinople is Guillaume-
Joseph Grelot. His first focus was Hagia Sophia, for which he offered a descrip-
tion (including the monument’s history)[106] of sixty-eight pages, plus keyed
plates of both exterior and interior.[107] He was apparently there with Jean
Chardin in the early 1670s; both wrote books, but neither mentions the other
in them. Chardin was evidently useful to Grelot: he was well connected
diplomacy-wise, but his main interests were trade and international competi-
tion, rather than mosques, some of which he mentioned when he went further
east (but he describes none in Constantinople). On the other hand, Grelot’s
main purpose in the city was to draw important mosques, and he described
in detail how and when he did (or did not) accomplish this. Time and money
were spent on his endeavours, and his explanations served “seulement comme
d’épreuve pour les autres.”[108]
Grelot claimed, probably correctly, that he was the first Christian to offer
accurate drawings of mosques, helped by “l’habit, la barbe, & la langue Turque
dont je me servois, me donnoient souvent l’entrée des lieux qui estoient fermez
à bien du monde.”[109] He declared that the new mosque of the Valide Sultan
(1597–1665) “me semble le plus mignon & le mieux exécuté de tous ceux qui
sont à Constantinople,” and he included a keyed plan and elevation.[110] This
gave the two original minarets, thrown down in the eighteenth century by an
earthquake. Having already explicated other mosque interiors, “je ne reitereray
point icy la description de cette dernière, puisqu’excepté la belle manière avec
laquelle elle a esté construite, elle n’a rien de particulier.”[111] Grelot offered
exterior elevations of Sultan Achmet, Süleymaniye and Valide, and plans of
the first two. Of what he called the “Temple / Eglise de Saincte Sophie” we have
both interior and exterior.
But Grelot offered no views of mosque interiors. May we assume he could
not gain access, or was refused permission to draw there? He boasted of the
enlightenment his work would offer to others and, at the end of his Avis,
appended a page of five attestations (including Covel and Galland) affirm-
ing the accuracy of his plans and drawings,[112] including one by the architect
Blondel. There is also this from Galland, surely written with extreme caution:

28 Chapter 2
Ce seroit estre iniuste de refuser à Monsieur Grelot l’approbation des

excellents Desseings qu’il met au jour: il a si-bien representé & au naturel
les lieux que j’ay veus à Constantinople … qu’en jettant les yeux sur ses
autres Desseings des lieux où je n’ay pas esté, je croy les avoir aussi pre-
sens que si j’en voyois l’original. Galand.
There is no mention in Grelot’s book explaining just why he did not draw the
interiors of all the mosques he featured, but the old and weak excuse he pro-
vided fits the bill:
Quand ils [les Turcs] ont eu besoin de se bâtir des Temples, ils en ont
pris le modèle sur ceux qu’ils avoient enlevez aux Chrétiens, ne sçachans
pas assez d’Architecture pour en élever d’une manière qui leur fût pro-
pre & particulière; C’est pour ce sujet que toutes les Mosquées de
Constantinople sont comme autant de copies tres-imparfàites de la belle
Eglise de sainte Sophie.[113]
If Chardin’s book left the deeds of its author very much on one side, in favour
of trade and politics, Grelot harped continually on his own work, the subject
being how clever (as a Christian) he was to draw mosques. Drawing inside
Hagia Sophia was dangerous, but “l’habit long aussi bien que la barbe & la
qualité de Médecin” helped, as did bribing a Greek, the mosque lamplighter
and others with money and, by giving the lamplighter a watch.[114] He spent six
years in Turkey and Persia, made plenty of drawings, and “si je puis connoître
que cet essay soit agréable je feray paroistre dans la suite ceux qui me reliant
des autres endroits de l’Orient où j’ay esté.”[115] Apparently, however, if they
ever existed they were never published.
Sketching by Dupré in Athens in 1825 (not of mosques) was interrupted
by cadging Turks, so the Vaivode provided a soldier to protect him.[116] At
Tripolitza in 1823 Gell, who sketched extensively for his book, was invited into
the mosques, “in consequence of the adroitness with which Mustapha insinu-
ated that, though Franks, we should not spit on the carpets, than in conse-
quence of any application on our parts.”[117] Albania was no better, for there
Lane suffered not lonely curious locals but also “the persevering attentions of
a mad or fanatic dervish.”[118]
Drawing other than mosques could be easy. Fellows in 1839 was sketching
at Smyrna, and several Turks watched him for half an hour: “expressed their
delight at any new object which they recognised. I was putting in some ship-
ping in the distance, and as I drew each vessel, although on an extremely small
scale, they told me what ships they were with great satisfaction; they also

recognised several views I had previously taken.”[119] He did not even try to
enter the mosques, saving that delight for Constantinople.[120]
An interesting variation on drawing was making plaster casts of details,
which Lottin de Laval, an artist who worked with Botta at Nineveh, did in
Cairo. He carried all his impedimenta with him, including a ladder, and shin-
nied up to work. Frequently he was confronted and menaced by mullahs, but
claimed they were too opthamically challenged to see what he was about. He
then returned at siesta time to collect the dried cast.[121]
5 A Conflicting Mix of Ideas and Beliefs
Westerners were separated from Muslims by religion, dress, language, and

attitudes to the architecture and politics of the past. If Islam, Judaism and
Christianity were the religions of the Book, this prevented neither the Muslim
takeover of churches, nor the formalised inferior position of Christians and
Jews within the Empire. Custom and a warmer climate meant styles of dress
far different from those in the West, and although some travellers adopted local
dress for convenience (and for trying to gain admission to mosques), western
dress marked out their compatriots as foreign, non-Muslim, and therefore fair
game for harassment or bakshish. Western governments, eager to learn, to
send embassies and to encourage trade, recognised the importance of Arabic
in dealing with the East, and taught this as well as other languages. Those trav-
ellers who spoke Arabic naturally fared better, for they were able to converse
directly with the locals, and usually found them helpful and welcoming.
Acculturation was necessary, although many westerners in their arrogance
and belief in their superiority and the acceptable customs back home did not
recognise the fact. They offended Muslims by trying to enter mosques in their
footwear, and even spitting on the floor/carpets. Morier recounted that when
Russian general arrives at the Prince Royal’s camp at Ak Tappeh, the English
ambassador suggested he remove his boots, to be told that “the only costume
in which he could appear was that which he wore in the presence of his own
Sovereign, persevered in his full dress, and was seated, boots and all, upon the
Prince’s carpet.”[122]
The more languages travellers knew, the better. Cultured travellers like
Thévenot (1633–1667), who knew Turkish, Arabic and Persian, and made
two visits to the East (1655–1659; 1663–1665), was conversant not only with
mosque interiors, but also with prayer practices, to which he devoted a whole
chapter.[123] While he explained Islam to the West, Baltimore in 1767 thought
Muslims treated Christians “as dogs, hogs, and devils.” He believed this was

30 Chapter 2
because Turks did not travel, and were therefore ignorant of other nations.[124]
History was adjudged unknown to them because, as Smith wrote in 1683, “they
trouble not themselves with reading the Histories of other Nations or of anti-
ent times, much less with the study of chronology.”[125] But few were those trav-
ellers who, in the spirit of Montesquieu’s Lettres persanes, of 1721, thought the
East could teach the West, and knowledge from travel and local dress codes
could improve Europeans. Thus, Stutfield observed 1886 that Muslim customs
(no shoes; no sumptuous apparel) could provide a lesson to “the English upper
classes, who make themselves so gorgeous of a Sunday that poorer folk are
abashed and kept away from church.”[126]
6 Forgotten? Westerners and the Eastern Crusades
Christians that do or say any thing against the Law of Mahomet, are taken
with a Turkish Woman, or go into a Mosque, are Empaled, though yet
there be some Mosques into which Christians may enter at certain hours.
There are a great many other cases, wherein if Christians do not turn
Turks, they are put to death.[127] [1687]
Thévenot’s words express the general antipathy by Muslims to Christians picked

up by western travellers, an antipathy which dates back before the Crusades.
A glance at any library catalogue will reveal that interest in and scholarship
on the Crusades is a nineteenth century phenomenon, with Walter Scott’s
novels (1819ff), Michaud’s Histoire des Croisades (1812–22) and the Recueil des
historiens des Croisades (1841, for the first of 15 volumes). We may conclude
from reading their books that many of our travellers went east without any
interest in the Middle Ages, or knowledge of the Crusades. A possibly apochry-
phal story tells of the Royal Navy fraternising with their Spanish counterparts
during World War II, and being surprised by their froideur even after alcohol.
“Why was this?” they asked, and received the astonished reply, “but have you
forgotten 1588?” As we shall continue to see in the following chapters, even if
Spanish sailors still resented the fate of the Armada, memories of the past were
not universally shared. And although their governments were on the alert for
centuries against further Ottoman encroachment westwards, many travellers
simply ignored the Crusades, the exception being some nineteenth century
travellers reaffirming French involvement in the military architecture they
found in the Holy Land.

However, if westerners judged Muslims uninterested in history, they were

sorely mistaken, for there was a dangerous gulf in attitudes to the politics
of the past. Many Muslims had certainly not forgotten the Crusades, and De
Vogüé attributed to them the destruction of churches:
Les haines soulevées par la première croisade, et les besoins de la

défense, achevèrent de détruire ce que les invasions avaient respecté, et,
à quelques exceptions près, toutes les églises qui n’avaient pas été trans-
formées en mosquées furent impitoyablement démolies.[128]
Reminders of victory were also useful: Sultan Al-Zahir Baybars decorated the
interior of his mosque (1269) with wood and marble brought from Crusader
works at Jaffa;[129] the Gothic marble portal now decorating the façade of
Qalawun’s madrasa of 1295–1303 was brought from a church in Acre; and sev-
eral Crusader capitals grace mosques. Conversely, the Crusaders did not carry
such weighty trophies back to Europe (the Fatimid bronze griffon in Pisa was
most certainly a trophy but, like the date of its arrival in Pisa, its source is
unknown). However, eastern forms and ideas were to bear fruit in the West,
because Crusader armies took engineers with them, but also employed local
talent. Given the Crusades and international trade, elements of Islamic archi-
tecture thereby got back to Europe, and perhaps working Islamic craftsmen
and architects as well, although dated proof is lacking.
Long after the Crusades, Muslims continued to recognise that their world
was still under attack by an evermore powerful, technologically advanced, bet-
ter armed, culturally sophisticated, and sometimes united West. Armed force
was menacing and triumphant (Navarino meant that they lost Greece), and
western armies in the Crimea fought off the Russians, leaving the Empire in
financial thrall. Trade was another harbinger of forced western influence and
control, and the modernism they brought responsible for a decline in their
own commerce. No wonder, then, that Muslims exhibited a continuing intoler-
ance of the growing power of local and travelling Christians and Jews, who they
thought were responsible for overturning centuries of prosperity. However,
from the western point of view, why not start the necessary modernisation
of the Empire (read: westernisation) with the streets themselves? Repair and
renovation were needed in Constantinople, thought Young in 1854: improving
the streets and removing “the rubbish of the perpetually falling or burnt-down
wooden houses” would benefit everyone except for the Society of Dogs, which
“like the Turks themselves, if continuing in a state of obstinate decadence, they
must become nonentities.”[130]

32 Chapter 2
7 Dress and Doctors
Visitors might well disguise themselves in local dress, but dress and behav-
iour were also restricted for non-Muslims. At various times and in many cities
religious minorities were restricted in the type and colour of dress they could
wear, and sometimes whether (and what) they could ride there.[131] These
were a version of sumptuary laws, which in both the West and the East had
for centuries regulated dress according to social class and public position as
well as religion,8 but which, in North Africa for example, were extended. Dress
could declare status. Consuls and ambassadors wore formal dress when they
went about on business, accompanied by appropriately clothed cavasses and
sometimes janissaries. Ambassadors could sometimes help local Christians.
Thus, Villeneuve, French ambassador 1728–1741, obtained permission “pour les
religieux de relever leurs églises, et cette concession, qui faisait violence aux
préjugés de l’Islam, fit reconnaître de nouveau dans ‘l’empereur de Espagne’
le protecteur tout-puissant de la religion.”[132] Generally, therefore, westerners
were easily recognisable throughout the Empire by their dress and, even if dis-
guised in local dress, the majority would be uncovered if they spoke.
Lane, in Egypt 1825–8, not only spoke Arabic, but renounced knives and
forks, wine and pork, so that “I was treated with respect and affability by all
the natives with whom I had any intercourse.”[133] St. John, in Egypt in 1834,
recommended adopting “the disguise of a native;” so that with an escort from
the governor, he was then able to enter Al-Azhar and next Sultan Hasan, “the
interior of which few travellers have beheld or described.”[134] (Although he
did not mention it, his command of Arabic must have helped.) And as Davis
found in 1879 at Bazaar, near Karaman, getting into the local mosque to view its
inscriptions depended on speaking to the Imam in Turkish, and
in the most polite Turkish I could command, told him that I had a fir-
man from the Sadr-el-Azum (Grand Vizier) to examine any building in
the country, and if I pleased could even enter the mosque. I have always
found it produces the best effect, when one is able to converse a little
with a Turk in his own language.[135]
Language and dress could also be key to enjoyment and knowledge. Some
travellers had useful languages or, like Otter in 1748, went to Constantinople to
acquire those he needed.[136] Some also adopted local dress, so that Claudius
8 Riello & Rublack 2019.

James Rich, speaking Turkish, not only got into the Umayyad Mosque in
Damascus but (a tall story) was offered his daughter in marriage by his host.[137]
Egmont and Heyman in 1759 advised dressing in the Turkish manner, yet they
had problems even thus disguised.
But speaking the Turkish language very indifferently, we were very near
being betrayed, so that it was thought adviseable to retire, the franks not
being permitted to appear there without a firman, or warrant from the
Grand Signior.[138]
Layard, writing home from Isfahan in 1840, informed his mother that “you
would scarcely know me in the Persian dress, with black hair, mustachios and
beard, for my disguise would not be perfect without dyeing, and I go into the
mosque now like a good Mussulman.”[139] In 1843 Vernet noted the success of
his local dress in Cairo, and its help when he wished to draw in the mosques,
for a small sketchbook could be concealed in its folds, so that “il nous sera aisé
de pénétrer dans les mosquées en ôtant nos babouches; grâce à ces précau-
tions, nous serons confondus avec les fidèles.”[140]
Another way into local hearts was medical knowledge and drugs, a skill
which some apparently thought general to travellers. As we shall see in later
chapters, curing the locals made life easier for traveller, and could enable entry
into mosques. Thus, Thomas Smith, travelling in 1683, told how one of their
janissaries believed a doctor (who had served the British ambassador, no less)
was of the company, so “the Turks thought that they had got a man among
them, that could cure all diseases infallibly, for several immediately came to
find us out in behalf of themselves or their sick friends.”[141]
8 Western Habits and Actions Offend Muslims: Footwear and Spitting
Because of the jealous restrictions imposed by some locals, travellers’ impres-

sions of Islam and mosques were sometimes little more than mere glimpses.
Du Mont wrote in 1699 of the “superstitieuses observations des Turcs,” such as
a Christian touching a Koran, or having to dismount when passing a mosque in
Arabia or Egypt. But these were not Mahomet’s doing, for he barred Christians
from entering a mosque only during hours of prayer.[142] In 1701 Tournefort
was evidently prevented from entering mosques during prayers, and observed,
“we never saw them at Prayer in the Mosques, because the Christians are not
suffer’d to enter while any Mussulman is there; but we have seen them at Prayer
in the Caravans.”[143]

34 Chapter 2
In spite of restrictions, travellers gained several impressions of Muslims that

they described and explained. The first, dating from the Crusades, was that
they hated images, and the Cross.[144] The second was the importance of clean-
liness and washing with water, as Arvieux noted in 1665,[145] so easy to com-
pare with dirty church interiors back home, some of which needed to employ
a dogcatcher. Muslims washed before entering a mosque; shoes came off, and
neither spitting nor dogs were allowed, let alone against the wall, as Febvre
noted in 1682.[146] He continued,
On ne les verra jamais cracher dans une Mosquée, de peur de com-

mettre en cela une irrévérence, & si la nécessité les oblige ils se’servent
de iëur mouchoir. / Ce seroit un crime atroce parmy eux, & digne d’un
chastiment severe, d’uriner contre une Mosquée, aussi ne l’ay-je jamais
remarqué.[147]
Retaining one’s footwear (as one did in any Christian church in the West) was
frequently a bone of contention between travellers and locals. On occasion,
governors allowed prestige visitors to remain shod in mosques, and them-
selves as well: this happened to Percy in Kayseri in 1901, when he went to the
main mosque on the governor’s invitation.[148] Unfortunately, some travellers
believed retaining footwear was their right (as superior Europeans, perhaps?).
A famous outrage which occured in Constantinople sometime before 1806 is
related by more than one traveller a generation later. This concerned a Russian
ambassadorial party who refused to remove their shoes in the Süleymaniye,
only to have their ladies chased from the building under the blows of the slip-
pers they should have worn. By the time troops had arrived to extricate the
men, these had also fled.[149] In 1845 Durbin noted that the shoes off etiquette
“is not founded upon that sentiment which Moses felt when he was com-
manded to approach the burning bush barefooted, but upon a desire to pre-
serve the house of God free from the least defilement.”[150]
Bovet still needed to inform his audience of the same Muslim cleanliness
rule in 1862, and although he also referred to Moses, the Burning Bush, and
God’s command, his emphasis also was on cleanliness in mosques as well as
in houses with carpets on the floor.[151] Of course, carpets (rather than simple
mats) were laid in the most prestigious mosques, hence the objection to their
being covered with spit. Fermanel should have realised this when he wrote
in 1670 of houses in Constantinople that “Ils ne tapissent point leurs cham-
bres comme on fait en la Chrestienté [i.e. as hangings on the walls], mais ils
mettent les tapis sur le pavé.”[152] Again, the Christian East was not necessarily
like the West. Febvre observed Greek Christians in the East behaving in a way

he did not expect for his experience back home: they did not allow dogs in
their churches, and “Ils n’y crachent jamais par reverence.”[153] But this did not
mean that they abstained from spitting on household walls or floors, as Davy
pointed out.[154]
Clearly, then, westerners were used to spitting in churches, and some were
amazed that this was forbidden in mosques, as was wearing street shoes or
boots. Dodwell in 1819 admired the “admirable cleanliness” of mosques in
Larissa, contrasting it with Christian countries, where he wished similar regu-
lations could be adopted, because “the exterior of the churches is generally
desecrated by accumulations of filth of every kind, while the interior, particu-
larly in Italy, forms the spitting place of the whole congregation.”[155] In 1823
Gell reported from Navarino (and quite incorrectly) that spitting was the main
reason travellers were excluded from mosques, for “the Turks sit, kneel upon,
and touch the carpet or mat with their foreheads;” and he related that his janis-
sary had identified a group as Russians, and “that he could not be mistaken, for
they had spit all over the room.”[156]
Spitting continued to be a problem throughout the Empire. In 1820 Williams
was convinced than there was an embargo on entering Constantinople’s
mosques: “it is said that the interdiction arose from the secretary of the Russian
Embassy having spat while in one of them; he was with difficulty rescued from
death.”[157] Post in 1830 tells the story of a “renegade American, residing in
Smyrna,” who entered a mosque in muddy boots, and was given the choice of
reneging or losing his head.[158] In 1836 Temple reported that he was unable
to get into Hagia Sophia because of the “insulting and disrespectful conduct
of a Russian party, who spit on the carpets.”[159] (Was this a recent outrage, or
an echo of the pre-1806 Russian behaviour already noticed?) Russians rarely
attracted a favourable press; rather they even invited opprobrium for their
behaviour in the Crimea at the beginning of the nineteenth century, where
they destroyed mosques and minarets, as well as ancient monuments.[160] But
Russians were not the only target for outrage in Constantinople. In 1853 Crowe
reported on an American group who entered Hagia Sophia during Ramadan,
claiming,
whatever was the cause of quarrel, (it was said that one of the party inad-
vertently spat on the pavement,) certain it is that the visitors were mal-
treated and beaten, which, after paying eight or ten pounds as the price
of permission, was disagreeable and severe.
Evidently, paying a good entry price should allow visitors to behave as they
wished! The authorities were apparently powerless to curb such attacks on

36 Chapter 2
tourists for, as Crowe commented, “the barbarism of the Constantinople

mob, too, grows in the inverse proportion of the humanity of the upper
functionaries.”[161]
It was indeed a topsy-turvy world. In 1864 in Jerusalem Saint-Aignan com-
mented that Christians uncovered the head but remained shod, the Muslims
vice versa; but he made no comment on spitting.[162] And it was also the case
that Muslim habits and ideas could offend Christians. Casola, travelling 1494,
observed their ablutions, barefoot into the mosque and then with head cov-
ered (“which they never uncover even in the presence of the greatest lord in
the world”), and they could not understand Christianity.
It is great madness to talk to them about our faith, because they have no
rational sentiment in them. They are very impetuous and easily excited
to anger, and they have no gracious or courteous impulses or actions.
And I declare that they may be as great and as learned as you like, but in
their ways they are like dogs.[163]
9 The End of Islam? The Empire in Decline?
Is Turkey moribund, or is she still capable of resuscitation? Are the phe-

nomena of her present condition merely those of arrested development
or of hopeless, senile decay? It is an old, a familiar question, the answer to
which will always determine, as it has determined in the past, the policy
of Great Britain in the Near East.[164] [1901]
Whether through vindictiveness, fear of further encroachment, or contempt,

travellers from the Renaissance onwards sometimes expressed the view that
Islam (and perhaps by extension, any continuing physical threat to the West)
was declining or nearly dead. One leitmotif running through this book is the fre-
quent desire of westerners (usually ignorant of mosque management, finance,
or local customs) to view dilapidated mosques as reflective of the decadence
of the very religion of Islam. Such sentiments were frequently expressed in the
contested city of Jerusalem, for example by De Hass in 1883, who viewed the
inscriptions inside the Dome of the Rock and asked,
and, what is remarkable, no reference is made in the inscriptions to

David, Solomon, or Mohammed, but the name of Jesus, the son of Mary,
is mentioned four times. Is this prophetic of it becoming some day a
Christian church?[165]

Far from playing the ball (rather than the man), commentators often dilated
on what they considered to be the reprehensible habits and character of Turks.
Dislike of their architecture (or merely bad weather, food, streets, or locals)
could trigger or intensify such opinions. This section offers an overview of
arguments (or, rather, prejudices) which will crop up throughout this book,
and Percy’s question above underlines that the matter was closely linked to
European political attitudes. Naturally, complaints against Islam and the
Empire itself were often conjoined, since the latter was a motor for the for-
mer. As we have seen, westerners gave little thought to the Crusades, but
from the nineteenth century many believed the Empire was in decline and
Islam with it and, since that century saw yet more organised pilgrimage to
Jerusalem (including many from America), they expected the final triumph of
Christianity. Turkey was to be called “the sick man of Europe,” but few western-
ers saw their governments as a continuing source of that malaise.
In Constantinople, everyone tried to visit Hagia Sophia, which stood for west-
erners not only as indicative of Turkish inferiority in their supposedly imitative
mosques, but as the living promise of the city’s return to Christianity, surely
not long to be delayed. In 1764 Chandler conveniently reported that, to the
consternation of the Turks, a shining cross was seen over Sancta Sophia, “inter-
preted to portend the exaltation of the Christians above the Mahometans; and
this many surmised was speedily to be effected.”[166] Michaud and Poujoulat in
1833 gave jealousy as the reason Turks would not allow Christians to see inside
Hagia Sophia:
Les Turcs ont d’ailleurs un pressentiment que Sainte-Sophie retombera

un jour dans les mains des Chrétiens, et ce pressentiment ou cette pré-
diction ajoute encore à leur humeur ombrageuse et jalouse. Il faut donc
renoncer à voir l’intérieur du temple, ou bien attendre que la prédiction
s’accomplisse.[167]
However, observers like Davy in 1842 thought it ridiculous to analogise that the
Turks were either infants to be nurtured, or debilitated dotards.[168] Was Islam
really under attack from the West, or was this simply wishful thinking?
Laurent in 1821 traced the “Empire problem” to the recent sultans, who he
saw as decadent: “effeminate successors of those great princes, warped by
the prejudices of priests,” who put a brake on progress.[169] Sleeman, travel-
ling 1835–6, harboured deep thoughts over what would have been the fate of
Europe had Charles Martel not won at Tours: “Arabic and Persian had per-
haps been the classical languages, and Islamism the religion of Europe; and
where we have cathedrals and colleges we might have had mosques and

38 Chapter 2
mausoleums.”[170] Colombey les Deux Mosquées comes to mind. For Taylor in

1839, the mosque would perish with Islam (may its time be short!), for “a ref-
ormation of the Moslem faith is impossible.”[171] Colton visited Hagia Sophia
in 1856, wishing that “it may yet be filled with worshippers, who … will cast
their eyes to that benevolent Saviour whose religion needs no weapons for its
support.”[172] Benjamin in 1867, found the building “unsurpassed in the mag-
nificence of its architecture, as seen from within.” Inspite of earthquakes, it
still stood, and was
the magnet toward which are turned the longing eyes of the eastern
Christians, who are steadfastly awaiting the hour when the great bell of
Time shall toll the doom of Islam, and when the golden cross shall again
and forever replace the crescent on that immortal dome, beneath whose
vaults the anthem of praise first pealed thirteen centuries ago.[173]
Like many other travellers (offered chunks of mosaic as they fell off the walls),
Hayward in 1892 could make out Christian mosaic designs under Muslim ones,
and therefore “it is greatly to be hoped that at no distant day they may be
uncovered by Christian conquerors and the cross replace the crescent.”[174] If
lauding Hagia Sophia to the detriment of the Royal Mosques was unfair, even
more so was MacFarlane’s 1850 assessment of the mosque at Aezani (“a low,
narrow, wooden barn. In its front were four square wooden pillars, small and
mere sticks, resting upon four ancient capitals turned upside down.”) with the
enormous temple nearby: “Great was the contrast,” he wrote.[175]
Did travellers visit the Empire and deduce decline from what they saw, or
did they arrive pre-briefed with prejudices from home? In some cases, perhaps
so; but for authors like Fowler in 1854, the wish was father to the report, for his
book was titled, Turkey; or, a history of the origin, progress and decline of the
Ottoman Empire, the stance of which appears on pages 5–6:
the rapid progress of Islamism, as begun by the Saracens, and continued

by the Turks seems almost incredible. They desolated the earth, reducing
cities, destroying churches, and raising mosques, on which the Crescent
triumphed over the Cross, and imposture supplanted truth. Hence was
established that hatred between the Moslems and the Christians which
has ever since distinguished them.
Two additional elements in the Bill of Torts against Islam were already expressed
by Febvre in 1682, and we shall hear much about them in later chapters. The
first, already noted, was that the Muslims tried to beautify their mosques “aux

dépens de la véritable,” that is, by using materials from churches.[176] Worse

than that, whereas Europeans cherished strangers, many Muslims apparently
hated them, and forbade Christians from entering mosques; were they to do
so, they risked being mistreated, or even forced to “turn Turk” – that is, become
Muslims.[177]
A popular nineteenth century idea was the mission civilisatrice, by which the
French occupation of Algeria would civilise (i.e. westernise) the Arabs. Ending
Islam would be one way of accomplishing this, as we can tell from Morier’s
enthusiastic 1818 report on Tabriz:
the rapidity with which the Persians might be entirely civilized … a further
impulse to the eagerness with which they have already begun to acquire
some of our arts … the whole of Persia would soon exhibit a very different
aspect from what it does at present; and that from this commencement,
their darkness in religion would perhaps be gradually dispelled.[178]
Guérin in 1859 was preaching to the choir when he noted the advances brought
to Egypt by the French occupation, and “je ne parle pas seulement ici de notre
civilisation au point de vue matériel, car sous ce rapport les Anglais nous éga-
lent, mais à un point de vue plus élevé, je veux dire au point de vue moral et
chrétien.”[179]
9.1 Disparities between West and East

For many travellers from the eighteenth century onwards, who had left in their
home country a milieu rich in trade, industry, new towns, new roads, new
agricultures and developing transport, the Ottoman Empire was observably
lacking in such facilities, (therefore?) in decline, and Islam with it, ready to
be picked clean by the West. Thank heaven, the glory-years of the earlier and
dangerous Ottomans were finished! Comparisons with prosperity back home
were inevitable. As late as 1801 Eton had noted that “the use of wheel carriages
is almost unknown in Turkey … In most parts of the Asiatic provinces they
have no idea of a wheel,” for goods were transported by animal.[180] In his day
he estimated that the mosques were richly endowed, but also remarked on
“constant malversation on the part of the guardians,”[181] which was to be one
reason for their dilapidation.
In Lattakia in 1837 (following the 1822 earthquake, and declining commerce
and population), Robinson exclaimed that “it is so unusual to see a new mosque
erecting in these declining days of Islamism.”[182] Addison in 1838 thought it
was the Turks who were to blame for such degradation, their territories going
backward, with finance wasted, population reduced, and industry neglected.

40 Chapter 2
The history of their rule in Europe and in Asia, presents, a melancholy

catalogue of robbery and plunder, confiscation and oppression; and they
have at last reduced some of the fairest provinces of the world to a more
depopulated and impoverished state than we have any record of since
their existence in the page of history.[183]
Fowler echoed these sentiments in 1854, conjuring up a past golden age of

great Pashas and Aga, when “much was then done for the benefit of the peo-
ple; mosques were built, roads were made, bridges erected, and khans or cara-
vansaries constructed for the benefit of travellers.”[184] Writing in 1878, Evans
agreed, writing of the “Asiatic stagnation” of the Ottomans, having perverted
Islam, and made their version of it an enemy of progress.[185] Modernity was to
be used as a measuring stick for the Empire itself.
Another disparity is that mosque architecture was rarely imported into
the West, unlike Greek and Roman forms adjusted for reuse in new buildings,
which were common currency throughout the East. This did not happen with
mosques except for Brighton-Pavilion-like follies. Such designs were common
by the 1790s in England, such as Wrighte’s domed mosque on columns,[186] or
his version with minarets and an Arabic inscription in gold letters.[187] Indeed
Wilson in 1848 could proclaim that Saracenic architecture was not suitable
for the North.[188] Yet nearer to home the beauties of the Alhambra were very
influential on mid-nineteenth century design.9
9.2 Dilapidated Buildings and Imperial Decline

The variety of opinions offered above was elaborated by other commentators.
Helping bolster opinions about the decadence of Islam were those about the
characteristics of Turks in the Empire. In 1854 Oldmixon expressed admiration
for the dolce far niente of the Turks. We, the Europeans, with steamships, guns,
railways and technology were less than happy, whereas “I think the Turks have
the best of it, by having nothing of what we boast.”[189] In the same year in
Constantinople Fowler noted that the Turks knew nothing about architecture,
(“with the exception of that of Sultan Achmet and one or two others”), because
all the rest were converted Greek churches. His crowning argument about their
avoidance of technology was that “their contempt for all innovations induced
them for a long time to reject the art of printing, which has been only lately
introduced, and some types have been formed of the Arabic character.”[190]
Indeed, explained Davy in 1842, Turkey needed a reformer (was he thinking of
9 Ferry 2007, 229 for Owen Jones’ preference for the Alhambra over Cairene Islamic styles,
hence the Alhambra Court at the Crystal Palace.

the Khedive in Egypt?) to give education, justice, revenue and infrastructure to

the Empire.[191]
In 1850 MacFarlane adduced an architectural argument for the perceived
decline, namely that “it is a general and anciently established usage for one
Sultan to neglect all the buildings that have been erected by his predecessors,
unless it be some mosque,” adding that “it is from this habit that we see so
many kiosks [such as garden shelters in the Seraglio at Constantinople] fall
into ruins before they have had time to grow old.”[192] (In 1816 Morier wrote
of exactly the same attitude in Persia.[193]) Added to gradual decay was an
eastern propensity for leaving structures in ruins and unused (not a western
trait.) Thus, Burgess when he visited a once splendid mosque at Ayasoluk, near
Ephesus, in 1835 observed,
wandering about these empty halls, I thus reflected on the inscrutable

ways of Providence; and trusted that the ruined mosque might be an
emblem of the state of that religion which has now for twelve centuries
deluded so large a portion of mankind.[194]
With architectural ruination being viewed as the harbinger of the end of Islam,
such travellers viewed Ottoman cities as being in decline, and therefore, for
most of them, the religion as well. Ottoman reuse of classical antiquities also
entered the rationale: in 1845 Williams, in Jerusalem, focussed on the Turks as
destroyers of what earlier generations had built: handsome Saracenic fountains
were dry, and traces of Greek, Roman and Gothic materials “lying neglected on
the side of the street, or built into modern hovels, without any regard to their
proper position, and shafts of columns of costly marbles jutting out from the
walls in various parts, all attesting its ancient greatness.”[195]
Texier, who wrote one of the best descriptions of Asia Minor in the mid-
1830s, could admire the Green Mosque at Bursa, but still associated himself
with the general pessimism by remarking that
Le temps et le manque d’entretien ont effacé peu à peu cette brillante

parure, et là, comme dans tous les édifices musulmans, la décadence et la
ruine semblent présager à l’Orient de nouvelles destinées.[196]
Or were such sentiments preaching to the (prejudiced) choir back home, and
simply a relief that the West was no longer in danger from any Ottoman threat?
Certainly, for travellers could admire past achievements and use those as a
platform from which to criticise the present. In 1854 Fowler looked back to
the glorious past of Saracenic architecture at Mecca, Jerusalem, Cairo and in

42 Chapter 2
Spain.[197] The following year Allen contrasted the modern Turks (“destruction,
or neglect of the land-marks of civilisation, has attended their progress”) and
“in this they must be considered apart from other followers of the Prophet,
the Saracens, and &c., to whom the arts and sciences owe so much.”[198] Such
opinions in no way linked all Islamic architecture to the religion they served.
10 The Various Inhabitants of the Empire
Travellers were well aware of the differing competences of Christians, Turks

and Jews throughout the Empire, which they were arrogant enough to esti-
mate as plain fact. In 1855 Carlisle contrasted the characteristics of the differ-
ent inhabitants of the Empire. He reported that Greek villages were energetic
and increasing in populations, whereas “in the Turkish village you find roofless
walls and crumbling mosques.” Thankfully, the navy was apparently efficient
(as it should be in the midst of the Crimean War) but
what is it you find over the broad surface of a land which nature and
climate have favored beyond all others, once the home of all art and all
civilization? Look yourself, – ask those who live there, – deserted villages,
uncultivated plains, banditti-haunted mountains, torpid laws, a corrupt
administration, a disappearing people.[199]
Western aid with technology, finance and the military served to underline local
incapacities. In 1870 Paton noted that when Napoleon had invaded, Alexandria
was “at its lowest ebb of decadence,” and he then underlined the extensive
British and French technical and engineering help to the go-ahead Muhammad
Ali.[200] This was certainly done to increase trade interest in Cairo, as well as to
help destabilise the Empire itself. But the Khedive’s modernism was surely an
exception, and many Muslims did indeed remain technologically backward.
Thus, Eliot reported in 1900 that
there are Mollahs and Kadis who seriously discuss how near to a mosque
a telegraph wire can properly pass, seeing that it is a means of conveying
the voice of Satan from one place to another.[201]
Are minarets now in use as transmission points for mobile phones, like some
church steeples in England and elsewhere?
Western money was welcome, and eased admission to monuments, espe-
cially in nineteenth century Jerusalem. Yet permission for Christians to violate

Muslim holy places only stretched so far, for in 1830 “no Mussulman governor
dares permit an infidel to pass into the territory of Mecca, or into the Temple
of Jerusalem.”[202] For many other monuments money made many difficulties
disappear, even at the grass roots, as Hughes narrated at Berat, in Epirus, in 1820:
as we descended towards the river, a mad dervish came jumping out of

the portico of a new mosque near the serai, vociferating the most horrid
imprecations against our Christian heads: the application of some paras
quickly changed his tone, and the poor wretch remained dancing in the
wild manner of his fraternity upon the bank, and eulogizing us in a most
Stentorian voice till we were out of sight.[203]
In the same way, some inhabitants of the Empire could be flexible and pan-
theistic in their devotions. As Evans noted in 1878, “an Albanian will attend a
mosque at noon and a church at night with the greatest sangfroid.”[204]
But then, perhaps the provinces were backward? In 1855 Allen contrasted
the energy and forwardness of the capital with collapse in the provinces, con-
ceding that “many thought that with their withering fatalism, the Turks them-
selves foresaw their inevitable dissolution; and that the efforts they made, with
a melancholy acquiescence, were but in vain compliance with the strenuous
exhortations of the enlightened and energetic British statesman.”[205] But he
was not too optimistic, given
the innumerable suggestions for the amelioration of the empire which

Franks, solicitous for its welfare, have poured into its archives; so that the
Sublime Porte may be supposed to be as well stocked with projects as a
certain place is said to be with good intentions.
Or were the provinces simply non-fanatical? Again, although the Empire sought
to extract as much money from Christians as they could, Hughes reports the
vizir of Ioannina as caring little for any religion; “and most unusually he allowed
the Greeks many privileges, including: that which they seem to value most, is
the power of calling together their congregations by a bell.”[206] This was excep-
tional benevolence; usually Greeks were allowed to repair their churches only
by sending money to a mosque in Constantinople, as Leake noted in 1830.[207]
Greeks and Turks had to live together, but revenge was sometimes in the air.
Bartlett recounted what happened when the Greeks reoccupied Crete in 1886:
many of Larissa’s minarets were demolished,[208] and Muslims butchered, with
many burned alive in their mosques; “in fact, the worst of the Armenian hor-
rors were paralleled by these Christian warriors.”[209]

44 Chapter 2
Foreign travellers could also find comfort with many of the Empire’s provin-
cial inhabitants. Attitudes certainly varied between towns and countryside. In
his 1897 reminiscences of the twelve years he had spent in Turkey Ramsay drew
a distinction in treatment of Christians between the intolerance of city Turks
and friendly villages where,
for a small consideration, a dollar or two, they will permit the archaeolo-
gist to make an excavation beside the mosque, or to saw away part of a
plank in the floor, when an inscription is concealed under the soil or the
wooden flooring.[210]
What is more, it one village in 1888, he and his wife were entertained during
Ramadan within the actual mosque precincts, and
after their evening meal, the elders assembled there, conversed with us,
performed their prayers in chorus before us; and at last, when we inti-
mated our wish to rest, they helped our men to hang up carpets across
the open side of the room, so that we might be entirely private.[211]
11 Architecture in the Empire: Wood, Maintenance and Competence
Several characteristics already touched upon intrigued some visitors, who

looked at architecture in the East asking the same questions they would have
posed back home. This was a mistake, for attitudes and conditions were differ-
ent, as we shall see. Others, however, such as Allen in 1855, stuck to the notion
that Islam was doomed, that the Cross would prevail over the Crescent, and
that the Turks had given up architectural innovation, and were “content to sit
idly by and let events, over which they believe they can have no control, take
their course.”[212]
11.1 Wooden Houses

One aspect of building practice which puzzled westerners (aware of the large
quantities of marble spolia used for making the most prestigious mosques)
was how even important houses in Constantinople were built of wood. Olivier
in 1801 thereby contrasted mosques with houses.[213] However, fortunately
for the themes of this volume, not all travellers (pace Allen above) believed
Islam was coming to its end, or found its buildings or customs unsatisfactory,
although so much wooden building intrigued them. Chesneau, accompanying

Aramon, the French ambassador (1547–1553), had praised the splendour of the
mosques (“merveilleusement belles, magnificques et sumptueuses”), and was
quite clear that the Turks could build in stone when they wished to do so. In
Constantinople he could not miss the propensity for building houses in wood,
mais ils ont pour mal d’habiter en maisons de pierres: et pourtant n’en
usent aucunement sinon aux églises et sérail dudict Grand Seigneur; et
toutes leurs maisons sont fort basses, faictes de terre ou de bois, et ce
generallement par toute la Turquie.[214]
Then Leslie in 1672 had recorded the destruction at Constantinople of part of

the Court and of more than two hundred houses from fire,[215] noting that even
palaces were of wood: “Ce n’est pas la coûtume, d’élever les murailles avec des
pierres, ni de vouter: il n’y a que les Mosquées qui jouissent de ce privilege.”[216]
And splendid mosques required marble. In 1817 Walpole remarked on the
enormous quantities of marble being imported from the island of Marmara
(once called Proconnesus), but only for mosques, because “the possession of
private property is too precarious to induce them to build a solid house; their
residences are, in consequence, a kind of slight, but gaudily painted wooden
barrack.”[217] But apparently attitudes were changing, for Brewer in 1830
pointed both to Marmara and limestone quarries on the mainland, stating that
“the Franks have begun to build stone houses of late.”[218] He thought the capi-
tal no longer went to Paros for building marble, but exclusively to Marmara,
whereas Smyrna was still reusing spolia from Ephesus and that region.[219]
However, may travellers did not assimilate the well known reasons for wood
or marble use, and continued puzzled. Hence Olivier in 1801 was curious about
the propensity in Constantinople for building even the houses of the rich in
wood,[220] and in 1839 Spencer called the Turks “infatuated,” and was puzzled
that they still continue to construct their dwellings of the same material: nei-
ther do they make the slightest alteration in the architecture, but proceed to
erect upon the same spot a duplicate of its predecessor.[221]For those who talked
to the locals, however, there was no puzzlement. In 1842 Davy had addressed
local sentiments to counter the usual European amazement at wooden houses,
explaining that their use came in part
from the persuasion that it is more wholesome than stone; and also, it is
said, from a feeling of humility, it being considered by them presumptu-
ous to dwell in buildings like their mosques, made, as it were, for eternity,
and keeping no measure with the frailty of the occupants.[222]

46 Chapter 2
Or, as De Kay put it, “any other style of building is considered by the Turks
as a presumptuous attempt to raise imperishable dwellings for perishable
man, and to imitate the temples erected for the worship of the Deity.”[223]
But few Europeans understood such a sophisticated argument. Thus in 1853
Crowe visited Argos, and was bewildered why the modern town was “a wilder-
ness of wooden cabins” when “there are stones around sufficient to build a
pyramid.”[224]
Westerners needed to understand social distinction better, not just at
Constantinople but also (for example) in Persia, where Bell in 1717 remarked
on the mud-brick houses of Ispahan, where “the Shach’s palaces, the public
edifices, and the houses of all persons of distinction, are built with stone.”[225]
11.2 Maintenance of Mosques and Other Foundations

Travellers were not often aware of the waqf (or vakif), a deed of endowment,
set up when the monument (perhaps a mosque, school, hospital or han) was
built, and intended to provide an income flow that would continue, assum-
ing it was not hijacked (in Cairo, many were taken over by the government.)
The beneficial results of still functioning waqfs were easily to be seen in
Constantinople. As Regnault remarked in 1855, “Les mosquées impériales
pourvues de ces wakfs sont sous la surveillance des premiers personnages de
l’empire.”[226] Singer agreed in 2002: “Bursa, Edirne, and Istanbul, the imperial
capitals, show best the effects of sultanic waqf making, how the endowing of
large complexes furthered urbanization and the growth of cities.”10 Marrakesh
continued to be well endowed, as Stutfield remarked in 1886.[227] The same
“Collegiate Endowment of Mahomedan Tombs and Mosques” obtained in
India, where “every handsome mausoleum among Mahomedans was provided
with its mosque, and endowed by the founder with the means of maintain-
ing men of learning, to read their Koran over the grave of the deceased and in
his chapel; and as long as the endowment lasted, the tomb continued to be at
the same time a college.”[228] Unfortunately, the British governments in vari-
ous parts of India sometimes acted no differently from those in the Ottoman
Empire.
Did old and crumbling mosques stand in the path of modernity? Certainly,
any worship of modernity in the Ottoman Empire privileged the new over the
old. If nineteenth century Europe did indeed harbour a growing movement for
the restoration (so-called) of old monuments, the Empire had no similar care
for the old, which is why the engine for the restoration of monuments in (for
example) Cairo was fuelled by the translated concerns of westerners. Already
10 Singer 2002, 29.

in 1850 MacFarlane attributed the decay since the 1820s to reformers, “who
are uprooting religion, and a respect for it in every direction, have virtually
destroyed the security which the mosque, and the mosque alone, could give to
any landed property.” Given over to government care,
we see the heads of the mosques and medressehs in abject poverty, the
rabble students in rags, the most beautiful of the temples and minarets
shamefully neglected and hurrying to decay … It is notorious that, since
vakoufs have been administered by government, nothing has been done
to maintain the works of public utility, and that, with the exception of the
stinted, ill-managed repairs in progress in the interior of Sancta Sophia,
at Constantinople, hardly any of the money has been spent in keeping up
the mosques.[229]
11.3 The Turks as Builders
Ils [the Turks] se sont aussi emparez de leurs Eglises pour s’en servir aux
usages & aux cérémonies de leur Religion, & quand ils ont eu besoin de se
bâtir des Temples, ils en ont pris le modèle sur ceux qu’ils avoient enlevez
aux Chrétiens, ne sçachans pas assez d’Architecture pour en élever d’une
manière qui leur fût propre & particulière; C’est pour ce sujet que toutes
les Mosquées de Constantinople sont comme autant de copies très-
imparfàites de la belle Eglise de sainte Sophie.[230] [1680]
In the above quote, Grelot gives voice to a standard European reaction to

the mosques of Constantinople, namely that they were but poor imitations
of Hagia Sophia. However, if some travellers called on their revulsion toward
Islam to disparage the architecture they found, or to assert that it was all
Christian inspired (with Hagia Sophia as the main inspiration), plenty of oth-
ers saw the glories of Islamic architecture at their true worth. And as a French
embassy to Constantinople pointed out in the 1730s, the Turks did indeed
repair their mosques, added palaces, and built attractive fountains, so were
far from deficient in building skills.[231] In 1807 Thornton made a distinction
between building competence and architectural knowledge. Their mosques
(“these masses of monstrous magnificence”) were but “rude incoherent cop-
ies” because they did not know, or simply neglected, architectural principles.
However, they were constructed with skill (look at the minarets!) so that “the
builder may merit our approbation, though we ridicule the architect.”[232]
Other commentators were confident about both Islamic skill and design.
Casola was in Jerusalem in 1494, and declared that “the Moors do not lack good

48 Chapter 2
master workmen for their buildings,” describing the recent retrieval of mar-
ble columns from the sea off Jaffa for use in new works.[233] For Davy in 1842,
(and he is writing only about the modern Turks, not all the inhabitants of the
Empire) their mosques, aqueducts and ships offered proof of expertise as con-
vincing as that of western cathedrals, and
requiring only culture and encouragement, under favourable circum-

stances, to make progress in the arts and sciences generally, and attain
excellence comparable with that attained by the western nations in the
short space of a very few centuries.[234]
But who was it who built the mosques? In Smyrna in 1829 Macfarlane observed
very few Turks were employed for building, except as labourers; and the
carpenters, masons etc. were all Greek.[235] This was indeed the truth: in
Constantinople, Christians were over half the workmen on the Süleymaniye, so
that “in striking contrast to many other parts of Europe, in the Ottoman econ-
omy the success of the Muslim, as with the Christian and the Jew, depended
not upon policies of restriction and exclusion but upon talent, traditional
expertise, and practice.”11
The opposite and blinkered view of Turkish incompetence was enunciated
by travellers such as Pouqueville. He observed their destruction of antiqui-
ties and churches in order to build mosques, and concluded that the Turks,
unlike the Moors (“qui ornèrent l’Espagne de monuments admirables”) only
destroyed, “et il ne restera d’eux sur le sol qu’ils habitent que quelques fon-
taines publiques et le vain luxe des tombeaux.”[236] But perhaps his judgment
was influenced by the thirty-one months he spent in prison at Navarino and
Constantinople.
However, most observers adopted a more balanced line, even if shaded
by the unparalleled excellence of ancient Greece. Eton wrote in 1801 that the
occasional [Islamic] conqueror “has thus made amends, by the blessing of civi-
lization, for the havoc which he had caused by the sword.” But the Turks had
remained as barbarians and destroyers of knowledge:
instead of promoting the mutual advantage of both nations, by an inter-

course of knowledge and benevolence, they use the privilege of conquest
only to the extinction of the common powers of intellect.[237]
In consequence, he found that “in all the Turkish arts, the traces of superstition
are observable,” and, what is more, they had not learned from the Greeks, that
11 Goffman 2004, 90.

is, “from the perfect models they have daily before their eyes.” He found their
mosques “notwithstanding many striking defects, grand and imposing,”[238]
but condemned them for the source of their beautiful lime plaster, for “it is to
be lamented that to produce it, the divine works of Phides and Praxiteles have
been consigned to the furnace.”[239] As for Marchebeus in 1839, he wrote of
superstitions, and seemed to include the removal of footwear before entering
mosques as one of them.[240] Westerners could also be superstitious, of course,
for example retelling the story of bloodstains in Hagia Sophia from the time of
the Conquest.[241]
12 Advice to Western Travellers from Western Authors
A common way of keeping readers happy was to include travel advice, best
seen in the high volume of guides published from the mid-nineteenth century,
but available much earlier as well, before good roads, steamships and hotels
smoothed the traveller’s lot. By including such advice, travellers perhaps con-
vinced readers that they had actually visited the monuments of which they
wrote. Again, accounts are sometimes dotted with brief or extensive notes of
what it cost to travel to the east – information which could be of great use to
their readers, as could those authors who listed journey times in itineraries,
and gave tips on hiring and paying guards and guides. Details are given here
to underline the radical changes in cost during the nineteenth century, from
milords retaining the whiff of the Grand Tour, to a wider population taking
advantage of steamships, railways, and group travel in tents or hotels.
12.1 The Costs of Travel

If living costs once arrived in the East were low, getting there was still expen-
sive. It would not be difficult to extrapolate the much greater costs in the age
of the Grand Tour, but here are details from the mid-nineteenth century, when
the onslaught on the Empire began with steamships (from Marseille)[242]
and continued with trade. Albert Smith went to Constantinople in 1849, and
offered detailed accounts for various methods of travel. Southampton to
Constantinople by boat, cost £41 first class and £27.10 second class. Servants
were charged £22. The equivalent cost today would be about £5,207 and £3,143,
with £2,794 for the servant.[243] It was cheaper to get to Marseille and sail from
there, and he put the barest minimum cost at £31 and £20 for first and sec-
ond class, or £3,596 and £2,320 today.[244] Again, booking on an inflated Grand
Tour via Switzerland, Italy, Malta, Athens, and Smyrna incurred a total cost
of £53, or £6,731. Smith also noted the extending network of trains and boats
between Paris and Constantinople, predicting that “when the Marseilles and

50 Chapter 2
Paris Railway is finished throughout, and Egypt is brought comfortably within

eleven days of London, – almost what Interlachen used to be, – the influx of
tourists will be enormous.”[245]
Once in the East, getting from Constantinople to Cairo cost £15 4 6, or £1,740
today. In 1876 a twenty-day three-week Cook’s cruise up the Nile to Assuan
cost £50 (£5,450), including all excursions.[246] Or one might take the Express
steamer, without excursions, for nineteen days, which cost £20, or £2,320.[247]
By 1866, a twenty-day voyage up the Nile cost about £42, but this was basic, for
“only those take them who wish to economize either time or money, for they
do not allow time enough for the requisite sight-seeing, nor provide sufficient
donkeys, guides, saddles, &c.”[248]
13 East Is East: The Development of Curiosity Travel
We may wonder whether the locals in Constantinople and across the Empire
ever became attuned to the western idea of “curiosity,” namely an inquisitive
interest in unusual objects, often from far afield (as in the Renaissance’s fond-
ness for Cabinets of Curiosities). They were puzzled: what were foreigners
about, briefly visiting mosques, or just viewing them from the outside? Why did
they wish to visit monuments, bazaars, baths, or palaces? They did so because
such locales were a novelty, to be visited if they fitted in with the exigencies
of the travellers’ timetable. On the contrary, and excepting several prestigious
travellers (such as Evliya Çelebi: see below), visiting old buildings was not usu-
ally part of the Muslim world. Pardoe and Taylor supplied two answers which
would perhaps have mystified the locals. Miss Pardoe wrote in 1837 that “I have
seldom spent a morning of more absorbing interest than that which I passed
among the Mosques of Constantinople.” How much did she learn, or was able
to report, in so short a time?[249] Similarly, in 1839 Taylor regretted “exceed-
ingly that our time did not allow us to view the interior, for outwardly it not
only surpasses St. Sophia, and all other mosques in the city, but is undoubt-
edly one of the purest specimens of Oriental architecture extant.” Hence what-
ever enthusiasm he had for mosques was extinguished by the demands of his
timetable.[250] (Timetables were themselves a western import, important for
steamers, group travel, and firmans.)
By the mid-nineteenth century, some travellers expected the East to function
just like the West, although this was vaguely the case only in Constantinople
and a very few locations in newly Frenchified Algeria. We shall encounter com-
ments about how westernised the East was becoming, with towns after the
mid-nineteenth century being compared to Paris or Marseille. By 1887 Arab

cities without some westernisation were a rarity, as Gabriel Charmes regretted

while he was at the untouched Fez:
d’une ville qui avait à nos yeux un vif intérêt de curiosité. Il devient de
plus en plus rare et difficile de rencontrer une cité arabe immaculée.
Cairo had been so invaded by the West that one had to search in the middle of
modern buildings for quarters which still evoked a vanished past. Damascus
was better preserved, although “progress” had also penetrated, but was ruled
by Turks, “race barbare et brutale qui souille et dépoétise tout ce qu’elle tou-
che.” Jerusalem, now three-quarters Christian, saw its old town crushed under
convents, hospitals and churches, “où tous les peuples d’Europe rivalisent de
mauvais goût.” So what was left for Islam? Mecca, of course, but only Kairouan
and Fez.[251] One might conclude from Charmes, therefore, that it was mod-
ernisation and western civilization that had destroyed Islamic cities; and, of
course, this was precisely what the French had done deliberately in Algeria and
modernising sultans and governors attempted elsewhere.
Our travellers were likely to be practising Christians, but varied greatly
in their attitudes to Islam, from an objective interest in its rituals to a viru-
lent conviction that the religion was collapsing as fast as the Empire itself,
and hence a smug satisfaction in the forthcoming triumph of Christianity.
Except for British officers or civilians resident in India, all westerners had to
learn about Islamic architecture while in the East, since Muslims, Islam and
mosques were practically unknown at home. Just how easily such knowledge
could be acquired depended on travellers’ disposition and education, also on
local guides, but especially on ambassadors and consuls, part of whose duties
it was to smooth the path for travellers, and to explicate the milieu in which
they found themselves to the home government. “Je m’appliquois sans relache,”
wrote Otter in 1748, à l’étude des langues qui me devenoient nécessaires: pour y
mieux réussir, je crus devoir joindre les conversations à la lecture.”[252] And he
showed himself willing to study necessary languages at Constantinople, before
his travels in Turkey and Persia. Otter also observed that wearers of European
dress (so conspicuously different from the native norms) often got insulted in
the streets, and therefore took a janissary with him when he had to go abroad
thus dressed.[253]
The East was soon recognised as fertile ground for the practice of travel writ-
ing, increasingly popular back home as such travel became easier. As Malcolm
noted in 1827, wandering tribes of writers “have recently begun to migrate into
Syria, Asia Minor, and some have actually penetrated as far as Persia.”[254] Such
“curiosity travel,” as we have seen, baffled many Ottomans, and equally, “these

52 Chapter 2
motives were unintelligible to the Persians.”[255] This in turn meant that locals
were usually unclear about travellers’ intentions, hence advice was needed to
help them. Throughout this book we shall find advice tailored to specific sites
or towns throughout the Empire by those authors who wrote to encourage
their readers to venture abroad.
One well travelled author qualified to offer advice was Charles Texier (1802–
1871). He had covered a great deal of ground in the Empire and North Africa, for
as well as Asia Minor,[256] he went further east, into Persia, with the 1839 French
Embassy, together with the artists Coste and Flandin. And as he related, these
ont rapporté de Perse une grande quantité de magnifiques dessins où

revivent avec tout leur grandiose et les sites de cette région pittoresque,
et les édifices de l’architecture moderne, et surtout les restes des vieux
monuments de l’ancienne monarchie de Cyrus.[257]
Writing in 1862, thirty years after his first work in Asia Minor, he passed in
review how, during the early years, visitors who slept with a double-barrelled
gun, and others who found it difficult with a carbine in one hand and a sketch
pad in the other. Texier’s general advice was to remember the uncertainties left
by civil war and poverty, and to
surtout cacher à un peuple défiant l’intention d’observer le pays et d’en

étudier les monuments; car dans une opération topographique les popu-
lations étaient toujours disposées a soupçonner l’idée d’une invasion
étrangère.
Thankfully, conditions had lately improved. Since his first expedition to Asia
Minor,[258] his specific advice was as follows: gain the confidence of the locals,
and speak even a little of the language to avoid using a dragoman; learn about
local money, measures of distance, and roads and routes. Above all, get an impe-
rial firman, and documentation (often less useful) from local governors.[259]
As travelling to the East developed from casual excursions into a near indus-
try by the later nineteenth century, authors of guidebooks were then ready
with advice on how to deal with the local guides who plagued hotels, were gen-
erally ignorant, and usually in cahoots with shop assistants. Beware entering a
monument with these specimens known variously as “guides, domestiques de
place ou cicérones, en Asie et en Afrique, drogmans ou interprètes,” who were
always present.

Si vous allez visiter un musée, une église, ou une mosquée, il est là, vous
regardant dans la main, pour voir le pourboire que vous donnez, faisant
signe au concierge, au gardien, qui après vous avoir montré quelque coin
sombre de l’édifice, exige un nouvel impôt, partagé après coup, avec votre
persécuteur.[260]
Thus, Knox in 1879 contrasted guides in the East as much inferior to those in
Venice, since in Hagia Sophia “the most you can expect of him, after you get
inside, is to tell you which is the floor and which is the roof.” So his advice was
to stick to the guidebook.[261]
13.1 Writing Travel Books

If one wished to write a book but had not seen some of the main monuments,
there was a thesaurus of earlier accounts which could be adapted, and often
was. If some travellers were suitably dressed, firmaned, language-competent,
and admitted to the sites, there were others who used the oldest tricks in
the book, namely copying or paraphrasing from earlier travellers, or gullibly
accepting what locals told them. (Some books of travels were sold as col-
lections of earlier accounts, some correctly documented, other not.) Telling
tall stories evidently began early, although only a few recognised Sir John
Mandeville as a fraudulent fantasist. Hence assuring the reader that the travel-
ler had indeed seen what he reported was common; thus Thevet, in his book
first published in 1556, repeated for several sites the catch phrase “comme i’ay
veu estant lors sur les lieux.”[262] He evidently made assurance doubly sure by
visiting a mosque in Cairo accompanied by a cavass and no fewer than eight
janissaries – that is, armed infantry.[263]
A good example of buyer beware is the work of Jean-Baptiste Benoît Eyriès
(1767–1846), who was an accomplished linguist and translator, and a founding
member of the Société de Géographie, whose works suggest that most read-
ers wanted to scent a whiff of foreign parts, whether they were accurate or
imagined. His Voyage pittoresque en Asie et en Afrique was published in 1839,
but there is no evidence he ever went to any of the sites he retails. Presumably,
since he owned a large collection of travel books, he simply did an extensive
cut and paste job. The same applies to his illustrations, by Jules Boilly, some
of which are wildly inaccurate. Eyriès subtitled the work Résumé general des
voyages anciens et modernes. And he named fifty-three authors; but they are
merely mentioned in the text, and the reader is left completely at sea because
no chapter and verse, let alone dates, are provided.
A popular ruse was criticising what previous authors had written in order
to underline one’s own superior knowledge and attention to the monuments

54 Chapter 2
visited (or supposedly visited). Many travellers carried previous texts with
them, and could thereby prove their own superiority. As one among many,
Porter in 1768 warned his readers against authors “who never stirred out of
their own country,” and others who travelled quickly, and gave “long accounts
of various countries and people; evidently collected from the idle report and
absurd tradition of the ignorant vulgar.”[264] Some early and accounts became
almost canonical, and were adopted and quoted in the popular guidebooks
by John Murray and Baedeker, indicating just how precarious was useful time
spend describing the interior of some monuments. Today’s reader might
wish to pay attention to the first date of such accounts and for just how long
they were published; for although we may rightly assume that travel to most
areas got easier as time passed, access to some monuments got no easier, and
detailed accounts might remain for several decades the best on offer.
Porter’s 1768 warning was certainly necessary, since long texts with illustra-
tions were frequently cobbled together. An egregious example is the honest
M. Breton, who published six (admittedly 12mo) volumes with this title page:
L’EGYPTE ET LA SYRIE, ou Usages, Costumes et Monumens des Égyp-

tiens, des Arabes et des Syriens. Précédé d’un Précis historique. / Par
M. BRETON. / Orné de quatre-vingt-quatre planches une partie a été exé-
cutée d’après des originaux inédits, et l’autre d’après ouvrage de Louis
Mayer; / Accompagné de Notes et Eclaircissemens fournis par Marcel,
Directeur de l’Imprimerie impériale, de la commission d’Egypte. / TOME
PREMIER, PARIS, Nepyeu, Libraire, passage des Panoramas, 1814.
Breton’s Preface gave details (vii–viii):
Aux quarante-neuf gravures empruntées de l’ouvrage anglais, des

Voyages de lord Valentia, de Norden et de Niebuhr, l’éditeur en a réuni
trente-cinq, d’après des dessins originaux et inédits. Plus de la moitié de
ces trente-cinq dessins sont de M. Marcel qui les a faits lui-même, ou fait
faire sur les lieux, et les a rapportés en France avec une foule de curiosités
égyptiennes. Les autres sont de M. Rosset, sculpteur lyonnais, qui a visité
l’Egypte quelques années avant l’expédition.
It is indeed apposite that his books sold in the Passage des Panoramas, built
in 1800, for this included two large rotundas (destroyed in 1831) wherein pan-
oramic paintings of cities, including Jerusalem, were shown. If visitors obtained
such views second hand, so also did the readers of Breton’s volumes.

Authors were obviously alert to those competitors who wrote accounts

of the East after only a brief acquaintance, and naturally wished to torpedo
their claims. They therefore underlined their much longer sojourns in the title
page to establish the solid credentials for the book before the reader began
the text. Since it was far from unusual to write a book based on only a few
weeks in the East (see the Bibliography), punctilious authors included num-
bers in their title. Among many examples, see Josias Leslie Porter’s 1870 Five
Years in Damascus. Then Neale in 1851, who titled his two-volume book Eight
years in Syria, Palestine and Asia Minor from 1842 to 1850, to which he added the
soothing proof of his likely competence: late attached to the consular service in
Syria. If Sir Edwin Pears’ 1916 Forty years in Constantinople is perhaps the time
wise winner, many other titles will be found in the bibliography of sources,
such as Black’s 1865 A hundred days in the East, during which he visited Egypt,
Palestine, Turkey in Europe and Greece.
Muslims were also alert to lying accounts of pseudo-visits to monuments.
Thus, the widely travelled Evliya Çelebi was punctilious in his narrative,
writing of a small mosque in Cairo that “has a single story and one minaret.
But I did not go inside and inspect it. God be praised, I have made it a prin-
ciple to describe only those buildings which I have entered and worshiped in
and know from my own eyewitness.”12 Was Çelebi known to foreign travellers?
Not in earlier centuries, for apparently his Turkish MS only reached Istanbul
in 1742, to be copied there. Joseph von Hammer-Purgstall found an MS in 1804
of the first four volumes (of what proved to be a ten-volume work), published
excerpts in German in 1814, and then an English translation of volumes I and II
in 1834 and 1850. Some of Çelebi’s extensive accounts verge on the fanciful, and
some indeed are of places he cannot have visited. But western knowledge of
his works (in the manner of Pausanias) would have provided a detailed intro-
duction to the world of Islamic architecture.
Accuracy was a decided concern for sententious authors. Thus, Fraser in his
1834 book on Persia assured his readers that
his personal acquaintance with many parts of the country has afforded
him material assistance in describing its aspect, productions, and inhab-
itants; and he has availed himself of the observations of the greater
number of modern travellers, both to correct his own opinions, and to
supply additional facts. The advantage of this actual knowledge has been
especially important in constructing the map; and, it is proper to remark,
12 Dankoff 2006, 189.

56 Chapter 2
a very considerable difference will be found between the positions of

many of the principal places, as given in that now submitted to the pub-
lic, compared with all other geographical delineations of Persia. These
corrections have been made in accordance with a series of astronomical
observations taken by the author.[265]
13.2 The Illustrated Book
Whoever sees in a Mosque only red and white plaster, or in the Parthenon
but a mass of broken marble, should not expose himself to the trouble
of contemplating those objects. There are prints of them engraved with
restored proportions, a travelling and thinking made easy, much prefer-
able to the ocular experience of those agile travellers who over-run all
Europe in three months.[266] [1856]
Curtis, as detailed above, and bolstered by the fact that “the filth, fanaticism,
and inconvenience of the East are not to be denied, nor the alarming propor-
tion of vermin to people in oriental cities,” offers a strong argument for the
illustrated book. With its technical developments, the nineteenth century was
rich in illustrated books, and witnessed an explosion of methods for getting
drawings or photographs onto the page. If illustrations then published (with a
preference for complete rather than ruinous buildings) were an improvement
in accuracy and detail over the scrappy woodcuts and engravings of previous
centuries, they were usually confined to exterior and often distant views of
mosques. This was a reflection of restrictions placed on visitors inside mosques,
who were often watched with suspicion. For as noted above, drawing inside a
mosque was a rare activity to be carried out on a miniscule sheet of paper
concealed in the palm, and our travellers were generally forced to observe
what they could, and then sketch or write up later whatever they remembered.
Anyone doubting the lacunae caused by such problems should compare illus-
trations of Rome, Naples or Pompeii with those of cities covered in this book.
A lack of copious illustrations offer another reason why the study of Islamic
art and architecture lagged well behind those of western forms. Photographs
were precious for, unlike redrawn illustrations, the camera could not lie, and
sometimes showed the stark reality of dilapidation and ruination.
Curiously, the large majority of travel books to our regions were not illus-
trated, or only presented readers with small sketches we could call culs-
de-lampe, which avoided having to include any detail. Illustrations were
expensive to originate, and reproduction techniques varied. It should come as
no surprise that the great illustrated magazines of England and France, which

in their earlier days generally used photographs transformed into printable

steel engravings were so popular: their large format was suitable for exten-
sive illustration; and their large circulation (and hence large and cheap print-
ing) ensured their success. For the very same reason of large circulation to
increasingly large numbers of tourists, it is the Murray, Joanne and Baedeker
guides which also offer illustrations of some of the monuments they describe,
together with increasing numbers of country and town maps.
Because of the restrictions and expense of both travel and of nineteenth
century book illustration, and the ability to indulge in open air sketching
without being molested, we meet an interest in panoramic views (sometimes
called cosmoramas), displayed in specially designed theatres in Europe and
America.13 Professor Sattler of Vienna offered several in America in the late
1840s, including Luxor, Alexandria and Jerusalem: “they have been made dur-
ing many years of travel through Europe, Greece, Turkey, Asia Minor, Syria, the
Holy Land, Egypt, Nubia and Arabia; and are painted in oil, with great accu-
racy.” For Temple writing in 1836, they were part of Europeanisation, and he
noted such a theatre in Algiers[267] (that is, only six years after the French inva-
sion). We shall see when considering Constantinople (and in Volume II, Syria,
Egypt and North Africa, likewise for Cairo and Jerusalem) how travellers on-site
also framed what they saw as panoramas, and drew them from a distance.
[1] ycaut_1670_unpaginated.
R [17] ook_Syria_1858_li.
C [31] F ulin_1881_124–125.
[2] ewberie_1905_449–481.
N [18] Cook_Cruise_1902_21. [32] Sanudo_Diarii_L_
[3] S pilman_1742. [19] R
elazioni III.I_1840_389. 1898_472.
[4] Fryer_1698_260–261. [20] Relazioni III.II_1844_ [33] Relazioni III.III_1856_62.
[5] W
illiams_Jackson_1911_ 235. [34] R elazioni III.III_
150–151. [21] Hammer_1837_VIII_ 1856_88.
[6] Cust_1914_39. 172–175. [35] R elazioni III.I_1840_152.
[7] H odges_1794_65. [22] Hammer_1836_VI_325. [36] R elazioni III.I_1840_
[8] Cook_Palestine_1876_iii. [23] Hammer_1837-VII_69. 152–153.
[9] Cook_Palestine_1876_iiiB. [24] H
ammer_1837_VIII_270. [37] Relazioni III.III_
[10] M urray_1858_xi. [25] Hammer_1837_IX_305. 1856_150.
[11] F raser_Rae_1891_271–272. [26] Hammer_1837_X_14. [38] R elazioni III.I_1840_37.
[12] C ook_Egypt_1872_8–9. [27] Hammer_1838_XI_196. [39] R elazioni III.I_1840_52.
[13] C ook_Egypt_1872_1–2. [28] Hammer_1838_XI_224. [40] R elazioni III.I_1840_
[14] F raser_Rae_1891_112. [29] Hammer_1838_XII_58. 52–53.
[15] F raser_Rae_1891_270–271. [30] Hammer_1839_XIII_ [41] R elazioni III.I_1840_
[16] C ook_Palestine_1907_v. 20–22. 351–352.
13 Byerly 20123.

58 Chapter 2
[42] R elazioni III.III_1856_ [73] L usignan_1783_221–223. [114] G relot_1680_134–135.

257. [74] Porter_1768_9–19. [115] relot_1680_Avis.
G
[43] R elazioni III.III_1856_ [75] B
iddulph_1609_61. [116] Dupré_1825_39.
391. [76] Lusignan_1783_223. [117] Gell_1823_184.
[44] R elazioni III.I_1840_101. [77] Butler_1884_I_36–37. [118] Lear_1851_105–106.
[45] Relazioni III.III_1856_ [78] Butler_1884_I_39. [119] Fellows_1839_7–8.
137. [79] Dumas_1839_67–68. [120] Fellows_1839_8.
[46] R elazioni III.I_1840_275. [80] Dodwell_1819_I_326–327. [121] L aval_1855–9_308–309.
[47] Relazioni III.I_1840_341. [81] Post_1830_168. [122] Morier_1818_241–242.
[48] R elazioni III.I_1840_4. [82] Girault_de_Prangey_ [123] Thévenot_1664_92–95.
[49] R elazioni III.I_1840_ 1841_24. [124] Baltimore_1767_76–77.
113–114. [83] Castillo_1664_passim. [125] Smith_1683_439–440.
[50] R elazioni III.I_1840_ [84] Lettres_édifiantes_1819_ [126] Stutfield_1886_158.
325–328. 492. [127] Thevenot_1687_69.
[51] R elazioni III.II_1844_367. [85] Mac_Farlane_1850_II_ [128] Vogüé_1859_33.
[52] Relazioni III.III_1856_ 585–583. [129] Darboy_1865_63.
218. [86] Bell_1788_I_88. [130] Young_1854_312.
[53] Relazioni III.I_1840_ [87] Salle_1840_216. [131] Perrier_1842_108–109.
281–282. [88] Dodwell_1819_I_264. [132] Vandal_1887_171.
[54] Relazioni III.II_1844_ [89] Ramsay_1897_281. [133] Lane_2000_90.
378. [90] Febvre_1682_185. [134] St_John_1844_245.
[55] R elazioni III.II_1844_100. [91] E liot_1900_170. [135] D avis_1879_124–125.
[56] Brewer_1830_95. [92] Cochran_1888_248. [136] Otter_1748_I_17.
[57] Teixeira_1902_59. [93] Colton_1856_63–64. [137] Hilprecht_1903_26.
[58] Boullaye_le_Gouz_ [94] Newton_1865_II_165–167. [138] Egmont_&_Heyman_
1653_530. [95] Struve_1802_213–214. 1759_I_203.
[59] Ouseley_III_1823_35. [96] Clarke_1816_II_271. [139] Layard_1903_II_4.
[60] Osborne_I_1745_508. [97] Herz_Bey_1906_LXXIV. [140] V
ernet_1843_I_132–133.
[61] H ill_1866_259. [98] Wilkinson_1847_43. [141] S mith_1683_437.
[62] Wellsted_1840_I_248. [99] Forbin_1819B_130. [142] Du_Mont_1699_II_
[63] F raser_1838_I_12. [100] H ervé_1837_II_277. 241–242.
[64] Z alonkemeny_1877_54. [101] H ervé_1837_II_292. [143] Tournefort_1718_II_53.
[65] Girault_de_Prangey_ [102] Cockerell_1903_18. [144] Febvre_1682_23ff.
1841_viii–ix. [103] C ockerell_1903_26–27. [145] Arvieux_1735_III_210.
[66] Maurice_1806_III_ [104] C ockerell_1903_14–15. [146] Febvre_1682_40.
186–187. [105] Damer_1841_I_119–120. [147] Febvre_1675_75.
[67] B ernard_1887_4. [106] Grelot_1680_95–164. [148] Percy_1901_61.
[68] S alle_1840_II_448. [107] G relot_1680_95–163. [149] Brayer_1836_I_316–318.
[69] Porter_1882_71. [108] G relot_1680_iii. [150] Durbin_1845_II_204.
[70] Joanne_&_Isambert_ [109] Grelot_1680_i–iii. [151] Bovet_1862_240–241.
1861; Isambert_1882; [110] G relot_1680_280. [152] Fermanel_1670_44.
Piesse_1862. [111] G relot_1680_282. [153] F ebvre_1675_373.
[71] Vernet_1844_I_81. [112] Grelot_1680_Avis. [154] Davy_1842_II_134.
[72] Lusignan_1783_220. [113] Grelot_1680_264. [155] D
odwell_1819_II_101.

[156] G ell_1823_11–12. [195] Williams_1845_431–432. [235] M acfarlane_1829_44.

[157] Williams_1820_II_ [196] Texier_1862_129. [236] Pouqueville_1826_
360–361. [197] F owler_1854_376. VI_113.
[158] Post_1830_282–283. [198] Allen_1855_I_368. [237] Eton_1801_12–13.
[159] Temple_1836_II_45. [199] Carlisle_1855_145–146. [238] E ton_1801_203–204.
[160] Anon_1855_109–110. [200] Paton_1870_II_73–74. [239] Eton_1801_202–203.
[161] C rowe_1853_209–210. [201] Eliot_1900_99. [240] Marchebeus_1839_181.
[162] Saint-Aignan_1864_162. [202] C onder_1830B_118. [241] Colbeck_1887.
[163] Casola_1907_257. [203] Hughes_1820_II_252. [242] Pardieu_1851_4.
[164] Percy_1901_277. [204] Evans_1878_141. [243] Smith_1850_216.
[165] De_Hass_1883_157–158. [205] Allen_1855_I_364. [244] S mith_1850_218.
[166] Chandler_1817_I_155. [206] Hughes_1820_II_25. [245] Smith_1851_vii.
[167] Michaud_&_Poujoulat_ [207] Leake_1830_I_133. [246] Cook_1876_6.
1833_II_155–156. [208] Bartlett_1897_170. [247] Cook_1907_378.
[168] Davy_1842_II_427–428. [209] Bartlett_1897_18–19. [248] Warren_1873_6.
[169] Laurent_1821_66. [210] Ramsay_1897_31–32. [249] Pardoe_1837_I_404.
[170] Sleeman_1844_II_272. [211] Ramsay_1897_35–36. [250] T aylor_1855_350–351.
[171] Taylor_1855_345. [212] Allen_1855_I_362–363. [251] Charmes_1887_253–254.
[172] Colton_1856_58. [213] Olivier_I_1801_148–149. [252] Otter_1748_I_17.
[173] B enjamin_1867_6–7. [214] Chesneau_1887_28–29. [253] O tter_1748_I_19.
[174] H ayward_1892_233. [215] Leslie_1672_73. [254] Malcolm_1827_I_viii.
[175] MacFarlane_1850_I_ [216] L eslie_1672_87–88. [255] Malcolm_1827_I_
180–181. [217] Walpole_1817_87. 237–238.
[176] Febvre_1682_45. [218] Brewer_1830_124. [256] Vivien_de_
[177] F ebvre_1682_276. [219] B rewer_1830_218–219. Saint-Martin_II_1845_
[178] M orier_1818_227. [220] O livier_I_1801_230B. 128–129.
[179] Guérin_1859_60. [221] Spencer_1839_137. [257] V ivien_de_
[180] Eton_1801_207. [222] Davy_1842_II_416. Saint-Martin_
[181] Eton_1801_50. [223] De_Kay_1833_87. II_1845_129.
[182] Robinson_1837_363–364. [224] C rowe_1853_125–126. [258] T exier_1862_1–2.
[183] Addison_1838_I_162–163. [225] Bell_1788_I_141. [259] Texier_1862_2–3.
[184] F owler_1854_304–305. [226] Regnault_1855_163. [260] L ubomirski_1880_
[185] Evans_1878_126–127. [227] Stutfield_1886_92–93. 295–296.
[186] Wrighte_1790_11–12. [228] Sleeman_1844_II_ [261] Knox_1879_260.
[187] W righte_1790_12. 236–237. [262] T hevet_1575_I_235.
[188] W ilson_1848_160–161. [229] MacFarlane_1850_I_ [263] Thevet_1575_I_39.
[189] Oldmixon_1854_370. 237–238. [264] Porter_1768_1–2.
[190] Fowler_1854_308. [230] Grelot_1680_264–265. [265] Fraser_1834_5–6.
[191] D avy_1842_II_472–473. [231] Vandal_1887_84. [266] Curtis_1856_32.
[192] Mac_Farlane_1850_I_45. [232] Thornton_1807_24–25. [267] Temple_1836_I_22–23.
[193] Morier_1816_256–257. [233] Casola_1907_253.
[194] Burgess_1835_II_57. [234] D avy_1842_II_459–460.

Chapter 3
Spain
1 Christians versus Muslims
All the western travellers featured here knew the peninsula as only a Christian
country. Islamic for some eight hundred years from the Umayyad Conquest
of 711, in Córdoba, conquered by Ferdinand II of Castile in 1236, the Mezquita
immediately became a church. Spanish Christian rulers from the tenth century
felt no compunction in turning some mosques into churches, destroying oth-
ers, and burning libraries. They fought what amounted to a guerrilla war against
suspected non-converts, both Muslims and Jews, and expelled large numbers
of them. In 1478 Pope Sixtus IV had authorised a new Inquisition to assist the
invasion of Granada. Its Muslims were granted safety and religious freedom,
but the Inquisition (Tomás de Torquemada was named Grand Inquisitor) took
precedence. Ferdinand and Isabella expelled all Jews from 1492, and in 1502
all Muslims were ordered to leave or convert, with resulting conversos both
Jews and Muslims (these were called Moriscos), many having been converted
by force, providing much work for the blossoming and expanding Inquisition.
The Reconquista was completed with the defeat of the Kingdom of Granada
in 1492, when the Alhambra at Granada became the Court of Ferdinand
and Isabella.
Within our time period there is no record of Christians or Jews being thus
expelled from Muslim lands, perhaps because they were too useful: Greek
Christians were much sought after in the Empire as builders, and the Jews
prized in finance, medicine and administration, as well as trade. What is more,
they paid good taxes. This sketch invites the reader to question the modern
multiculturalist fantasy that Jews, Christians and Muslims lived in bliss in
mediaeval Iberia, which flows contrary to a veritable tidal wave of facts. In
Laborde’s splendid summary, Muslim-dominated Spain was the seat of sci-
ence, and as for Christians and Muslims,
while the former were spending the joyless intervals of peace in the
rude solitude of their inaccessible castles, the latter were tasting all the
delights, both sensual and intellectual, of a high degree of civilization.[1]
Just as we shall learn how the “Muslim street” in the East hated Christians and
Jews, surely partly in memory of crusading activities, so we should be aware

Spain 61
that Christians in Spain likewise hated Muslims and Jews, one marker amongst
many being the Toledo riots of 1449. If many of our travellers to the Ottoman
Empire were puzzled by local attitudes to Christians and Jews, a glance at the
history of Spain would have clarified matters for them. Scholarly accounts1
have been written of how the Christian-Muslim “war” has in fact existed for
one thousand years, and an interesting PhD might study attitudes to Christian
and Muslim buildings (their destruction, or survival and reattribution) in
Spain and throughout the Empire against memories of the Crusades.
Were Christians in Spain during and after the Reconquista benevolent at
least toward Islamic architecture? No. Considering the centuries the Moors
were in Spain, occupying most of the country, there are very few Islamic monu-
ments surviving, for the Christians obliterated large numbers of mosques so
that, in comparison with the survival of churches (some converted) through-
out the Ottoman Empire, the survival rate of mosques in the Iberian Peninsula
was very low. As Urquhart wrote baldly in 1850, “there has been a great destruc-
tion in Spain of Moorish buildings,” with only two remarkable ones remain-
ing, namely the Mezquita and the Alhambra, “the fragment of a palace raised
within latter days.”[2] Such damnatio memoriae happened elsewhere, for exam-
ple in Thessaloniki.2
2 The Alhambra, Granada (Reconquered 1492)
The town below retained some Arab monuments, as Chénier noted,[3] but we
should begin any examination of the Alhambra by remembering that this pal-
ace, built of wood, stucco, tiles and some marble, has been radically restored
over past centuries, so that even star parts, such as the Patio de los Leones,
are far from original, as Torres Balbás noted in 1929.3 Furthermore, several sec-
tions have been mishandled over the years,4 and Blond provides chapter and
1 Petacco 2017; Polk 2018.

2 Johnson & Ousterhout 2012, 19: “With the exception of the minaret of the Rotunda, physi-
cal evidence of later histories has been almost completely excised from this city, while the
churches were restored to their Byzantine period appearance.”
3 Blond 2008, 309 Patio: es casi totalmente obra posterior al siglo XV. Tan sólo las columnas de
mármol, algunos de los techos de lazo, reparados y repintados, y parte del friso de madera,
son obra musulmana. Las galerías, los muros del fondo, hasta una altura aproximada de dos
metros, el alero, las decoraciones de escayola, son restauraciones modernas.
4 Irwin 2004, 11: “legends, lies and honest mistakes are as much a part of the story of the
Alhambra as is the factual record. So are vandalism, inadequately researched and botched
restoration work and distortions caused by the demands of the tourist trade.”

62 Chapter 3
verse on the mangling.5 Had the structure been predominantly of marble and
stone, rather than of reproducible stucco and tiles, more original work might
have survived (unless greed took any marble to be reused elsewhere). Andrea
Navagero, the Venetian ambassador, visited in 1526, and admired the palace
and its marble, but was puzzled because the marble was on the floors rather
than the walls.6
The higher and cooler Generalife was also altered. By the time Jacob visited
in 1811, the site had been inhabited by a nobleman no longer resident, “who has
added some modern comforts to the ancient luxuries.” This palace was popular
with the locals, “who repair to it with their provisions, and hold their convivial
meetings in halls which rival in coolness and beauty the most voluptuous pal-
aces of Asia.”[4] The Alhambra itself also provided some private accommoda-
tion, as we shall see.
The intention to draw the site thoroughly and then publish the results
began with the Irish architect and antiquary James Cavanah Murphy (1760–
1814). He was in Spain 1802–1809, and then spent nearly seven more years pre-
paring his Arabian Antiquities of Spain, to be published in 1813. He wrote that
the Governor of the Alhambra welcomed him and allowed him free access at
all hours of the day “desirous that the knowledge of its splendid architectural
remains should be accurately transmitted to posterity.” Murphy’s target was
European enlightenment
by the union of the graphic art with the descriptions of the engravings
annexed, such facilties will be afforded, as shall enable the reader to form
an accurate estimate of the very high state of excellence, to which the
Spanish Arabs attained in the Fine Arts, while the rest of Europe was
overwhelmed with ignorance and barbarism.[5]
Exactly what he spent his Spanish years doing is difficult to determine; for if his
drawings of the Mezquita are few, those of the architecture of the Alhambra
are decidedly inaccurate, his main focus being on decorative details. In sum-
mary, Murphy’s work was not a success.
Shakespear, in his 1816 explication of Murphy’s book, wrote about the com-
plex at length, quoting Arab authors, but with no hint that he himself visited
the site. Indeed, he seemed to hedge his bets, writing that Charles’ palace was
falling into decay, but “in the works of the Arabs, on the contrary, the walls
remain unaltered, except by the injuries inflicted by the hand of man.”[6] And
5 Blond 2008, 304–305.

6 Brothers 1994.

Spain 63
then two pages later, he noted the site was totally deserted except on those
days visitors were admitted, and that
the want of repairs, the frequent lacerations, and the injuries occasioned
by rain and the stagnant waters, are hastening its dissolution. Thus dis-
mantled, solitary, and neglected, like a friendless stranger in a foreign
land, without the immediate interposition of government, a few years
more may level with the ground, the beautiful domes and arcades of the
only remaining palace of the western Khalifs.[7]
Shakespear’s fears were unfounded. When Inglis was here in 1830, he first visited
the Generalife where, “in the palace of Boabdil, there is nothing particularly
worthy of observation; but the myrtle groves and terraces are agreeable; and
from the latter, there is a charming view over the Alhambra and its gardens.” He
was struck by the numerous inscriptions throughout the Alhambra,[8] quot-
ing several of them. He deplored the bad taste of Charles V’s palace7 (“which
yet remains in an unfinished state”), and then visited the Patio de los Leones,
which he noted had lost it marble paving and been converted into a garden.[9]
He remarked that the structure was in bad condition, spent several mornings
wandering around, and “found no diminution in the interest awakened by
these majestic remains.”[10] Note the term he used: “remains,” and not simply
“palace,” which gives some hint of the dilapidation.
Washington Irving was here in 1829, remained for several months,[11] and
obtained lodging in the palace where, seated in the Hall of the Ambassadors,
I was led into a consideration of the light, elegant, and voluptuous char-
acter, prevalent throughout its internal architecture; and to contrast it
with the grand but gloomy solemnity of the gothic edifices, reared by the
Spanish conquerors.[12]
The last royal occupant had been Philip V in the early eighteenth century, after
which the governor sifted out the unwelcome inhabitants of what was at that
time an actual village.[13] He gave himself apartments, which Irving was to
occupy. During the French occupation (1808–1812) the general lived here and,
as Irving declared,
with that enlightened taste which has ever distinguished the French
nation in their conquests, this monument of Moorish elegance and
7 Irwin 2004, 63–64.

64 Chapter 3
grandeur was rescued from the absolute ruin and desolation that were
overwhelming it. The roofs were repaired, the saloons and galleries
protected from the weather, the gardens cultivated, the water courses
restored, the fountains once more made to throw up their sparkling
showers; and Spain may thank her invaders for having preserved to her
the most beautiful and ‘interesting’ of her historical monuments.
If this is true, it matches the town improvement that the French practised in
Rome; and the well-being is marred only by our knowledge that “on the depar-
ture of the French they blew up several towers of the outer wall, and left the
fortifications scarcely tenable.”[14]
Dennis, travelling in the summer of 1836, found Granada a “fallen city”
which, however, “has not yet reached the utter prostration, the deathlike tor-
por, the expiring vitality of Córdoba.”[15] Unlike Irving, he could not get lodging
in the palace, but found a Moorish building in the Alhambra district.[16] Now
an official laissez-passer was needed to visit the palace, and a bell rung to gain
entry.[17] In his long description of the Alhambra (he had a guide, and he made
several visits each of several hours), apart from ceiling cracks and signs of con-
solidation in the Sala de Justicia, which he attributed to earthquake,[18] Dennis
made no play of dilapidation or ruination. Reminding the reader that genera-
tion after generation lived and passed away since its creation, he marvelled at
a complex “which as yet shows hardly a symptom of the decay that has long
since assimilated its creators to the earth in which they are entombed.”[19] He
visited the unroofed and incomplete palace of Charles V, “which he intended as
a rival to the Casa Arabe, and which on any other site would be much admired,
but is here out of place, and inconsistent with the Arabian character of the
adjacent buildings.”[20]
Dennis’ visit to the Alhambra’s Patio de los Leones led him to assert an
eastern origin for Gothic, where the visit might imagine “he sees the source
of several styles of Teutonic architecture.” He could not resist footnoting an
explanation:
Saracenic and Gothic architecture are, nevertheless, essentially distinct

in character. The one is light, airy, and elegant – the other, heavy, gloomy,
and grand. The only instance I remember in England in which the Gothic
partakes of the lightness and grace of the Saracenic, is in Salisbury
Cathedral – from the columns in whose chancel a very tolerable idea may
be formed of the architecture in this Court of Lions.[21]
Dennis was just as romantic as Irving, recording frequent picturesque conversa-

tions with the locals, sunsets, moonlit viewing, songs, legends, and dreamings,

Spain 65
in one of which he saw descendants of the Spanish Moors all about him. What
he relayed has echoes today.
Their descendants, or those in Barbary who claim a Spanish origin, are

said even at the present day confidently to entertain a hope of once more
possessing the land of their fathers. Modern travellers relate that some
have preserved the keys of the abodes, and title-deeds to the estates of
their ancestors in Granada, and that they still offer prayers every Friday
in the mosques, for the speedy re-occupation of this city.[22]
Richardot had a similar experience in 1905 when he quizzed the calif’s son at
Testour, who pretended he had not understood the question: “Comme évidem-
ment il comprend fort bien j’ai peur de l’avoir froissé et, cessant mes questions,
je le suis dans la mosquée.”[23]
Visiting in 1841, Elizabeth Leveson-Gower shuddered at the dirt of the city of
Granada,[24] offered ten pages of description of Alhambra and Generalife,[25]
and in the former picked out the Room of the Two Sisters (“so named from
two enormous slabs of marble in the pavement”[26]) and then the Hall of the
Ambassadors:
the ceiling is of most elaborate beauty, vaulted, and so high that its actual
elevation can scarcely be calculated, as it loses itself in one dark labyrinth
of carving, gilding, and colour. The patterns on the walls defy imitation,
for variety, richness, and delicacy.[27]
And as Reinaud exclaimed in 1842, in his review of Girault de Prangey, “quel

spectacle inattendu! Quelle réunion de tout ce qui peut flatter les sens! L’eau
circule partout: ici s’élancent des jets qui rafraîchissent l’air; là roulent des
cascades dans des rigoles de marbre.”[28] A few years later Schroeder equalled
Leveson-Gower in the length of his descriptions,[29] noting of the Court of
the Lions that “there are not many things in all the works of man which can
compete with this part of the Alhambra in exquisite, minute, and elaborate
splendour.”[30] He spent three hours in that court, and watched a daguerre-
otypist at work: “the sun had portrayed the most truthful designs upon the
plates … to the truth of which I could testify on the spot.”[31]
Jules Goury had drawn the Alhambra in 1834, and Owen Jones published
his work together with drawings of his own in his Plans, elevations, sections
and details of the Alhambra: from drawings taken on the spot in 1834 by the late
M. Jules Goury and in 1834 and 1837 by Owen Jones, Architect (London 1842). There
are fifty-one plates, and text in French as well as English. As we may guess from
his career, many of his plates are of decorative art, and these demonstrate his

66 Chapter 3
main interest. Thus, for the Patio de los Leones, one plate shows the details of
an arch, a second the fountain, and a third the architectural ensemble. Again,
his interest in a European take-up of the Alhambra tiles and patterns is under-
lined by his interest in their colouring, his Plate XXXVIII supposedly (but in
fact, not) representing accurately the current state of a capital and support-
ing stucco work. He could not reproduce the mosque within the Alhambra
because, as his text notes,
this mosque and the buildings attached to it were, at the conquest, made
over to the monks of the order of St. Francis. It was in very good preserva-
tion until the occupation of Granada by the French troops, when it was
entirely destroyed.[32]
3 Charles V and Architecture
Well might Charles V. exclaim, as he is reported to have done, on his

first entering the Tower of Comares, when he visited this sumptuous
Hall, and beheld the magnificent prospect from its windows: – “I would
rather,” said he, “have this place for a sepulchre, than the Alpujarras for
an inheritance!”[33] [1813]
Charles V was the most powerful and multilingual monarch in Europe; his
golden words (some, no doubt, being what he should have said, such as that he
spoke German only to his horse) were collected and written down, and relayed
by travellers, as above by Murphy. He was also the best travelled (Spain, the
Low Coutries, Germany, England, Italy), and with an interest and some knowl-
edge of architecture past and present. Involved in crusading against North
Africa, what was his attitude to Islamic survivals in Spain?
After travelling from Seville and through Córdoba, Charles and his wife
stayed in the Alhambra in 1526, and the future Philip II was conceived there.
But the Emperor never saw the palace he later commissioned. From Italy in
1532, he ordered work to begin on renovating the Alhambra. Having been
impressed by the design of the house Andrea del Mantegna built for himself in
Mantua in 1502, a bijou cube with a circular courtyard,8 he gave orders the fol-
8 Parker 2019, Cultural records II: “Charles commissioned the Renaissance construction in the
heart of the Alhambra of Granada during his visit to Mantua in 1532, and although he made
plans to return on more than one occasion, he never actually saw it.”

Spain 67
lowing year for his architects to prepare designs for his large palace in Granada.
As already hinted above, commentators thought it out of place, and Murphy
explained why:
it reflects the highest credit on the artist, Alonzo or Alphonso Berrugueti,

who began to execute it in the year 1526 [incorrect]. It is every way
adapted to the climate; and its interior, which is of a circular form, unites
convenience and splendour. In any other situation but this, the palace of
Charles V. would justly excite admiration: but here it is misplaced, and
produces only disgust.[34]
Although it is easy to find larger palatial models, the palace might well have
been inspired by the Mantuan building. However, Charles’ palace scarcely
echoes such a model, for it is a square of sixty-three metres per side, and is
17m high. It is so large that, were it placed in the mind’s eye directly over the
Nasrid Palace instead of next to it, the latter would be almost obliterated.
Consequently, it is not known what earlier buildings its erection destroyed.
Evidently, the palace was intended to be seen as a statement of up-to-date
architecture inspired by the foremost country for such architecture, namely
Italy. Like his rival François Ier (more alive to fashions than the slightly retro
English: cf. Hampton Court), Charles knew the source of the best and most
up to date architecture. According to Irving, it was fear of repeated earth-
quake shocks that left Charles V’s palace unfinished.[35] It was intended, Irving
thought, “to eclipse the residence of the Moslem kings. With all its grandeur
and architectural merit, it appeared to us like an arrogant intrusion.”[36]
We may assume that various renovations to the Alhambra were necessary
down the centuries, and in 1842 Reinaud was already complaining of poor res-
toration of its surviving parts. He underlined the sacrifice of some sections by
Charles, implying that it was he who started the rot, and suggesting he was
competing in taste with the Moorish rulers:
Une partie de l’ancienne résidence des rois de Grenade est maintenent

détruite. Quelques corps de bâtiments furent sacrifiés dans la première
moitié du XVIe siècle, pour faire place à un palais bâti dans le goût de
l’époque, et que l’empereur Charles-Quint voulait opposer au chef-
d’œuvre de l’architecture maure.[37]
Here Reinaud, naming the “competitive” choir added to Córdoba, was review-
ing Girault de Prangey’s book of the previous year, and agreeing with the
assessment therein:

68 Chapter 3
Charles-Quint, visitant ces lieux et séduit par l’aspect enchanteur de la

ville Moresque, voulut un instant fixer sa cour à l’Alhambra, et bientôt,
sans égard pour l’élégante demeure aux galeries légères et aux salles déli-
catement ornées, on construisit, à côté et en partie sur ses ruines, le lourd
monument classique d’un architecte du seizième siècle, édifice dont l’ef-
fet, si ridicule auprès du palais Moresque, ne peut être comparé qu’à celui
que produit le Espagne moderne de la cathédrale de Cordoue, au centre
de la vieille mosquée Arabe du huitième siècle.[38]
Charles was (so to speak) rehabilitated as a champion of good architecture by

his (supposed) comments on the choir set within the Mezquita at Córdoba.
For his reported verdict, repeated by many travellers, was indeed a severe one:
“vous avez construit ici ce que vous, ou tout autre, eussent pu construire partout
ailleurs; mais vous avez détruit ce qui était unique au monde.”[39] Taylor, writ-
ing in 1839 made the same comparison: “even Charles V., who laid a merciless
hand on the Alhambra, reproved the Bishop of Cordova for this barbarous and
unnecessary disfigurement.”[40] Bennet took the argument even further: of the
columns in the Mezquita, “two hundred were destroyed, with very bad taste,
under Charles V., to make way for a Gothic addition,” the implication being that
Charles could and should have stopped the destruction.[41] Girault deliberately
skewered him thus: how could the Emperor on the one hand deplore the choir,
and on the other go on to destroy part of the Alhambra for his own palace?
Unfortunately, when Charles pronounced his diktat (Si non è vero …) he had
other matters on his mind, including England’s invasion of France, and his own
campaigning in Navarre. And as already noted, he never saw the beginnings of
his new palace in Granada; what might his considered judgment have been?
We should also note that Girault decidedly had nothing against Gothic
architecture, or at least told his readers so. In what might be a Galileo moment,
he characterised Moorish art as “réduit à de bien minces proportions” as
against Amiens or Cologne, concluding for his home audience (sympathetic
to national architectures, but not necessarily to Islam?) that “l’art Moresque
a produit des oeuvres de goût; l’art Catholique, des oeuvres de génie.”[42]
Urquhart, writing in 1850, explored connections between Northern architec-
ture and the Saracens which “preceded the Crusades by four or five centuries,
and the intercourse of England with Africa preceded Islamism.” He even sug-
gested that “the Spanish peculiarities of the [Gothic] style passed into Europe
with their name, precisely in the same manner as that of the Norman or the
Lombard before them.”[43]

Spain 69
4 Córdoba: the Great Mosque (Mezquita)
Un magnifique édifice, le plus beau des monuments religieux élevés par

les Arabes sur le sol espagnol, la mosquée de Cordoue, véritable chef-
d’Espagne de l’art mauresque.[44] [1889]
Travellers such as Noah knew that science, learning and the arts did indeed
flourish under Muslim rule in Córdoba.[45] But little of this survived the
Christian takeover, and certainly no religious laissez-faire. Because of the
reuse of marble spolia, there was a frequent (and incorrect) assertion that the
Mezquita was made from the ruins of a Roman temple,[46] when in fact there
was once a church on the site. We take the survival of the Mezquita for granted,
and acclamations like that of Beaugrand cited above are common. The “resto-
rations” described by Blond are less well known.9
But why did it survive, given the attrition rate for mosques after the
Reconquista? Why not pull the whole thing down? Or should the ensemble
with the cathedral in its midst mean it was to be read as a captured trophy?
Had the forest of columns (by one count, eight hundred and fifty-six of them)
offered shafts of uniform sizes, with good capitals, instead of an infinity of long
and short in various varieties of stones, perhaps it would have been disman-
tled so its materials could be reused elsewhere, because marble was in great
demand. But what to do with such a collection, just as disparate in its stones
and colouring as in its capitals, impossible to turn into a Gothic church (remem-
bering that Córdoba was conquered in 1236) or, later, into a Renaissance one?
Again, why did a splendid mihrab niche remain, even if bricked in for some
time (see below)? Christianising a mosque also occurred at Seville, where the
1184 mosque had a Royal Chapel added to it after the 1248 reconquest of that
city; that chapel was demolished in 1466.
Although documentary evidence is lacking, it appears that the Mezquita
survived because the city’s inhabitants and clergy wished it to do so. After
the reconquest of the city, the Mezquita thereafter served for over 250 years
as a church, with various chapels introduced, before Charles V arrived on the
scene. Already in 1261 Alfonso X was petitioned by the Bishop of Córdoba to
find a way of preserving the monument, and agreed that “the ruin of such a
9 Blond 2008, 297, 321.

70 Chapter 3
noble church would be a loss.”10 Again, when a great choir was built in the six-
teenth century, it was supposedly against the wishes of the inhabitants. From
today’s perspective this intrusion is not merely egregious, but very strange
indeed, for with it in place, what purpose did the rest of the structure serve,
except to house various chapels amid the forest of columns? We have already
seen Charles V’s disapproving assessment of the new choir.
Nearer to home than the Ottoman Empire and, even if good roads were lack-
ing, safely within western civilization, Córdoba was admired by nearly all the
travellers who visited the city. Abulfeda, a native of Damascus, writing in the
fourteenth century (well after the 1236 reconquest), noted that Córdoba once
had almost six hundred mosques and nine hundred baths.[47]
Descriptions of the Mezquita are common in the eighteenth century, with
Ray in 1738 writing of the “great many rows of pillars in a quadrate order, sixteen
rows one way and thirty another. Upon many of the pillars are Moors heads
carved in the stone, and one or two with turbans on.”[48] The Moroccan ambas-
sador visited in 1766, counted the columns and the damage the Christians had
done[49] and, mindful of its Islamic existence as a centre of learning, “Dès nos
premiers pas dans l’édifice, à la vue de sa magnificence, une amère douleur
nous saisit.”[50] Christians could be similarly affected. As Swinburne wrote in
1779, believing that it was Christian piety that saved the Great Mosque:
my heart bleeds, while I tell you, that of all these glories, except the
mosque, not even a ruin remains. Zehra, with all its delices, is erased from
the face of the earth; no one even knows where it stood, and its very exis-
tence may pass for a fable.[51]
He was correct: the ruins of Madinat al-Zahra were not discovered until the
early twentieth century. For Laborde in 1809, it was the 1589 earthquake which
destroyed much of the town of Córdoba.[52] He also wrote of Madinat, citing
an account “worthy the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments,” but concluding that
it might indeed have been a fairy story, for
not a vestige remains of all this, it is not even known in the country
whereabouts the palace and town stood; indeed the memory of it is
only preserved by the account found in one or two authors, and it may
10 Greenhalgh 2009, 309–310: “the Christians treated the Muslim sections with respect,
choosing the Capella de Villaviciosa for prestigious heraldic devices, and avoiding burials
within the mihrab.”

Spain 71
well be suspected to have existed only in the pages of the writers of

romance.[53]
Just as he gave a good description of Granada, so did Swinburne in 1779 for the
Mezquita, although the structure was so complicated that he struggled, having
studied the mosque by day-light, and by torch-light; but still this temple
is so intricate a labyrinth, and contains so many extraordinary things,
that I shall take one or two farther surveys of it before I attempt to
describe it.[54]
But then he did so, “after the notes I took down upon the spot with the utmost
attention.”[55] He was at a loss to be exact, because so many columns had been
removed to accommodate the choir. For, grand, lofty and elegant though it was,
it destroys all unity of design, darkens the rest, and renders confused
every idea of the original general effect of the building. Many chapels,
stuck up in various parts between the pillars, interrupt the enfilade, and
block up the passage. The worst of all, is a large chapel of the Virgin, that
closes the main ile exactly in the middle; and the throne of Almansor is
now occupied by a poor piece of legendary painting.[56]
Perhaps illustrating the “Chapel of the Alkoran” but not the choir was his way
of emphasising the unwieldy placing of the latter.
In 1787 Chénier (Chargé des Affaires du Roi auprès de l’Empéreur de Maroc)
crossed the Straits, examined Córdoba, and described the Mezquita.[57] He
counted nine hundred and ninety-two columns, and admired the choir: “Dans
le centre de ce bâtiment on a construit, avec autant de goût que de magnifi-
cence un chœur qui ressemble lui-même à une Eglise.”[58] For this structure
sixty-three columns were removed. Conversely, he did not admire the general
columniation, for the columns were too slim to accord with the height of the
building.[59]
Alexandre de Laborde in 1809 was especially impressed by the whole build-
ing, with the exception of the church. “The coup-d’oeil of all these aisles is
astonishing,” he wrote, and then turned to the now Chapel of Saint Peter:
separated from the rest of the edifice by a square building with a great
arch wrought in Mosaic; its walls are incrusted with fine marbles, and
ornamented with foliage about thirteen feet high; twelve columns placed

72 Chapter 3
on the shafts of twelve others, support the entablature. Above is a hand-

some dome, also incrusted with marbles and ornamented with Mosaic.
He then addressed the tenth century mihrab which according to him was
a magnificent octagon, the opening of which is formed by an arch cov-

ered with mosaic ornaments supported by four columns, two of white
and red marble and two of green, with capitals finely carved and gilt.
Both the diameter and the elevation of the octagon are thirteen feet. The
walls of it are incrusted with white marble streaked with red, and it is
ornamented with columns of choice marble which support a border or
kind of cornice, on which rest arches in the Moorish taste, bearing the
ceiling. This consists of a single piece of an exquisite white marble, ren-
dered the more precious by being hollowed, in an extent of thirteen feet,
into a vault nine feet in the concavity.
But he evidently thought the church builders were wasting their time, since
their design was completely hidden from outside the choir.
A great chapel was built nearly in the middle, making as it were a second
church; it is very rich in marble and gilding, but the principal edifice was
degraded; a great many columns were removed to form it. Though this
chapel is composed of a body and choir, it does not appear so, being con-
cealed by the multitude of columns about it.[60]
The main interest of Murphy (who we have already met as author of Arabian
Antiquities of Spain) was evidently the Alhambra (q.v.) His illustrations of both
Córdoba and Granada (some taken from the earlier Antiguedades Arabes de
Espana)[61] were thought to need a commentary, and this was provided by
Shakespear in 1816, who offered a long description of the structure from Arab
sources,[62] exposing the fact that those very authors were shaky on quantities
of columns and on the size of the mosque.[63] We might wonder why Murphy,
who was in Córdoba, gave but perfunctory details to accompany his plates;
whereas Shakespear, who had apparently never visited the city, and whose
book was produced specifically as a complement to Murphy, could correct
only from shaky earlier accounts. Reinaud in 1842 described Murphy’s book as
a “magnifique recueil,”[64] but it was far inferior to Girault’s work.
Indeed, what Murphy described as “the result of fourteen years continued
labour, executed at an expense of many thousand pounds” was decidedly a

Spain 73
damp squib as far as the Mezquita was concerned, for he printed only nine
general plates. His opinions were the received ones: the choir “destroys all
unity of design; darkens the rest; and renders confused every idea of the origi-
nal general effect of the building;”[65] and the forest of columns (noted as spo-
lia) “presents a scene so truly unique, that the visitor is at a loss, whether to
admire most their number, or their richness.”[66]
There were more wonders waiting to be revealed in the Mezquita. Quin,
travelling 1822–3, “found the interior, consisting of nineteen naves, formed by
marble pillars, perhaps to the number above stated, but of no considerable
height, and certainly disproportioned to the building.” He admired the church
(“the high altar is truly magnificent, as well as the choir”) and noted that a few
years previously the main mihrab had been brought to light.
A Moorish chapel, which had been for centuries stopped up by a brick

partition, was accidentally discovered five or six years ago, and upon the
removal of the partition, it was found in a complete state of preserva-
tion. The roof and sides are most elaborately gilt, and ornamented with
inscriptions in the Arabic character. The floor is of exquisite mosaic.[67]
Reinaud summarised the adoption of mosaic techniques,[68] and noted espe-

cially the Chapel of Villaviciosa.[69] Urquhart also wrote about the mosaics, for
“the Saracens were, besides, proficient in the making of glass, whether trans-
parent or coloured.”[70]
4.1 Adverse Criticisms of the Mezquita
La stranezza degli interni ornamenti, e la varietà dei colori dei marmi

accrescono la singolarita di questa Architettura; che altronde ha uno
stile totalmente di verso da quello che offrono i monumenti dello stesso
popolo in Granata. [1826]
As the above quote demonstrates, Agincourt was certainly puzzled by the

Mezquita. And he relayed the “forest of columns” tag, which became common:
the structure “offre la più bella occhiata e più straordinaria che immaginar si
possa, specialmente se prendesi il punto di vista obliquamente alle lunghe file
che forma questo bosco di colonne.”[71] Brooke visited in 1831, and his eye was
“forcibly struck with the singularity of its architecture, and a labyrinth … of low
columns.” But the structure was out of step with modern taste, and

74 Chapter 3
on the whole the effect is certainly extremely striking, although entirely

devoid of sublimity and grandeur of conception; and the stranger, while
he surveys the long-extended avenues of pillars which form a complete
maze throughout the interior of this immense edifice and beholds both
their diminutive proportion and the lowness of the roof, might almost
fancy himself within the palace of some fairy or genii.[72]
He strolled around the building when it was deserted, and could not avoid
thinking of “times when, instead of the matin-bell, the deep voice of the muez-
zin was heard at early dawn from the lofty minarets, and the white flowing
robes of the stately Moslem were seen sweeping through the mazes of its laby-
rinth of columns.”[73]
Inglis visited in the same year, and formed much the same opinion as
Brooke, namely that this labyrinth was “curious, but not beautiful or striking.”
He pointed out the mihrab, which he wrote was uncovered in 1815:
It is in the most perfect state of preservation. The Arabic characters upon

the cornices, and the colours in which these are inscribed, are as perfect
and as vivid as if it were all the work of yesterday. The gilding too, and the
mosaic, have lost nothing of their freshness.
Above all, he condemned the church for what it took away rather than any-
thing it sought to add, judging that “the multitude of pillars injures the gen-
eral effect; and the erection of an altar in the centre, where nothing was ever
intended to be, destroys its unity as a mosque, without substituting any of the
grandeur of a Christian temple.”[74]
George Dennis, whose account of the Alhambra we have already seen, and
who was to gain fame with his work in Etruria, also wrote a long and thoughtful
description of the Mezquita, and reprinted Arabic accounts of it. “Externally, it
has no beauty,”[75] but inside, he noted the grove of slender columns, and the
general lowness, “this height being out of all proportion to the immense extent
of the Mosque – four hundred and forty feet by four hundred and ten – a most
singular effect is produced, which is increased to grotesqueness by double tiers
of horse-shoe arches surmounting the low slender pillars.” The structure was
“most interesting from its extreme singularity,” but from this he excluded the
church.
Its conversion, however, into a Catholic Cathedral, has greatly injured it

as a relic of Arabian architecture; for numerous small chapels now sur-
round it, and in the centre is a large choir, which, though magnificent

Spain 75
enough in itself, is out of place; and we cannot but lament the bad taste
or excess of religious zeal which has thus, by breaking the vistas, disfig-
ured the edifice, and destroyed its original character.[76]
What is more, not only were there no works of art in the church to atone for
such vandalism,[77] but Dennis then pointed to two examples of how the church
insertion had mangled the design and its effect. The first were the mihrab and
maksura against the southern wall, only recently revealed.[78] El-Razali had
visited the mosque in 1766, and remarked on the still displayed inscriptions,
and then viewed the mimber:
O surprise! Elle était encore dans son premier état, aucun changement n’y
avait été fait. Les Chrétiens l’avaient simplement entourée d’un grillage
pour empêcher que personne ne pénétrât dans l’intérieur. Je ne décou-
vrais pas les ressorts secrets qui avaient ainsi fait agir les Infidèles.[79]
Dennis then examined the second area, now known as the Chapel of
Villaviciosa:
but so blocked up by the modern choir, as hardly to attract attention.

The floor is elevated much above that of the Mosque, and the roof rises
to the height of fifty feet, in an octagonal dome of dark wood, richly
carved, painted, and inlaid. The walls are covered with exquisite tracery,
interspersed with Arabic inscriptions, but their beauty has not preserved
them from the barbarous intrusion of the paraphernalia of Catholic
worship.[80]
Taylor visited Córdoba in 1839 and found the city much degraded: “it has not a
shadow of the art, science, and taste which then distinguished it, and the only
interest it now possesses is from these associations, and the despoiled remnant
of its renowned Mosque.”[81] Despoiled by the choir, as Turton noted in 1876:
the interior was “pillars, pillars, pillars … good heavens! A coro.” Unfortunately,
this was “marring the beautiful structure, just as a large black smudge in the
centre would mar a Titian or a Raphael.”[82]
Interested in the obviously Roman origins of the Mezquita’s columns, some
wondered about their source. Fortin d’Ivry thought they came from Italica,
near Seville, demonstrating that the Arabs began by pillaging classical sites.[83]
Girault knew from his reading that there were more sources further East, to
satisfy the founder who, “frappé d’étonnementv et d’admiration à la vue des
édifices grandioses des Romains, qu’il rencontre partout en Espagne, cherche à

76 Chapter 3
reproduire, dans le monument qu’il élève à la gloire de ses armes, les merveilles
qu’il vient d’admirer.”[84] Tchihatcheff, also from his reading of Arab sources,
compared the Mezquita to mosques in Damascus and Cairo.[85]
4.2 Madinat al-Zahra Near Córdoba

This terraced “shining city” was a veritable taunt to travellers, because although
they were regaled with luscious and lengthy written descriptions of the com-
plex in its glory days, its very location was unknown until 1911. It had been
for some eighty years the main palace and seat of the Umayyad Caliphate of
Córdoba. Built beginning in 936, it was abandoned shortly after the millennium.
It was well known from extravagant Arab descriptions[86] (which suggested the
Arabian Nights, as Laborde wrote in 1809), but lost on the ground until digging
by Velazquez Bosco began early in the twentieth century.11 Restoration contin-
ues to this day. It lies some 6.4km west of Córdoba, tapped a Roman aqueduct
for its water supply, and reused Roman materials just as did the Mezquita.[87]
Probably because it was more magnificent than anything surviving, our
travellers sometimes mention Madinat, but always and only from the Arab
accounts. For example Saladin, publishing his Manuel de l’art musulman in
1907, could mention only the nine hundred and thirty-six foundation date of
the complex.[88] Since that site was so marble rich (as we know from recent
work there), we may assume it was frequently quarried for materials (was
this why the Mezquita marble survived?), but for the majority of the period
covered by this book there is no record of anyone setting out to find and dig
it, in spite of its evident riches. In 1816 John Shakespear (1774–1858) relayed
details from Arabic authors for some of these: marbles from local sites, but
also Carthage and further east;[89] some 4,312 columns, including 140 pre-
sented by the Emperor at Constantinople; and a mosque with five aisles.[90]
Decades later Girault de Prangey could do no more than repeat such earlier
accounts,[91] emphasising the international complexion of the almost indus-
trial scale of the effort, for “Abdérame avait réuni les plus habiles architectes de
Bagdad, de Constantinople et d’autres lieux; dix mille ouvriers y travaillaient
chaque jour; mille quatre cents mulets et mille animaux de trait transportaient
les matériaux.”[92]
5 Seville (Recaptured in 1248)
In part because of the later Christian cleanup of the city of Seville under
Ferdinand and Isabella, little of Muslim architecture remained for our travellers
11 Velazquez Bosco 1912.

Spain 77
to see. Indeed, why had the mosque been demolished, asked Urquhart in 1850.
And as for the Alcazar, “by the Sevillians extolled above the Alhambra; but,
excepting the entrance, it can be admired only as a copy by those who have
seen the works of the master.”[93] Other visitors eschewed comparisons with
Granada, and wrote admiringly of the Alcazar: “it is built with studied mag-
nificence, with marble of different kinds,” wrote Laborde in 1809, and “water
is conducted by pipes into almost all the apartments.”[94] In 1824 Quin was
more specific, noting that much had been remodelled after the Reconquista
and during the Renaissance. He thought the only room worthy of attention
was the Room of the Ambassadors (remodelled by Pedro the Cruel in 1364)
and, like Urquhart, remarked on the entrance: “indeed, the only decorations
in the whole building which appear to be Moresque, are some stucco works
in filagree, which adorn the front of the principal entrance, and a few of the
apartments.”[95] As for the famous minaret, the Giralda, Laborde noted the
two periods of construction,[96] and Girault de Prangey the intervening earth-
quake. He compared the structure with the campanile at Venice: but Seville
surpassed that for the richness of its external decoration, for
ces mêmes panneaux, interrompus à la hauteur des fenêtres, ornement

merveilleux du célèbre édifice, offrent les plus riches dessins en briques
polies et découpées.[97]
The internal ramp also attracted attention, Quin noting that a horse might
mount with ease and safety;[98] while Inglis in 1831 recorded that the queen was
driven up in a small carriage.[99] In 1834 Halls found Venice oriental, and her
buildings “bad arabesque,” saying that the churches looked like mosques.[100]
But surely he was joking, rather than making a serious point about the origins
and transmission of architectural styles – unlike Girault de Prangey.
6 Girault de Prangey and Arab Architecture
A la vérité, ce traité, dans son état actuel, est loin de comprendre tous
les pays où l’art musulman a marqué son empreinte; mais on peut dire
qu’il renferme le tableau de ce qu a produit de plus caractéristique l’ar-
chitecture arabe et maure en Occident, depuis l’imposante mosquée de
Cordoue jusqu’aux édifices frêles et enjolivés de l’Alger de nos jours.[101]
Thus, Reinaud in 1842, reviewing Joseph-Philbert Girault de Prangey’s 1841

treatise, entitled Essai sur l’architecture des Arabes et des Mores en Espagne,
en Sicile et en Barbarie. (He was also to write Monuments arabes d’Egypte, de

78 Chapter 3
Syrie et d’Asie Mineure, dessines et mesures de 1842 á 1845, ouvrage faisant suite
aux Monuments arabes de Cordoue, Seville et Grenade, Paris 1846–1855.) Girault
(1804–92), trained at the Ecole Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts, deserves
a section to himself because of his work’s early publication and broad cover-
age. Primarily interested in architecture, he attempted the first general account
of what he calls “Arab architecture” or, in the book’s title, “des Arabes et des
Mores,” based on his travel notes, “qu’il a cherché à compléter en les appuyant
sur quelques recherches historiques et archéologiques.”[102] As Reinaud noted,
Girault’s drawings were made on the spot, lithographed in Paris, and judged as
follows by the Académie des Beaux-Arts:
Les planches exécutées avec le plus grand soin offrent toutes un puissant
intérêt, soit par la manière I les sites y sont représenté, soit par l’exacti-
tude des details, dont le caractère bien exprimé, donne les moyens d’éta-
blir un jugement fondé sur la assignée par l’auteur aux diverses époques
de l’art arabe en Espagne.[103]
He was also an early and adventurous photographer, and we should note that
the work done in Spain for the 1841 Essai sur l’architecture des Arabes, with its
lithographs, was completed before any photographic equipment was com-
mercially available, namely the daguerrotype in January 1839. A wealthy man,
Girault bought two cameras (Stewart points to a second tripod in one of his
plates), which might have cost something like USD twelve thousand today,
and travelled first to Rome and then to Constantinople, Anatolia, Syria and
Egypt in 1841–5. He must have bought his photographic supplies before leav-
ing Paris, and evidently he was intending to make panoramas, because some
of his plates (and hence at least one camera) were over-size at 19cm × 24cm –
that is, larger than what was called whole-plate, 16cm × 22cm.12 He took with
him somewhere between eight hundred and a thousand plates. Unfortunately,
these photographs soon went into a storeroom on his estate, to be rediscovered
only in the 1920s.
Girault had not set himself an easy exercise: daguerrotypes are delicate to
handle whether unexposed or exposed, their processing with mercury tricky,
and their protected storage essential. However, fine sunny weather made for
short exposures, and making panoramas meant that he could place the camera
far from the object and, he surely hoped, from interfering locals. The daguer-
rotype also avoided the inaccuracies of on the spot drawing, but was inflexible.
This was not a negative-positive process where as many prints as needed could
12 Stewart 2005.

Spain 79
be run off. To copy the information residing on an exposed and fixed daguer-
rotype, it was necessary to trace by hand over the plate itself; the artists often
being in danger of ruining the delicate surface. The resultant drawings were
then book printed as lithographs, and these were much larger than the daguer-
rotype original, so perhaps either a pantograph was employed to enlarge the
image, or Girault simply treated the daguerrotype as an aide-mémoire, much
as if it were simply a window on the scene he was reproducing as a sketch.13
Photography with negatives and positives was another matter. Fergusson
extolled its use in 1876 as equivalent to being on the spot.[104] His words are
surely correct for any author with funds, but even by the following decade a full
publication of actual photographs would have been ruinously expensive. Jane
Dieulafoy’s La Perse. La Chaldée et la Susiane (Paris 1887) contains 336 wood
engravings from photographs she took on her travels, demonstrating the divide
between Fergusson’s camera substituting for “actual personal inspection” and
the plates made by third party engravers.
Since Girault treated the architecture he studied (“cette poésie d’invention
et cette merveilleuse élégance de forme, qui lui assurent une page intéressante
dans la grande histoire de l’Art”) as a Gesamtkunstwerk, we shall do likewise,
instead of noting his observations town by town and monument by monu-
ment. He illustrated his books profusely, eventually using some of his daguer-
rotypes to source impressively detailed and accurate prints.
Didron Ainé, in the 1848 volume of his Annales Archéologiques, listed archae-
ological publications pertinent to our themes, including works by Girault, and
offered brief comments on them, thus:
1. Duc de Serradifalco, correspondant des Comités historiques de France,
Del Duomo di Monreale e di alter chiese siculo-normanne, in-folio, pp
eighty-seven plus twenty-eight plates, Palermo 1838. La belle église de
Monreale et les autres monuments religieux, bâtis en Sicile par les con-
quérants de Normandie, servant merveilleusement de transition entre
les églises byzantines du nord de l’Italie, comme celles de Venise et de
Ravenne, et les mosques arabes dessinées par M. Girault de Prangey.[105]
2. Monuments arabes et mauresques de Cordoue, Séville et Grenade, dessinés
et mesurés par M. Girault de Prangey, grand in-fol. De 45 remarquables
lithographies et d’un texte richement encadré de dessins. M. Girault de
Prangey consacre noblement sa vie, sa science et sa fortune à faire con-
naître en France l’architecture orientale;[106]
13 Leonardi & Natale 2018, for much information on reproduction techniques and their rela-
tionship to photography (including daguerrotypes) and graphic art. But no mention of
Girault.

80 Chapter 3
3. Choix d’ornements moresques de l’Álhambra, par M. Girault de Prangey;

ouvrage faisant suite au précédent, petit in-fol. De 30 lithographies où
sont admirablement reproduites toutes les variétés et les fantaisies de
l’ornement arabe et Moresque;[107]
4. Essai sur l’architecture des Arabes et des Mores en Espagne, en Sicile et en
Barbarie, par M. Girault de Prangey, 4to XII + pp208, + appendix. Avec
ce précieux ouvrage, on se fait une idée très-nette de cette architecture
arabe qui n’est pas, à notre sens, une architecture véritable et sérieuse,
mais une capricieuse et charmante ornamentation;[108]
5. Monuments arabes d’Égypte, de Syrie et d’Asie Mineure, dessinés et mesu-
rés de 1842 à 1845, par M. Girault de Prangey … grand in-fol. De lithogra-
phies magnifiques. Heureux vraiment sont les Arabes qui ont gagné, pour
décrire, illustrer et publier leurs monuments, un savant aussi généreux
que M. de Prangey; nos monuments gothiques n’ont pas encore eu un
pareil bonheur.[109]
Didron, although evidently not an admirer of Arab architecture (“qui n’est
pas, à notre sens, une architecture veritable et sérieuse, mais une capricieuse
et charmante ornementation”) nevertheless admired the quality of Girault
de Prangey’s work, so much so that he called for someone similarly gifted in
both text and illustrations to deal with French gothic architecture. It is worth
repeating that, even by mid-century, the French (and the same ignorance
applied across the Channel, if not in Germany) had not studied their earlier
architecture in detail. Didron’s wish was soon, and most unfortunately, to find
its fulfilment in Viollet-le-Duc (1814–1879).
Well grounded in the classical past, Girault’s overview of Arab architecture
in Spain naturally began with the Roman in Merida and other centres, where
much survived to inspire the invaders:
Abdérame parcourant l’Espagne, s’arrête à Mérida, frappé de la grandeur

de la ville et de la magnificence de ses palais élevés par les Romains, et
c’est bientôt après, en 786, qu’il fait commencer la construction de la
célèbre Mosquée de Cordoue.[110]
Thus, the Mezquita (“en recueillant avec respect ces beaux restes de l’art
Antique”) is connected with Roman architecture, its rich materials (measured
in detail by the author,[111] who addresses other scholar’s numbers as well)[112]
constituting a véritable museum of Greek, Roman and Byzantine forms which,
along with materials which could be reused, inspired the Arab conquerors, and

Spain 81
Cette imitation, toujours frappante, fut modifiée, d’abord par la nature de

leur culte, par des considérations de temps et de lieux, puis surtout par
l’importance et la proximité des matériaux qu’ils eurent la facilité d’enle-
ver aux édifices Antiques.[113]
And by osmosis, the new forms were seen to be Mediterranean-wide:
La variété des formes des chapiteaux et des fûts, la diversité des matières
précieuses dont plusieurs sont composés, l’exécution surtout, indiquent
clairement l’origine étrangère de la plupart d’entre eux; c’est à leurs
conquêtes de Kairouan à Narbone, à travers l’Afrique et l’Espagne, c’est
à leurs alliances avec les empereurs Grecs, que les Arabes de Cordoue
durent ces colonnes de jaspe, de granit, de porphyre, et ces marbres pré-
cieux de tous les pays.[114]
The author might almost be contradicting Didron: Arab architecture is indeed

connected to Greece and Rome, and is therefore far from being only “une
capricieuse et charmante ornamentation.”
Nor did Girault confine his comments to Iberia, declaring that scholarly
attention should be focussed on the monuments in Constantinople, Asia
Minor, Cairo and the Holy Land, not to mention Baghdad and Persia. All these
needed to be studied in unison with the Christian monuments of Rome and
Byzantium, so that “il deviendra possible d’avoir un jour une histoire générale
de l’Architecture, à partir de la décadence; et, grâce au mouvement d’études
et de recherches qui distingue si honorablement notre époque, il est permis
d’attendre, nous l’espérons, un aussi important résultat.”[115]
We may conclude that Girault’s 1841 essay demonstrates how fascination
with the Islamic antiquities of Spain encouraged travellers and scholars to take
a broad view of Islamic architecture and encourage them to relate its charac-
teristics not only to structures further east, but also to those lands to which
Spanish Muslims had fled, as we shall see in Volume II, dedicated to Syria, Egypt
and North Africa. Unfortunately, the extensive funds Girault lavished on his
adventures did not ensure their complete publication, and nowhere near the
many hundred images he took abroad found their echo in the printed books.
These were issued in fasciscules because of the cost of the large lithographs,
and their incompleteness tells us something of a lack of interest in the subject
matter amongst those literati who could afford them.

82 Chapter 3
[1] L aborde_1809_V_113. [38] Girault_de_Prangey_ [72] B

rooke_1831_II_252.
[2] U
rquhart_1850_II_450. 1841_131–132. [73] Brooke_1831_II_264.
[3] C
hénier_1787_II_345. [39] Tchihatcheff_1880_42. [74] I nglis_1831_II_40–41.
[4] Jacob_1811_287–288. [40] Taylor_1855_408–409. [75] D
ennis_1839_I_288.
[5] M
urphy_1813_ [41] Bennet_1875_276–277. [76] D
ennis_1839_I_289–290.
Introduction_B. [42] G irault_de_Prangey_ [77] D
ennis_1839_I_295.
[6] Shakespear_1816_196. 1841_196–197. [78] D
ennis_1839_I_290–292.
[7] S hakespear_1816_198. [43] Urquhart_1850_II_ [79] R
evue_Africaine_XXV_
[8] Inglis_1831_I_222–223. 440–441. 1881_195.
[9] Inglis_1831_I_224–225. [44] B eaugrand_1889_282. [80] D ennis_1839_I_293.
[10] I nglis_1831_I_229. [45] Noah_1819_124–125. [81] Taylor_1855_407.
[11] I rving_1832_21–22. [46] Fosbroke_1828_66. [82] T urton_1876_60–61.
[12] I rving_1832_44. [47] Abulfeda_II.1_1848_249. [83] F ortin_d’Ivry_1843_143.
[13] I rving_1832_24. [48] Ray_1738_I_417–418. [84] Girault_de_Prangey_
[14] I rving_1832_24–25. [49] Revue_Africaine_V_ 1841_X–XI.
[15] D ennis_1839_II_10–11. 1861_465. [85] Tchihatcheff_1880_13–14.
[16] D ennis_1839_II_22–23. [50] Revue_Africaine_V_ [86] Shakespear_1816_167–174.
[17] Dennis_1839_II_29. 1861_460. [87] R einaud_1842_342–343.
[18] D ennis_1839_II_43. [51] Swinburne_1779_ [88] S aladin_1907_306.
[19] D ennis_1839_II_65. 294–295. [89] Shakespear_1816_
[20] D ennis_1839_II_70. [52] Laborde_1809_II_28. 168–169.
[21] D ennis_1839_II_33. [53] Laborde_1809_II_26–27. [90] Shakespear_1816_170.
[22] D ennis_1839_II_165. [54] Swinburne_1779_276. [91] Girault_de_Prangey_
[23] Richardot_1905_137–138. [55] Swinburne_1779_298. 1841_50.
[24] L eveson-Gower_1842_ [56] Swinburne_1779_303. [92] G irault_de_Prangey_
I_118. [57] C hénier_1787_I_310–318. 1841_55.
[25] Leveson-Gower_1842_ [58] Chénier_1787_I_312–313. [93] U rquhart_1850_II_337.
I_106–116. [59] Chénier_1787_I_311. [94] Laborde_1809_I_48–49.
[26] Leveson-Gower_1842_ [60] Laborde_1809_I_34–35. [95] Q uin_1824_301–302.
I_110–111. [61] M urphy_1813_ [96] L aborde_1809_I_52.
[27] Leveson-Gower_1842_ Introduction_A. [97] G irault_de_Prangey_
I_113. [62] Shakespear_1816_175–183. 1841_108–109.
[28] Reinaud_1842_353. [63] Shakespear_1816_178. [98] Quin_1824_300–301.
[29] Schroeder_1846_I_ [64] Reinaud_1842_337. [99] I nglis_1831_II_75.
132–147. [65] Murphy_1813_1–2. [100] Halls_1834_I_434.
[30] S chroeder_1846_I_138. [66] Murphy_1813_3. [101] Reinaud_1842_339.
[31] S chroeder_1846_I_140. [67] Quin_1824_292. [102] Girault_de_Prangey_
[32] Jones_1842_I_9 In 1306. [68] Reinaud_1842_343–345. 1841_Preface.
[33] Murphy_1813_15. [69] Reinaud_1842_347–348. [103] Reinaud_1842_338.
[34] M urphy_1813_7–8. [70] Urquhart_1850_II_ [104] F ergusson_1876_v.
[35] Irving_1832_23. 456–457. [105] Annales_
[36] I rving_1832_31. [71] Agincourt_1826_II_ Archéologiques_VIII_
[37] Reinaud_1842_351–352. 257–258. 1848_179.

Spain 83
[106] A nnales_ [109] Annales_ [113] Girault_de_Prangey_

Archéologiques_VIII_ Archéologiques_VIII_ 1841_VIII.
1848_180. 1848_230. [114] G irault_de_Prangey_
[107] Annales_ [110] G irault_de_Prangey_ 1841_38.
Archéologiques_VIII_ 1841_21–22. [115] Girault_de_
1848_180B. [111] G
irault_de_Prangey_ Prangey_1841_VIII–IX.
[108] Annales_ 1841_40.
Archéologiques_VIII_ [112] Girault_de_Prangey_
1848_180C. 1841_35.

Chapter 4
Constantinople and Adrianople with a Note

on Greece
After introductory sections dealing with firmans, Ottoman building and the
Empire as a target by Europeans for the collecting of manuscripts, we turn first
to Adrianople, and then to Constantinople. This chapter ends with a footnote
on Greece, where mosques and Muslims were badly treated after the country
was detached by the West from the Empire.
1 The Imperial Firman
In order to procure me a sight of the Mosques, the Ambassador was

obliged to apply for a permission; the Porte graciously gave one, in which
I had leave to see seventy-five.[1] [1789]
Craven (above) does not tell us whether he visited all the seventy-five mosques
in Constantinople allowed with his firman but, as we shall see, he was cer-
tainly lucky to land such a catch-all. Travelling 1799–1801, Wittman obtained a
firman “to visit the interior of the mosques at Constantinople,”[2] but he nei-
ther named nor numbered them, although he did mention the dome of Hagia
Sophia, “wrought in mosaic, which the barbarism of the Turks has, however,
in a great measure, defaced.”[3] Prime, two generations after Craven, indicated
that deploying firmans had become almost an industry by 1855.
To visit the mosques and the Seraglio Palace a firman or permit must be
had from the government, and that is to be paid for roundly. An officer
or two must attend with his sword and staff, and they must be feed well
[sic]. Then at every mosque and other sacred place you visit there are
servants to be fed, and if a party get through the day’s excursion for forty
dollars they do very well.[4]
If so, it was a confused one, with admission or refusal evidently at the whim of
officials. In Constantinople itself the firman came from the Sultan, but in the
provinces, it might also be issued by some lesser official.

Constantinople and Adrianople with a Note on Greece 85
Firmans were in wide use, and not simply to provide laissez-passers for
monument entry. They might have been issued to grease the wheels of inter-
national trade, offer a laissez-passer for travel within the Empire, or even to
permit Christians to repair their churches. An official writ should theoretically
carry the day anywhere in the Empire. However, to the distress of travellers
who had usually paid to obtain it, this was not always the case, because per-
mission and refusal fluctuated wildly depending on the strength of the current
government’s backbone and geographical reach. According to Frankland in
1829, the government feared the mob, and
the distrust and disinclination felt by the Franks to placing their persons
much in the power of the fanatical mob, that no European had for some
years ventured to enter the mosques of the capital.
Indeed, the government had temporarily stopped issuing firmans, telling

the ambassadors that “it would not undertake to guarantee the persons of
their Excellencies and those of their suite.” In consequence the ambassadors
therefore stopped requesting them.[5] In 1835 Quin could not get into Hagia
Sophia (“a great lumbering-looking edifice, devoid of every feature of archi-
tectural beauty”), but did enter the Süleymaniye and the Mosque of Sultan
Mehmet the Conqueror (“among the finest specimens of Moorish taste now in
existence”) which, however, in his little joke, seemed unfinished because not
yet Christian, and hence “still without their destined altars.”[6] By the end of
the 1830s, Fraser stated (surely incorrectly) that a firman was needed only for
Hagia Sophia (although it was certainly then required for that monument),[7]
and that acceptance of Franks was now such a contrast with previous violent
conditions.
Ten years ago [Franks] would have been thrown into the gutter or the
Bosphorus, or might have received a back-wipe from a yataghan, had
they ventured on any such liberty. You see Franks themselves in their
own dress, strutting unstared at about, and even entering the mosques
uninsulted.[8]
As Texier described in his 1842 book, he found that a firman’s difficulties could
be eased by addressing the Grand Mufti at Hagia Sophia. Permission was easily
obtained from him to draw and measure “les rnosquées et les églises du second
ordre,” but an ambassadorial intervention and then a firman was required to
get access to Hagia Sophia. This was required for entry and, eased by a helper
provided by the Grand Mufti; drawing and measuring proceeded, and

86 Chapter 4
on se taisait sur le reste … l’intérêt historique et scientifique n’étant, aux

yeux des Turcs, qu’un prétexte qui ne les satisfaisait pas complétement.[9]
Some of the natives were, indeed, restless. In 1837 Pardoe perhaps exaggerated
the difficulty of obtaining a firman in order to underline his own determina-
tion and ingenuity. He complained “that travellers were thus dependent on the
uncertain chance of encountering, during their residence in Turkey, some dis-
tinguished person to whom the marble doors were permitted to fall back.”[10]
Damer wrote in 1841 of firman difficulties even for princes, and remarked that
it is only within the last few years that exception has been made in favour
of any one; and great resentment has been felt and manifested towards
the Sultan Mahmoud for his impious tolerance toward unbelievers.[11]
Yet princes continued to enter mosques. Craven’s firman for seventy-five

mosques paled into insignificance against that granted to the Prince of Bavaria
in 1839; this was for all the mosques in Constantinople – 345 in all, seventy-four
large ones, and the thirteen Royal Mosques, which he proceeded to name.[12]
But did he visit them?
A firman was often expensive. The Government missed a trick by not
instituting a per person cost, and hence the travellers’ desire to split the cost
among as many visitors as possible. Formby’s 1843 account detailed only the
three mosques he visited, “into which a few years ago it was a rare event for
any European to enter, though now a common one enough.” He enquired into
the expense of a firman, “the news spread over the different inns that a fir-
man was granted, and that the mosques would be open some time the next
morning.”[13] Such firmans were group affairs, although notionally restricted,
as Durbin recounted in 1845.
The expense is the same for one or for twenty, and the difficulty which
generally attends the procuring a firman impels strangers, who hear one
is out, almost to force themselves into the party. Mr. Brown requested
that the company should not exceed ten, as the Turks dislike crowds of
visitors in their mosques. To restrict the number of the party, the issue of
the firman was kept a secret until the morning of the day of our visit.[14]
White gave a detailed breakdown of costs in 1845.[15] Smith, travelling in 1849,

noted that “this is a very expensive affair, costing some pounds, English.” Yet
profits were to be made by the facilitators, “and the enterprising dragoman

contrives to pocket two or three hundred piastres into the bargain.”[16] Smith
soon got bored with mosques, being told by his dragoman that they were all
the same, “So I declined visiting any more, and hiring a scampish horse on the
adjoining hippodrome.”[17] In 1854 Young wrote of eight pounds sterling as the
firman cost, and then of the coagulation of visitors into a group: “of course
there was not much difficulty in introducing oneself as a stranger, inasmuch as
every enlarger of the group, by reducing individual expense, became a public
benefactor.”[18] In the same year Mrs. Young’s group (who did not have a guide-
book) lost their dragoman, who held the firman, and were forced to wait until
near sunset before being reunited.[19]
There does not appear ever to have been any fixed list of charges for a fir-
man. In 1854 (by which date the Empire was in ever-increasing financial
straits) Berton complained of the high cost of a firman, and suggested getting
together a group, so that fifty contributors reduced the individual tax to fifteen
francs.[20] Golinberg, in Constantinople in 1867, also considered the firman
cost to be very high, “Ces permissions officielles se donnent du reste à pleines
mains à qui en veut, pourvu qu’on veuille bien aussi les payer à pleines mains.”
As he remarked, the whole setup was, after all, an industry like any other.[21]
Writing in 1854, Oldmixon suggested a “Murray’s or some other hand-book”
essential, as well as a firman, noting that help in the Crimean War “may yield
a few points to Christians, compelled by the growing force of circumstances
more than ambassadors’ notes.” He then asserted that Greeks now appeared to
be agents for firmans, costing ten or twelve guineas, and collected visitors from
the various hotels.[22] Regnault in 1855 called it a twenty franc tax on every
traveller (well under two pounds sterling), which appeared to give access to the
344 mosques of the city.[23] How he calculated this sum we cannot know. Yet
visitors did not have to visit in groups. In 1847 Lynch went sometimes with offi-
cers, sometimes alone, but always with a firman. He pulled on slippers over his
boots to visit the Fatih (a mosque said to be completely banned to infidels in
the seventeenth century),[24] noted the marble of the mihrab and mimber, and
then complained that “there were no paintings, no sculpture, no furniture.”[25]
In 1845 Murray’s guidebook gave details of firman etiquette throughout the
Empire. It should be shown when paying respects to a governor, “and it is some-
times convenient in order to enable the Consuls and Residents to be certain
of the traveller’s identity.” Again, addressing visits elsewhere in the Empire,
“when the traveller obtains a Firman he should, in order to prevent annoyance,
endeavour to have his name and title well written, together with the names
of the countries where he intends to travel, and if possible he should obtain a
translation of his Firman.”[26]

88 Chapter 4
It was sometimes possible to avoid purchasing a firman simply by tipping

guardians at the monument itself. Perthes entered the Fatih in 1855, where
“Après une demi-heure d’examen, temps qui suffit grandement pour voir
l’intérieur d’une mosquée, j’allai déposer cinq francs dans la main de mon
Turc, prêtre ou gardien, qui accepta sans sourciller cet argent tout chrétien
qu’il était.”[27] And as Freese, an American, noted in 1869 that
to enter this mosque [Hagia Sophia] requires a firman from the Sultan or
some bucksheesh for the attendants. We adopt the latter, and by placing
a couple of silver dollars in the hands of the turbaned official who meets
us at the door, we are readily admitted and treated with distinguished
consideration.
Thus encouraged, his group then visited the Sultan Achmet, where some atten-
dants became insolent when the Americans refused to remove their shoes. So,
in a harbinger of full spectrum dominance,
whereupon we break our cane over the head of one of them, and then
report the matter to the police for such further action as they might think
proper to take. We don’t think the attendants at that mosque will again
interfere with a foreign visitor – especially if he be an American.[28]
We might guess (although we are not told) that the American group had
entered the vestibule of Hagia Sophia and then climbed to the matroneum,
without needing to remove footwear, for only the nave was carpeted. So was
their following contretemps in the Sultan Achmet simply a misunderstanding?
Firmans obtained outside the capital could be cheaper. Murray recom-
mended the traveller entering the Empire from Corfu or Italy obtain a firman
from the Pasha of Janina (now Albania), which was “necessary to facilitate his
further travels in the Ottoman dominions.”[29] Helpfully, and evidently to guide
travellers, “a British consular agent resides at Janina, and receives his country-
men with courteous hospitality.” But it was easy to come to grief by carrying
too general a firman. L. Batissier’s report on his 1846 Expedition en Orient illus-
trated this mistake. He held an imperial firman, but in Syria the local pashas
took little notice of them since nearly all Europeans carried one. The solution
was always to be precise.
Quand donc on voudra se procurer des notions détaillées et com-

plètes sur ces édifices, il importera qu’on se munisse préalablement à
Constantinople de lettres de recommandation particulières, contenant

la mention expresse des bons offices que l’on aura à réclamer des gouver-
neurs de Beyrouth et de Jérusalem.[30]
He should have known better, for an assiduous reading of previous travel writ-
ing would have set him on the right path. For example, the Arabic speaking
Buckingham wrote of advice from Burckhardt that “even now [travelling 1815–
16], when every heart was stout and brave, it was the unanimous opinion that,
in the present state of the country, it would be an imprudent risk to travel with-
out such a document.”[31] He was further convinced by the French consul, who,
citing the recent murder of a French traveller, “insisted strenuously on the fact
of its being impossible to pass through any part of Syria, without molestation
at every step.” He could be pillaged by the military or assaulted by robbers.[32]
It may have sometimes been the case that outside Constantinople a firman
for local travel (and monuments) was always advisable. Madox, in Damascus
in 1825, was asked by the local pasha to produce the imperial firman which
he (falsely) claimed to have, but managed to fudge the affair, and be provided
with either a local firman or a letter from the local French agent.[33] Firmans,
access and consequent grief also got caught up in an Empire-wide joke about
how such documents provided entry to such-and-such a monument but said
nothing about the exit. Turner in 1820 relayed the account of “an English trav-
eller of distinction, many years ago” who entered the Dome of the Rock with
his servants; but “the Turks saying that the firman said nothing of his coming
out again, offered him the usual alternative of death or Islamism, and he chose
the former.”[34] In the same year Bramsen told what might have been the same
story: “the Bey kept him shut up till night came on, and then caused his head to
be cut off, and his body to be buried beyond the walls of Jerusalem.”[35]
2 The Ottoman Building Programme
Contradicting the opinions of many westerners that the Turks were destroyers,
not builders (or, equally, that it was Greeks who built for them, which was indeed
sometimes the case), travellers interested in antique survivals also pointed
out that the Ottomans certainly converted many churches into mosques, but
did not destroy them as Constantine had done with pagan temples.[36] They
were builders who produced memorable monuments. Febvre, writing in the
later seventeenth century, was pleased by the mosques, “qui ne cèdent rien
en grandeur ny en beauté aux plus celebres Eglises d’Europe, à la réserve de
celle de saint Pierre de Rome.” But as a card-carrying classicist he was unhappy
about the rest of what he saw, because “Bien loin d’édifier aucune chose pour

90 Chapter 4
embellir de plus en plus leur Capitale, ils laissent tomber en ruine toute les
antiquitez,”[37] not appreciating that antiquities in a ruinous state were easier
to dismantle for reuse and, in Ottoman mentality, of little interest otherwise.
He did not state that the mosques were sometimes built at the expense of
the ancient monuments, but surely knew that this was the case in the mid-
eighteenth century.
Pococke, mindful of the conversion of churches into mosques, went hunting
for porphyry columns in Hagia Sophia and the Süleymaniye,[38] reading Pierre
Gilles’ account of what had happened to ancient marbles. In 1786 Lechevalier
spent three months roaming the city, checking on the antiquities mentioned by
Gilles, and listing the mosques as well.[39] However, in 1834 the Duc de Raguse
was disappointed by Constantinople’s antiquities precisely because they had
been recycled; however, he thought that only a fraction of what was lost was to
be seen in the city’s Ottoman buildings.
Encore si les débris des palais et des édifices de Constantinople avaient

servi, comme à Rome, à la réédification d’une foule de monuments! Mais,
excepté quelques parties des murs, et quelques mosquées, où ils ont été
employés comme matériaux, on n’en aperçoit rien nulle part.[40]
Venetian representatives in Constantinople were early admirers of the Otto-

man building programme. They were probably just as interested in financial
stability as in the beauty and magnificence of the structures, if not more so.
Thus, in 1562 Marcantonio Donini reported in detail on mosque financing,
marvelling at its extent.[41] In 1583 Paolo Contarini naturally named their reli-
gion as false, but their mosques as clean and neat: indeed, while deploring
the source of some of the funds, “ognuno anco che ha denari fabbrica qual-
che moschea, nelle quali spendono gran quantità di denaro, usando di farle
quanto più pompose si possono immaginare,” as well as building hospitals.[42]
But, wrote Matteo Zane in 1594, that which “s’inducono li principali a fabbri-
care superbissime moschee, collegii di studenti, caravansera e bagni con ecces-
siva spesa” was in order to “signoreggiare popoli.”[43] However, Zane also noted
what many later travellers remarked upon: “bagni e moschee e studj” were the
only substantial structures, the rest being merely basic – “non si estendono in
grandezza oltre il necessario bisogno.”[44] The cost of some mosques contin-
ued to be a live topic in the nineteenth century, when Choiseul-Gouffier still
marvelled at how much the Sultan Achmet (completed 1616) had cost.[45]
The Nuruosmaniye Mosque (1748–1755), much influenced by the European
Baroque style, was one mosque which caught the visitors’ eye, perhaps because
it supposedly contained no spolia marble. Dallaway garbled the dating, and

noted that its builder wished to use a European style, but was dissuaded by
the ulema.[46] In 1815 Pertusier praised its elegance, and its white marble
inside and out, “qui donne à l’intérieur comme au-dedans un air de jeunesse
enchanteur.”[47] Two years later Hobhouse, continuing the Europe is better
theme, thought it much preferable to Sancta Sophia, praised its dome and tall
granite columns, and concluded that “the general appearance of the Osmaniè
is that of a magnificent saloon, the graces of which the eye at one glance can
comprehend, without the labour of a divided and minute inspection.”[48]
3 Collecting Manuscripts in Constantinople
Except for classical statues and reliefs, which we know were routinely and
often secretly loaded onto foreign ships, only descriptions of classical or later
monuments could be taken home. However, one task for some learned travel-
lers, and which fuelled their industry, was to collect manuscripts thought to be
found in Ottoman libraries – a task which the French government had in mind
since the sixteenth century. These were often located in mosque complexes, the
majority known to be in Constantinople, and haunted by wild rumours about
the survival of classical texts. Hence manuscripts deserve a brief mention in
this book, not least because, parallel to the hunt for classical antiquities and
inscriptions, manuscripts in the Empire might hold long-lost classical texts.
By the mid-seventeenth century in France, “Oriental literature promised
something like access to the long lost Library of Babylon,” perhaps including
the lost books of Livy. European collections in France and Britain, for exam-
ple, were anxious to acquire ancient texts, translated into Arabic.1 Wansleben
was already on the trail in the 1670s, recommending seeking out the imam
of mosques, because he knew that it was there that most libraries were to be
found.[49] Alas, just as classical monuments had disappeared, so, too, had any
classical texts. Edward Pococke, a distant relative of Richard Pococke (who
appears frequently below) had sailed for Aleppo in 1630 as chaplain to the
English factory there, and his collection of manuscripts bought in the East was
to end up in the Bodleian. Sir Paul Pindar (1565–1650), a merchant, was ambas-
sador for James I to the Ottoman Empire, and collected Arabic manuscripts, of
which he donated a famous text on cartography to the Bodleian in 1611.
In the French Embassy to the Porte of 1728–41, scholars were included “avec
mission d’enrichir le cabinet du Roi de marbres antiques ou de camées précieux.”
Another two, members of the Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, were
1 Stolzenberg 2013, 153.

92 Chapter 4
included, namely the abbés Sevin and Fourmont, to search (unsuccessfully) for
classical manuscripts surviving from the wreck of Byzantium.
Ils devaient, avec l’appui de l’ambassadeur, tenter de s’introduire dans

la bibliothèque du sultan, vérifier l’exactitude des traditions qui y signa-
laient la présence de manuscrits antiques trouvés par Mahomet II dans les
dépouilles de Byzance, reconnaître et décrire ces mystérieux trésors.[50]
Dallaway had written expectantly in 1797 of the libraries attached to the royal
mosques in Constantinople, with their academies and (hence, perhaps) yet
more books.[51] Dr Hunt searched several libraries in the 1790s, helped by
ambassador Elgin’s powerful influence
but in none of those vast collections of books was there a single classi-
cal fragment of a Greek or Latin author, either original or translated. The
volumes were in Arabic, Persian, or Turkish: and of all of them Mr. Carlyle
took exact catalogues.[52]
Yet without such ambassadorial influence, access to the libraries was as dif-
ficult for Christians as access to mosques, as Michaud and Poujoulat declared
in 1834.[53]
In 1829 Bussières counted thirteen public libraries in Constantinople, plus
private collections “dans lesquelles on trouverait peut-être des objets du plus
haut intérêt.” Entry to such libraries was easy with the appropriate firman, but
the Turks, apparently convinced that the export (and somehow the use) of
such books could be dangerous to the Empire, would not allow foreigners to
carry any off,
tant est grande leur crainte que nous n’y fassions des découvertes impor-
tantes et que nous n’en profitions pour mettre fin à la puissance des
Osmanlis en Europe.[54]
The implication is perhaps that there were indeed western books therein that
the Turks could not or would not read.
Other empires also suffered from the West’s thirst for manuscripts. Adam
Olearius, librarian to the Duke of Holstein, accompanied the ambassador as
his secretary on a mission to Muscovy and then Persia. Here, in 1639, in a mau-
soleum in Soltaniyeh, he filched pages which were either badly guarded or
abandoned.

We saw several old Arabick Books, above half an Ell square, having Letters
as long as a man’s finger, and black and golden Lines alternately. I made
a shift to get some of the Leaves, which I still very carefully keep in the
Prince’s Library. It is some part of the Paraphrase upon the Alchoran.[55]
4 Adrianople
Adrianople renferme plusieurs édifices remarquables, tels que l’ancien

palais des sultans, le grand-Bézestein et surtout la mosquée de sultan
Sélim, célèbre par la hauteur de ses trois minarets, et l’une des plus belles
de l’empire.[56] [1829]
Adrianople (Roman Hadrianopolis, Turkish Edirne), in Thrace, supplanted

Bursa, in north-west Anatolia, as the Turkish capital from c.1369 until the
capture of Constantinople in 1453. The city continued to be lavished with
important palaces and mosques until the eighteenth century. Already in 1650
Stochove proclaimed the attractions of Adrianople: “les bastimens y sont assez
beaux pour ce qui est de la Turquie.”[57] Adrianople also boasted several well
built khans but, as Mac Farlane recorded in 1850, by that date several were
ruined (“sad and irritating sights”), and were being dismantled.
They had been knocking them down to get the iron and the lead, and to
have the stones for throwing on the horrible causeway! These were works
built by the Turks not three centuries ago; and now the Turks themselves
were destroying them![58]
We may easily pass over Fraser’s 1838 succinct and unhelpful description of
the city.
There are several mosques, the minarets of which give a pleasing relief to
the multitude of red-tile-topped houses; one of them is said to be of great
size, and well worth seeing … This is all I know of Adrianople, which I left
at a promising gallop.[59]
Little mentioned was the seraglio, which Careri visited in 1694, the complex
“which is allow’d to Franks with much difficulty.”[60]

94 Chapter 4
4.1 Üç Şerefeli Mosque
This edifice is not great, but of structure so neate, and that so advantaged
by scituation, as renders it not only stately, and magnificent, but with
such a delicacy as I have not seene in any other place, no not in Italy.[61]
[1636]
Already in 1580 Nicolay had pointed to the Üç Şerefeli Mosque (built by Murat II
1438–1447) as “il piu bello, & sontuoso edificio di tutti gli altri.”[62] The minarets
with three balconies (which gave the Mosque its name) fascinated Blount (see
above quote), as did the whole complex with its colleges, baths etc. Benaglia
in 1684 described this mosque, its courtyard flanked by splendid marble col-
umns with the bases encased in bronze, the marble wall cladding, the central
fountain, and “La facciata maggiore è sostenuto da quattro grosse colonne di
marmo di colore piombìno.”[63] Chishull visited in 1701, and played the com-
parison game: he admired the Selimiye (“the greatest beauty of this city”), but
found it inferior to Süleymaniye and Sultan Achmet at Constantinople,[64] in
spite of being allowed to ascend a minaret.[65]
In 1831 Keppel compared the Üç Şerefeli interior to a church for the benefit
of his readers.
The kebleh, or that part of the mosque which faces Mecca, the burying-
place of Mahomet, is like the chancel of an English church, and is
ascended by a low step: on the right hand, is a small staircase to the
koorsee, which answers to our pulpit; on the left, in a comer, is a trelliced
gallery, for the grand signior.
He was accompanied by evidently important persons.
There were several Turks at prayers, but they did not molest us; nor did
they require Lord Dunlo or the consul to take off their boots. I wore pae-
pooshes, (Turkish slippers), which I left at the door.[66]
Unfortunately, Adrianople had been occupied by a Russian division since 1829,

and we shall see from our travellers’ comments elsewhere in this book that
the Russians usually got a very bad press. The troops were here awaiting rati-
fication of a peace treaty with the Empire. Keppel noted that they supposedly
guarded the mosques, but
within the sacred precincts of the mosque, there is a place called abte-
zlick, where the Turks are in the habit of performing the ablutions

prescribed by their religion, but which the Russians, to the disgrace of

a people assuming to be civilised, have appropriated to a very different
purpose.
Their behaviour in the Turkish baths was barbarous, and in consequence the
locals abandoned the use of such baths. Keppel concluded that “there is scarcely
any nation in the world so utterly deficient in decency as the Russians.”[67] The
Russians also defiled the Selimiye Mosque (see below).
Nor did the Russians restrict their activities to Adrianople. In Constantinople
Galt visited the mosques (“their uniformity was, to me, exceedingly tiresome”)
and came across a Russian group in the Süleymaniye, measuring and making a
noise while Muslims were at prayer,
which so provoked the disturbed worshippers, that they rose in a fury,

chased them from the mosch, kicking and thrashing the disturbers with
an indignation which religious zeal and political animosity combined to
heighten. The sultan, on being informed of the affair, sent to the ambas-
sador, and persuaded him to pocket the affront with about fifteen hun-
dred pounds sterling.[68]
4.2 Selimiye Mosque
The Columns that sustain the Portico, and Galleries which surround it, are
for the most Part ot Antique and uncommon Marble, as Granite, Porphyry
Serpentine etc … it has twelve Domes cover’d with Lead, that in the
Middle is supported by Marble Pillars admirably polished. As for its other
interior Ornaments, they are as plain as in those before mentioned, con-
sisting in Lamps, Branches, Arabic Characters, and Galleries or Tribunes,
that are built round it upon noble Pillars of fine Marble.[69] [1730]
La Mottraye (above) concentrated on the Selimiye Mosque, built by Sinan in

1575. He noted that its minarets [the tallest in Turkey – 70.9m, whence a story
from a gullible foreigner][70] could be seen from twelve miles away. Careri,
travelling in 1693, approved of the mosque, counted its marble columns in the
courtyard, entered the mosque and ascended a minaret.[71] Lusignan agreed
with such an assessment, noting several mosques in the city, but “none of them
approach this in magnificence.”[72]
Morritt was at Adrianople in 1794, with a janissary, but without any fir-
man, and was impressed by the civility of the Turks. “On entering we took
off our shoes and saw the whole of it with much less molestation than I have
frequently experienced in Roman Catholic churches.”[73] He described the

96 Chapter 4
architecture and gave some measurements, noting the size of the façade
columns (some 9.1m in height). He also admired the tall minarets [“like the
Monument at London” – not the only one to make this comparison],[74] and
excused the strange forms.
If (according to our ideas) there is little architecture in these, which

are painted exceedingly gay in grotesque fresco, yet from the size of the
mosque and the liveliness of the colours the ensemble has the most pleas-
ing effect, as you will suppose when I tell you it reminded us of Ranelagh
[public gardens at Chelsea, with some exotic architecture].[75]
The French were also impressed by the Selimiye. Salaberry in 1799 thought its
beauty second only to that of Hagia Sophia, admired its columns, but did not
get inside: “j’y fus un vendredi, et on nous éconduisit sans cérémonie. J’envoyai
au diable, de bon cœur, les imans, les croyans et le prophète.” Never mind, for
he comforts himself with the usual belief in mosque similarities: “je ne me suis
consolé de ne pas avoir vu l’intérieur de la mosquée, que quand j’ai appris, par
celles de Constantinople, qu’elles se ressembloient toutes.”[76] Struve ascended
a minaret in 1802 (“d’où l’on jouit de la vue charmante de la ville et des envi-
rons”) and tried to place the mosque’s architecture.
La façade de cet édifice, les ornemens que l’on y remarque, l’entrée, de

même que les fenêtres, se rapprochent absolument du style gothique, et
n’offrent que très-peu de traces du style grec.[77]
To get into the Selimiye in 1812 (“a building not inferior to those of the first class
in Constantinople … spacious and splendid”) Galt needed the influence of the
French consul, and particularly admired the marble and the minarets. The
European war against Napoleon’s France was far away and, excusing his use
of an enemy, remarked philosophically that “a traveller should not carry about
his political animosities. His object is to see the curiosities of the countries
through which he passes; and those are his friends who assist him to attain that
object.”[78] Kinnear in 1818 admired the mosque’s marbles, “the spoils, perhaps,
of some Roman temple.”[79] Macmichael paid a sequin to ascend a minaret in
1819, but was rushed through the mosque itself: “Struck with the prodigious
number of windows around me, I was attempting to count them, when our
guide hastily intimated to us that it was time to withdraw.” Here the boys in
the mosque, who kept it clean, “beset us and greedily demanded a backshish
or present.”[80]
In 1823 Benjamin Barker was pleasantly surprised by Adrianople, noting
with “what freedom the Christians and Jews enter the mosques of Adrianople

without meeting the least opposition, so contrary to the Custom of the other
Turkish places where if a Christian or Jew enters a mosque he must either
become a Turk or lose his head.” He was told of Greeks in the Selimiye, “with
their small lighted candles, praying and crossing themselves on the one side of
the mosque and the Turks and their accustomed prostrations on the other.”[81]
Such inter-use of mosques (and churches) was not common in the Empire, but
nor was it rare, even down to our own day.
Walsh entered the Selimiye in 1828, claiming that it was built “with the mate-
rials brought from the ruins of Famagusta in Cyprus.”[82] In 1833 Slade admired
it (“one of the finest of the empire … The inside is vast and grand”) but found
the minarets too high (“a fault from a distance”!), and incorrectly stated that it
was “wanting the antique marble columns, the chief beauty of the Stamboul
mosques.” But he had no difficulty entering the mosque:
The imam was very civil; indeed I may observe that excepting in
Constantinople and Jerusalem, there is no difficulty in seeing any mosque
in Turkey.[83]
Two years later Burgess also concentrated on the Selimiye, “four stupendous
minarets, with a triple spiral staircase, a magnificent court and ingress, and a
dome worthy of a Christian church.” And then
the courtyard is ornamented with marble and lunettes, inlaid with Turk-
ish characters, made of rich blue material. Several of these were picked
off by the Russian soldiers, who defiled the “sacred” precincts, and have
left behind them the marks of their depredation.[84]
Tietz visited in 1836, relaying the widely accepted falsehood that the “cupola
whereof is four yards [3.657m] higher than that of St. Sophia.” For some rea-
son left unstated, “it was only subsequently at Constantinople, that I had the
opportunity to see the interior of a mosque.”[85] But there was no embargo, for
the following year Royer “fus ébloui, en entrant, de la richesse et de la variété
de couleurs qui forment la décoration de ce djami” – lights, ostrich eggs,
and dome.[86]
Was the dome indeed higher than that of Hagia Sophia?2 Marcellus was not
so sure: the complex was “un des monuments les plus curieux de l’architecture
ottomane,” and “la hauteur de sa coupole, la largeur de ses voûtes, ses longs
piliers et ses ornements la rapprochent de la mosquée d’Achmet, qui passe
2 See below: Domes and their history in the East.

98 Chapter 4
pour être plus grande que Sainte-Sophie.”[87] Hervé entered the same year with
the English Consul, described the interior briefly (“a most magnificent one it
is, but much in the same style as all the others”), ascended a minaret (“the
immense fatigue of mounting such a tremendous number of steps; but I was
well rewarded when at the top”), and indeed entered the mosque without tak-
ing off his boots.
The ceremony of taking off one’s boots, or putting any thing over them,
was dispensed with. In fact, the janissary appeared to be a sort of
commander-in-chief, who did as he liked, and under his wing we did the
same.[88]
This mosque’s minarets were indeed special. Marcellus describes their three
staircases, ingeniously arranged, but a trap for any unalert muezzin wishing to
arrive at the very top:
Trois escaliers distincts, ayant chacun leur entrée séparée dans la cour
du temple, conduisent à la dernière galerie. Tous les trois, appliqués l’un
sur l’autre en spirale, se suivent dans l’intérieur de cette aiguille si mince
et si droite sans jamais se rencontrer ni s’entrelacer; le premier mène à la
première galerie, d’où il monte à la seconde et â la troisième: le second n’a
d’issue que sur le second étage; et enfin le troisième escalier s’élève sans
s’interrompre jusqu’à la plus haute région.[89]
In 1850 MacFarlane proclaimed that the Selimiye (“the pride and boast
of Adrianople”), merited (externally at least) “all the praise that has been
bestowed upon it, and perhaps even more.” Indeed, its “sight is worth a jour-
ney of more miles than lie between the city of Constantine and the city of
Hadrian.” However, it was looking decayed.
The very fountain attached to one of the flanks of the mosque, in order
that the faithful might perform the prescribed ablutions before entering
the house of prayer, had been battered and defaced, and in part quite
spoiled. Of a long row of brass cocks, placed at regular distances for the
convenience of the followers of the Prophet, some had been wrenched
from their sockets, and some had been broken and rendered useless.
Like a good Christian, he attributed the damage to the Turks (“if these barbar-
ians were driven out of Europe, they would scarcely leave behind them a trace
of existence except in a few stately mosques”[90]), but this was surely caused

by the Russian occupation twenty years earlier – one indication of the decay of
Adrianople in the nineteenth century. MacFarlane was writing about Turkey’s
“destiny,” and throughout his travels sought signs of decay and ruin, as a kind
of self-fulfilling prophecy.
Wratislaw visited Adrianople in 1892, and described the Selimiye at length,
calling it a “church” with glass lamps, ostrich eggs, and the tall minarets, one
of which he ascended. “From these towers we had a view of the whole city. In
this city there is also a palace belonging to the Turkish emperor, on that side of
the river on which Sultan Selim dwelt; but they would not allow us to enter it.”
However, he does not really describe the architecture.[91]
4.3 The Beyazidiye

In 1851 Spencer visited and praised another early site, the complex including
külliye of Bayezid II (r. 1481–1512), some 1.5km from the Selimiye, which he
described as “the finest religious edifice ever constructed by the Turks,” being
particularly impressed by its tall minarets. He exclaimed,
how changed is the spirit of the age, since the day when a Christian dog
could not cross the threshold of a mosque, and live! All that is required of
the traveller now, is to leave his shoes at the door and remain silent, lest
he should disturb the Faithful at their prayers. The embellishments of
this mosque, which are ample and elegant, differ but little from those in
Constantinople, and the whole building was a pattern of cleanliness.[92]
5 Constantinople
La ville est aussi grande que Paris, y compris Galata, & bastie en amphi-
théâtre. Mais ostez les Mosquées qui sont tres-belles, les autres bastimens
ne sont point beaux, & les rues sont estroites.[93] [1673]
Deslandes-Doulier offers two assessments many earlier and later travel-

lers will echo. The first is the comparison with European cities, in this case
Paris; the second is the disparity between the beautiful mosques and the
remainder of her architecture. In 1694 Careri found the “Royal Moschs” to be
noble,[94] was enthusiastic about the Süleymaniye mosque and tomb,[95] and
that of Bajazet.[96] The Venetian Costantino Garzoni had introduced another
comparison in 1573: the mosques were indeed magnificent, especially the
Süleymaniye, but “che viene stimata non cedere a quella di Santa Sofia, perchè
non gli è inferiore ne di grandezza, nè di architettura.”[97] Sancta Sophia was to

100 Chapter 4
be the touchstone against which Turkish mosques were to be judged, usually

to their detriment.3
6 Cityscape: “‘Tis Distance Lends Enchantment to the View”
Most cities are built on flat ground, protected by encircling walls, so few can
display their important monuments (except for acropolis fortifications) on
hills. Constantinople is an exception, protected by both water and walls. Her
hills are steep with the added enchantment that most arrivals in our centu-
ries came by sea, so that the city was first viewed from a distance. This was a
requirement for panoramas.
An important aspect of the panorama was that the seven hills were of
ascending heights, lending a theatrical aspect to the layered scene, and mean-
ing that the site could be enjoyed from far out to sea.[98] For this very reason,
of course, it was on the hills that the great mosques were placed, which “con-
tribuë beaucoup à ce merveilleux aspect.”[99] For Pococke in the late 1730s, the
whole scene could be taken in at once, mosques and minarets, “auxquelles
nous n’avons rien qu’on puisse comparer … tout cela forme un spectacle qui
enchante à l’entrée du canal de la mer noire.”[100] Vallée in 1745 was particu-
larly impressed by the minarets, and thought architects back home could find
elements in them worthy of imitation.[101] Pouqueville wrote of “surprise and
astonishment” in 1806,[102] and Ricketts in 1844 of enjoying “the splendid sight
presented to the enchanted eye.”[103] For Howel, at the end of the eighteenth
century, the panorama was no less than a miracle.[104]
And, as Thomas Campbell (1777–1844) asserted in his poem Hope: Tis
distance lends enchantment to the view. Sanudo, a Venetian writing in 1523,
thought the site beautiful, and saw there “chiexia bellissima più di quella di
san Marco.”[105] The Venetian ambassador, Andrea Badoaro, reporting in 1573,
was unstinting in his praise.[106] Mundy in 1617 expressed the general opinion,
writing that “the Mosques or Temples, amongst whom the Sophia, Solimana
and Amorata are indeed heaps of ostentation and fabricks of great delight,”[107]
while Maurand in 1544 thought the best view was to be had from the top of one
of them, and was peeved that the Turks would not allow him to mount one.
Me sarebe stato nessesario essere asseso soppra d’una torrichiola de

meschita o altro loco alto e eminente per vederla apieno; quel che me
era inpossibile, per la grande suspisione chc hanno li Turchi soppra li
Cristiani.[108]
3 See below: Seeing Hagia Sophias everywhere they look: Royal Mosques.

Otter in 1748 found mosque architecture “singulière,” but went no further.[109]

Tournefort, travelling 1701–2 but quoted in a collection a hundred and twenty
years later, thought distance did indeed lend enchantment to the view of the
mosques: “though hideous for their bulk, yet in appearance have nothing
about them but what is beautiful, the defects and oddness of the Turkish archi-
tecture not being discernible so far off.”[110] Nevertheless, Tournefort admired
the panorama from a distance.[111] So did Arnold in 1868, again at a distance,
because when viewed close up, “for all that is interesting in architecture, you
might as well stand beneath the solid walls of the Great Northern Railway
Station,”[112] boldly if self-consciously asserting that “I am not ashamed of
this comparison.”[113] (Of course, disillusioned visitors might have forgotten
Campbell’s poem, turning instead to Hymen, by John Cunningham (1729–1773),
which declared that What at a distance charmed our eyes, / Upon attainment,
droops, and dies.) The minarets were much admired, and Perry in 1743, without
expressing the desire to climb up one, was particularly struck by them, describ-
ing the city as
very pregnant with fine gilded Spires, and stately Domes, which rise one
above another with surprising Magniſicence; and these exhibit a most
charming View to such as either approach to, or depart from, the City
by Sea.[114]
Mundy, in Constantinople 1617–20, enjoyed all the main buildings, consider-

ing them “heapes of Ostentation and fabriques of great delight,”[115] includ-
ing what he estimated at “two thousand mosques or turkish Churches.”[116] He
admired Hagia Sophia, which he knew had been a church, and singled out four
others, “the durable markes of the magnificence of the Turkish Emperours.”[117]
Gassot[118] and Busbecq,[119] writing in 1550 and 1555 respectively, agreed with
him, the latter noting the city’s convenience for trade. Sandys, travelling in
1610, noted the seven hills and the cypress trees “so intermixed with the build-
ings, that it seemeth to present a Citie in a wood to the pleased beholders.” As
for the magnificent mosques (demonstrating how little attention he paid to
their architecture), they were “all of white marble, round in forme, and cou-
pled above; being finished on the top with gilded spires that reflect the beames
they receive with a marvellous splendour,” and set off with minarets.[120] Della
Valle, travelling 1614–26, thought that perhaps the mosques (“fort peu diféren-
tes les unes des autres”) had perhaps been ranged on the hills for effect, and
compared the form to Saint Peter’s, Rome.[121] Comparisons continued down
the centuries, as we shall see.
All our travellers had passed through other countries and their cities before
arriving in the Empire, their visits often occasioning a conscientious comparison

102 Chapter 4
of their buildings with those back home. So how did Constantinople rate
against what they had already seen? Deshayes de Courmenin, travelling in
1621, and already mentioned, thought Constantinople had the best location of
any city in the world, for “il semble qu’elle ayt esté faite pour commander à
tout le monde.”[122] Indeed, the beauty of the site was overwhelming.[123] In
1650 Stochove agreed,[124] though in 1668 Poullet thought the town hideous,
presumably meaning its dirty streets.[125] Rochefort’s admiration in 1676 was
strengthened when he compared it (to their disadvantage) with London,
Dublin, Edinburgh, Copenhagen, Stockholm, Warsaw, Lisbon, Madrid Rome,
Palermo, Malta and Paris![126] Such comparisons with home are only natu-
ral, and extended to the buildings themselves. To help such comparisons, in
1714 Le Brun provided a chart of the city, with a key listing of mosques and
churches.[127] Baltimore went ashore in 1767, writing of the streets that “they
are paved, and though not so clean as those at the Hague, are not so dirty as
those were in London.”[128] So could it be that the Empire was far from a realm
of irredeemable filth?
In 1802 Riedesel thought Constantinople’s cityscape surpassed the Bay of
Naples,[129] Hervé declared in 1837 that “surely this is the most beautiful city in
the world!”[130] and in 1854 Fowler agreed: “the view from the port of this great
city is the most superb anywhere to be met with.”[131] Others were so impressed
they thought they were dreaming. In 1810 Cockerell averred that “nothing but
my despatches under my arm recalled me from a sense of being in a dream.”[132]
“But all this must be seen in sunshine to be believed in,” wrote Hornby in 1863,
“and then you will think it a dream.”[133] Dorr agreed: the site “probably sur-
passes any other city in the world” and was to be seen with “a calm sea, a bright
sky, and a glorious morning sun.”[134] Against the greenery, the marble of the
mosques and minarets gleamed in the sunlight (Where cypress shades; the
minarets snowy hue, / And gleams of gold dissolve on skies of blue).[135] In 1838
Addison named the nearby marble mosques and the elegant minarets and, fur-
ther away, “the mosques of Sultan Mahomet and Sultan Selim, with various
others, all on the rising ground which encircles me in front, and behind these
in the distance the gilded crescents of Sultan Bajazet.”[136]
Of course, the water helped. As for the amphitheatre of houses, gardens
and mosques on the seven hills, wrote Melling in 1819, “Rien de plus imposant,
rien de plus majestueux que l’aspect de cette ville.”[137] As Castellan remarked
in 1820, “on se représente ce brillant spectacle doublé par sa réflexion dans
les eaux de la mer qui, tantôt calme et lisse répétoit fidèlement ces objets, et,
tantôt émue par les courans les faisoit ondoyer.”[138] Colton wrote in 1836 of
the mist rising, so that “a clearer prospect began to blend its insular outline
with the main,” then the vista of cupolas, monuments, crescents or marble

porticoes “flashed into brilliant relief; till the mingled and varied whole stood
before us in all the richest combinations which nature and art can bestow.”[139]
Slade agreed in 1833, with a proviso on the decline of Islam: “I sincerely hope
that whenever the cross replaces the crescent (which it must do) a mistaken
zeal for religion will not remove the stately minarets.”[140] In 1831 Prime’s ship
swept around Seraglio Point, and the prospect
greatly surpassed all that I had ever conceived of it … The mosques

of Sancta Sophia and Sultan Achmet, with the palaces and gardens of
the present Sultan Mahmoud, were before us in all their majesty and
loveliness.[141]
6.1 Domes and Minarets

The mosques and minarets could comfortably be admired from the sea. In 1801
Olivier echoed praise for the various stones used, conceded that of such struc-
tures “la plupart sont d’une assez belle forme,” and remarked that “Les mina-
rets qui les surmontent, au nombre d’un, de deux, de quatre ou de six, font
un effet très-pittoresque et très-agréable à la vue.”[142] In 1807 Thornton sim-
ply gathered Cantemir’s comments from a century previously on the Selimiye
(“elegance and art so shine”), the Süleymaniye (“built with so much art and
elegance, that no structure deserves to be compared with it”) and the Sultan
Achmet (“excels Sancta Sophia in magnificence, though not in largeness”).
He then reproved himself for appearing to accept the opinions of a Greek
(Cantemir was a Moldavian prince), and reverted to a British opinion.
The mosque of Sultan Ahmed is more correctly described by Lord

Sandwich, who says, “It might justly be esteemed a most magnificent edi-
fice, if it were built more according to the rules of architecture, of which
the Turks have not the least knowledge.”[143]
Sandwich continued, admiring
the towering height of the minarets, which at a distance resemble so

many obelisks, and the splendid domes of the royal mosques … form a
prospect which, for beauty and variety, far exceeds the most sanguine
expectation. If the outward view excites the admiration of strangers, the
convenience of its situation is as well worthy their attention.[144]
Apparently, so captivating was the city panorama (and so scarce the tele-
scopes?) that Europeans got confused about the frequency of minarets. In 1836

104 Chapter 4
Delaroière asserted that “Plusieurs de ces mosquées sont entourées de quatre,

même de six minarets,”[145] and Ward followed him in 1864. “Some of the impe-
rial mosques have no less than six minarets, forming a striking and pleasing
feature in their architectural arrangement.”[146] Was this confusion by count-
ing from the water, or simply a lack of knowledge? In 1680 Grelot had already
noted the beauty of the Sultan Achmet, and that “il est le seul de tous ceux
que j’ay veus dans l’Orient qui aye jusques à six Minarets, la plupart n’en ont
que deux ou quatre tout au plus.”[147] As Ricketts correctly asserted in 1844,
the Sultan Achmet “is not only the chief of all the mosques, but is the only
one in the whole Ottoman Empire which has six minarets.”[148] Ward, writing
in 1864 of the houses (“chiefly of wood, painted red, and are low, unsightly
structures”), picked out Hagia Sophia and the mosques of Sultans Mehmet and
Achmet for praise, asserting that “the glowing descriptions given by travellers
of the architectural beauty of the two former mosques, and the historical asso-
ciations connected with the last, are by no means exaggerated or undeserved.
They are rich and beautiful edifices and cannot fail to attract the attention
and admiration of all tourists.”[149] Gottis fared well in 1872 by concentrating
on Topkapi.
Avec ses belles allées, ses sombres massifs de verdure, ses marbres tout
éclatants de blancheur, ses édifices, sa mosquée, ses minarets, il est vrai-
ment enchanteur; c’est un vrai séjour de délices.[150]
It was the domes and minarets that enchanted an anonymous traveller in

1836,[151] while Elliott in 1838 sniffed that there were “fewer individual objects
of interest in the metropolis of Turkey than in any city of equal magnitude in
Europe;” though he did appreciate “the tout ensemble of the scenery and cos-
tumes, with the novelty of both.”[152] Addison, in the same year, knew more, and
could name the principal mosques – the Süleymaniye (“constructed entirely of
white marble, and adorned with elegant minarets”), Sultan Achmet (“with its six
lofty minarets, each encircled with three galleries”), and then “the mosques of
Sultan Mahomet and Sultan Selim, with various others, all on the rising ground
which encircles me in front, and behind these in the distance the gilded cres-
cents of Sultan Bajazet.”[153] In 1833 Slade and his companions had enumerated
the hills and their monuments from shipboard, using telescopes.[154] Although
they do not mention him, they had surely read Gyllius (here 1544–1547), as had
Choiseul-Gouffier, who, for example, enumerated what Gyllius[155] had seen
on the third hill.[156] In 1851 Flandin also admired the mosques, but especially
their minarets, plus fountains and palaces.

Que d’élégance dans leurs gigantesques minarets si sveltes, dans leurs

galeries découpées qui figurent des dentelles ou des stalactites du meil-
leur goût! quelle richesse dans toutes ces fontaines de marbre, couvertes
d’arabesques et de fleurs! quelle profusion de dentelures, d’or et d’azur,
dans ces palais, dans ces kiosques turcs, qui semblent avoir hérité du luxe
des Blaquernes des Empereurs d’Orient![157]
Galt had a two-way bet on the monuments in 1812, declaring, “if it has no sin-
gle feature comparable to St. Paul’s cathedral, the great moschs are splendid
edifices; and the effect of the whole view is greatly superior to any that can
be taken of London.”[158] But perhaps not in detail: in 1830 Fuller admired the
interior of the dome of Hagia Sophia, but that was “not certainly so impos-
ing when viewed from the outside, as the more aspiring cupolas of St. Peter’s
and St. Paul’s.”[159] Smith arrived in 1851, was disappointed by the first glimpse,
then enchanted after rounding Seraglio Point, so that “the feeling of wonder
and admiration became absolutely oppressive. I had never been so strangely
moved before but once – when I looked down upon London, by night, from a
balloon.”[160] Perhaps Hobhouse in 1817 got a little carried away in comparing
the minarets of Hagia Sophia and Sultan Achmet as “having the same appear-
ance, as the distant turrets of King’s College Chapel at Cambridge.”[161]
The panorama was still enchanting visitors in 1901, when Percy viewed it
from the steamer heading to Haidar Pasha, near Scutari.
Nothing could be lovelier than the view looking up the Golden Horn in
the first flush of the summer morning, the domes and minarets of Sancta
Sophia and the great mosque of Sultan Ahmed gleaming high over the
level wreaths of mist, with a red glint as of fire flashing from every win-
dow, and the tall masts and rigging of a large Brazilian armoured cruiser
glistening like gold in the sunrise.[162]
6.2 Other Points of View

Constantinople was also rich in gardens and trees which, as Niebuhr pointed
out, together with the medley of superb mosques and palaces, “appears remark-
ably striking to a stranger.”[163] Mundy had put this aspect best in about 1617:
Then this there is hardly in nature a more delicate object, if beheld from
the sea or adjoyning mountaines: the loftie and beautifull Cypresse trees
so intermixed with the buildings, that it seemeth to present a Citie in a
wood to the pleased beholders.[164]

106 Chapter 4
For Walsh in 1836 the very hills augmented the impressiveness of the
mosques atop them.
Their magnitude is so comparatively great, and they cover such a space

of ground, that they are altogether disproportioned to everything about
them, and the contrast gives them an apparent size, almost as great as the
hills on which they stand.[165]
But was Constantinople sufficiently oriental? And could it be made to accord

better with European taste? Mrs William Grey in 1869 found Constantinople
(“except the mosques and two or three palaces”) a disappointment, because
although it did not look European,
yet there was none of that perfect Oriental look, with all the charm of
imagination, which we admired so much in Egypt. No! Egypt is still my
beau idéal of the East, and the impression it made upon me can never be
effaced.
Here, then, was a lady who wished to see the East, the Orient, and could not
find it even in the Empire’s capital (send for Edward Said!) “After luncheon
we all drove out, going round Pera, and called at the British Embassy … There
was certainly nothing Oriental or pretty about the part of the town we saw
to-day”[166] (but improved as she got near to Hagia Sophia). Pera got yet more
European, with the English dressed for tennis (even in the mosques). This was
the result, wrote Lombay in 1892, of
des trains-éclairs et des wagons-salons dans lesquels on s’installe à Paris

pour ne les quitter que sous les minarets de Ste Sophie. Rien n’est plus
commode que ces voyages fantastiques que leur rapidité transforme en
excursions et en parties de plaisir.[167]
Other travellers accepted the panorama as Oriental, and enjoyed it. In 1887
Colbeck remarked that “the Golden Horn, like a polished silver mirror, running
far between, and separating the solid mass of buildings into two parts.” But the
sight was still a vision – “an impression like that made by a solemn and myste-
rious vision, distinct in its main features, but filled with a meaning almost too
profound for the human mind to fathom and comprehend.”[168] For Hayward
in 1892 the magic was necessary, for the lovely panorama and the mosques
and minarets “make a charming Oriental picture, but on close inspection they
are dirty, shabby, and disappointing. Most of them are curious and many are

interesting, but it would require a person with a very vivid imagination to see
anything beautiful about them.”[169] Perhaps this was one way of capturing
the unusual architecture, for Curtis in 1856 had written in similar terms of the
Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem. “In the picturesque gloom and brightness of
the city, the mosque is a dream of heaven also, even to the unbelievers.”[170]
The cityscape could also be thrilling when viewed from other vantage
points. For Macmichael, writing in 1819, at the top of the Galata Tower, the
situation was “beyond all conception superb … of such splendid magnificence,
as to baffle all powers of description.”[171] At the end of the eighteenth century
Howel discerned three amphitheatres, “dont les deux premiers sont surmontés
par sept mosquées impériales d’une si prodigieuse élévation, que toute la ville
en est commandée” – equally delightful whether seen from Pera or from across
the water on the Asia shore.[172] If indeed distance lent enchantment, then
Alcock in 1831 apparently wanted a picture-perfect view, without any of the
irregularities of real life. So he viewed the panorama from Scutari.
I regretted the want of more uniformity of building; for if the various

mosques, fountains, kiosks, and government establishments on the banks
of the Bosphorus were designed more with relation to one another, the
exceeding beauty of much of the architecture would render the whole as
magnificent and worthy of so charming a situation as they are individu-
ally chaste and beautiful: whereas at present very inferior dwellings are
occasionally interspersed among the best specimens of oriental build-
ings, and tend to injure a harmony which would be otherwise possibly
unrivalled.[173]
In 1836 Temple judged that both shores of the Bosphorus, with villages, mosques
castles and trees, “unite in forming the most complete fairy scene of enchant-
ment that can be imagined.”[174] Royer, indeed, writing in 1837, thought that
even if the mosques and houses disappeared, “elle conserverait tout le prestige
de sa beauté. La parure n’a presque rien ajouté à ses charmes; ses ornemens
prennent tout leur prix de sa nature elle-même.”[175] According to Lord Byron,
the merchants living in Pera actually avoided the main city, keeping to them-
selves as a colony, “and who from long residence might be supposed to have
good means of information, know but little of the mode of life of the Turks, or
of what is going forward on the other side the harbour.”[176]
Most visitors were satisfied with the aesthetics of the cityscape as seen
from the water, although some wished it improved. Thus, for one author in
1859, the whole cityscape and its mosques and minarets “give to the capital
from a distance an appearance of great magnificence, the effect of which is

108 Chapter 4
heightened by the gleaming waters, and the extreme beauty of the surround-
ing shores, studded with kiosks, and clothed with the brightest verdure.”[177]
But Boué in 1854 thought the cityscape could have been yet better. He gave a
long critique on how the Turks could have improved the Bosphorus by build-
ing promenades, railed against the Sultan with his “misérables palais d’été,”
and expressed “l’antipathie qu’un chrétien éclairé … en voyant ainsi si mal
employé un des plus beaux points du globe, l’Eldorado de l’habitant de la
Turquie.”[178] Distinguishing the walls and mosques, and some stone houses
built by Europeans, Perthes reckoned in 1855 that you could confidently make
a bonfire of what was left.[179] The Byzantines had built in brick, but the clay
seams were exhausted, and the city continued into the twentieth century to
suffer frequently from fires.[180] However, Perthes was very impressed by the
domes and minarets, and giant columns, “car tel est l’aspect qu’ont de loin
les minarets.”[181]
7 Cityscape: Strolling the Streets
Certainly, the panorama was the spectacle, the state of the streets (not the
cleanliness of the mosques) was the reality. And oh! What a falling off was
there when one set foot ashore! But in 1829 Frankland wrote of the “strong
contrasts between splendour and squalour, magnificence and meanness,”
because on shipboard (that is, from the comfort of a western ship) the visi-
tor could admire “the swelling domes and lofty minarets of the mosques, with
their marble fountain, and brazen portals,” and ignore that fact that “the streets
are full of filth, and heaps of carrion.”[182] Perhaps cleanliness declined. In 1849
Montague thought its situation the finest in the world, but it had “dirty, nar-
row, unpaved streets, filled with mud and carcases of dead dogs, with other
filth.”[183]
In other words, the famous panorama faded when one stepped ashore. In
1829 Madden, who had been denied entry to any mosque, thought that from
the sea the city was “the picturesque in all its loveliness,” but that “the traveller,
who sets his foot in the Turkish metropolis, is doomed to traverse the filthiest
and most ill constructed city in Europe.”[184] In 1834 Rapelje was enchanted by
the vista, but then felt deceived, because “when you go into the city, it is really
a miserable and wretched place, on account of the narrow and crooked streets,
and houses in a dilapidated state.”[185] For Chenavard, writing in 1849, “le mag-
ique tableau qu’offre ce long amphithéâtre de Constantinople” was nothing
but an illusion, and entering the city itself provided a very different reality.

“Il vous faudra passer par des rues étroites et sinueuses où ruisselle la fange,
encombrées d’animaux immondes.”[186] Perhaps cleanliness declined: in 1849
Montague thought its situation the finest in the world, but it had “dirty, nar-
row, unpaved streets, filled with mud and carcases of dead dogs, with other
filth.”[187] In 1859 Ireland underlined the shock of the transition from pictur-
esque to filth, and told of “the sensible Englishman who, rapt in admiration of
the view from his yacht, never left her, fearing to destroy the impression.”[188]
Crowe therefore stated the obvious in 1853, namely that the street detail
jarred against the panorama.
You will have examined those tottering and dilapidated rows of houses
which skirt the water; you will have threaded the streets, scanned the
edifices, and stumbled amongst the ruins. You will have been begrimed in
a crowd, have gone astray in a cemetery, have been waylaid by dogs, have
divined the true state of the great city of the East.[189]
He described the barbarism of the Constantinople mob, usually ignorant peas-

ants who flooded in from the countryside, “for there it is kept up in people
more bigoted, more barbaric and fluctuating than in any save the remotest
cities.”[190] Perhaps this was why some travellers restricted their time on land.
Vivanti saw all the sights (including three major mosques) in one day, “which
proves that there are not many.”[191]
7.1 An Overview of Mosques
In questa cita è tre altre moschee memorabile: 1 una fata fabrichar por
sultano Baisit; l’altra per Mahumeth che aquistó Constantinopoli; l’altra
per Selim suo padre; et in la major parte di quelle hanno pigliata la forma
di Sancta Sophia … vedono uno novo modo di fabricha, et bello, e con
gran dilligentia fatto Questi non usano campano di alcuna sorte, el si
governano per il solo … uno di lhoro va in certo campaniel, non perhò
molto alto rispetto a li nostri, ma rotondo e molto stretto, e qui cridano
la parola santa.[192]
Piero Zen’s account of 1523 admired the mosques and noted how the lack of
bells meant that a man had to ascend a minaret to announce the times, which
were fixed to prayers. He made no stylistic judgments, although this changed
radically when the religion of classical architecture took hold in Europe. Thus,
Hunter in 1803 could opine that

110 Chapter 4
the moschs, in general, are noble structures, and, although incorrect in

point of architecture, like the Gothic cathedrals with us, are striking on
account of their solidity and dimensions. They produce a grand effect,
standing in spacious courts … seven, by way of pre-eminence, are distin-
guished by the title of royal moschs; and of these again, Santa Sophia is,
in every respect, the most magnificent and remarkable.[193]
All western travellers to Constantinople were aware that Hagia Sophia was a
church converted into a mosque, and that this domed building was an evident
source of inspiration for the external appearance of many mosques. This fact
was a channel for the easy disparagement of the Muslim structures, the more
so because sometimes (and just like Hagia Sophia itself) they could only be
viewed from the outside. In other words, because non-Muslims were either
banned from entering mosques, and only the high and mighty occasionally
admitted, no balanced assessment was possible before the later nineteenth
century, when access became easier. Already by the early seventeenth century,
and in spite of a continuing lack of detailed knowledge of Byzantine architec-
ture, Della Valle had underlined Hagia Sophia as the source of local mosque
design: “avec peu de changement, & le continuent en toutes celles qu’ils bâtis-
sent de nouveau, lesquelles ils embellissent.”[194] At this date Hagia Sophia
was perhaps open: in 1621 Deshayes de Courmenin described both exterior
and interior, “l’un des plus beaux ouurages qui fust au monde.”[195] Tournefort
entered in 1701, noted the marbles, and tut-tutted at the damage done by the
Turks to the mosaics, but did not have time to count the columns.[196]
But there was a downside to the erection of mosques, as many classically
trained travellers explained. Febvre praised the Süleymaniye, Sultan Achmet
and Valide in 1687 which, along with Hagia Sophia, “ne cèdent rien en gran-
deur ny en beauté aux plus celebres Eglises d’Europe, à la réserve de celle
de saint Pierre de Rome qui est l’incomparable.” However, all this came at a
cost because, as we have already seen, “bien loin d’édifier aucune chose pour
embellir de plus en plus leur Capitale, ils laissent tomber en ruine toutes les
antiquitez.”[197]
The Turks had an antidote to the fame of Hagia Sophia in the figure of Evliya
Çelebi, a native of the city (1611–c.1684), promoting their own architecture as
superior. Çelebi told a perhaps tall story of
“ten Franc infidels skilful in geometry and architecture” who donned

slippers and entered the Süleymaniye. They said that in the whole of
Fringistun there was not a single edifice which could be compared to this.

He then asked the trigger question: how did it compare to Hagia Sophia?
The Franks replied that it was a fine old building, larger than this, and very
strong and solid for the age in which it was erected, but that it could not in any
manner vie with the elegance, beauty, and perfection of this mosque, upon
which, moreover, a much larger sum of money had been expended.[198]
Postel in 1560 was one of the first from the Renaissance onward to claim that
Christians could not visit mosques, “ils vous feront Turc [become a Muslim]
ou mourir.”[199] Nevertheless, he gave five pages describing Muslim worship,
if not their architecture.[200] Domenico Trevisano, the Venetian ambassador,
reported on the Süleymaniye in 1554, but did not say enough about the archi-
tecture for us to decide whether he got further than the courtyard; his main
interest was in the money it cost.[201] A later ambassador Costantino Garzoni,
visited the same mosque and reported back in 1573, noting that it was as good
in size and architecture as Hagia Sophia, “di fabbrica così grande e bella … Ha
bellissime colonne di porfido.” He described the attendant buildings, includ-
ing the mausoleum, but not the mosque interior, so perhaps he did not gain
access.[202] Nicolay in 1580 described Hagia Sophia both inside and out, and
then noted Mehmet’s mosque [Fatih Camii] as “la piu bella & la piu ricca,”
although he does not say he got inside.[203] It might well have been, but the
present structure is a rebuild following the earthquake of 1766.
Deshayes de Courmenin studied other mosques, and spent four pages
describing their characteristics.[204] In 1636 Blount viewed the Süleymaniye
“throughout,” but thought it “no way equall to his other at Andrinople, which
in my eye is much more Magnificent, then any of those at Constantinople.”[205]
In 1650 Stochove reaffirmed the status of the seven principal mosques, “basties
par divers Empereurs, & toutes à l’imitation du temple de Saincte Sophie.”[206]
In 1807 Thornton forgave the Turks for “not having imitated the architecture of
ancient Greece,” for none was available to them.
They have however copied the most perfect model existing there, and
have built all their principal mosques in close imitation of the cathedral
of Sancta Sophia.[207]
Multiple mosques in close-up were also too much in 1817 for Hobhouse’s group
of twenty or thirty men, who yawned at their sameness. Accompanied by janis-
saries and other attendants, his group “whether from the long demand for con-
stant admiration, or the formality of the visit, or want of taste and curiosity,
we were satisfied with seeing” only five of them.[208] How Hobhouse obtained
access we are not told, and two years later Macmichael noted the difficulties

112 Chapter 4
(“a privilege granted to an ambassador and his suite only”), and did not even
manage Hagia Sophia.[209] In 1821 Martin visited the Sultan Achmet inside and
out, which evidently satisfied any curiosity for the type.
J’ai passé plusieurs fois devant celle de Soliman, sans y entrer, parce que
je n’y aurais vu que la répétition de celle d’Achmet.[210]
Fellows in 1839 conceded that the mosques were imposing, “prodigious masses
of building, piled together without plan or reference to outward effect. But the
elegant minarets are redeeming features.”[211]
For some reason the nineteenth century years up to 1829 appear to have
been barren for visiting mosques. Madden could only see the exteriors,
declaring that “some of the imperial mosques would do honour to any city in
Christendom.”[212] In the same year Bussières reported that the mosques were
not accessible, except for a glance through any open door,[213] but managed to
offer good descriptions of exteriors and courtyards.[214] In 1829–30 Besse visited
what he called the “fourteen imperial mosques,” but only their exterior – “ces
édifices sont d’une belle architecture, ils sont magnifiques, imposans, n’ayant
rien de commun avec l’architecture des églises chrétiennes.”[215] Frankland
was led on by an imam at Hagia Sophia who suggested the party should come
before morning prayers, which turned out to be useless and possibly deliber-
ately misleading advice.
This, in point of fact, amounted to nothing, for the Turks always come
to pray at daylight; and if we came before that time, we should not have
stood much chance of seeing any thing; we therefore abandoned the
project for the present.[216]
He gave up and did not try again. The frontispiece to his book shows him in
“Syrian costume,” but the text gives no indication that he spoke Turkish, hence
perhaps his reticence.
Some visitors were not interested in visiting mosques: they were so similar
and, what is more, the culprits for the destruction of the classical city. In 1847
Gingras declared that the Turks had ruined the city, because “à la réserve d’une
partie du temple de Ste. Sophie, du reste de la colonnade de porphyre, et de
quelques autres ruines, il n’y a presque plus dans cette ville de vestiges de la
cité de Constantin, que la place où elle fut autrefois bâtie entre les trois mers
qui l’environnent.”[217] Others were equally dismissive: in 1829 Beaujour consid-
ered them “des masses informes, ressemblant plutôt à des citadelles qu’à des
temples.”[218] In 1837 Poujoulat wrote that they were all about the same size,

and he wouldn’t bore his reader by describing them.[219] In 1836 Delaroière had
said that permission to enter Hagia Sophia and the Süleymaniye was now eas-
ily obtained,[220] which is what Poujoulat had done, with the Sultan Achmet as
well.[221] In 1847 Skene declared that “having seen one we had in fact seen all,”
and then admitted his attitude was coloured by religion.
Our knowledge of what that creed is, for whose support those gorgeous
mosques were raised, will cast a far deeper gloom over our own minds on
entering them, than that with which all the most solemn shades of their
vaulted chambers could ever inspire us.[222]
Perhaps Smith in 1852 suffered from a similar prejudice, suggesting that the
mosques “command no admiration from a cultivated mind, beyond that of
astonishment that brick, wood and stone should ever have assumed such sin-
gular forms.”[223] In the same year Fellows thought the mosques “prodigious
masses of building, piled together without plan or reference to outward effect,”
but redeemed by the elegant minarets.[224]
7.2 Mosques and Cleanliness
You seldom see a slovenly mosque and seldom a mosque out of repair.
They set an example to other religious sects in this, as in several other
matters.[225] [1903]
If westerners were sometimes upset by the state of the city’s streets, many
remarked on the washing that Muslims undertook before worship, and on the
cleanliness of the mosque interiors, with their carpets. (We have already dealt
with the generalities of this topic in chapter 2.) Arvieux noted these features
in Constantinople in 1735, surely because they contrasted with the behaviour
of Christians in churches. There was no dirt in the mosques, shoes were left at
the door or kept under the arm, dogs were not admitted, and spitting was not
allowed, except by necessity into a handkerchief.[226] For Senior in 1859 some
foreigners found the Turks contemptible. The British left a good reputation,
because “they let them go to the devil in their own way, and, what was per-
haps the most important, they had more money, and spent it more freely.” The
French, however,
paraded their superiority and their dissimilarity. They established an

orchestra and a band in a cemetery, they entered mosques with dirty
shoes, they roamed drunk through the streets of Stamboul.[227]

114 Chapter 4
In 1842 Leveson-Gower and his colleagues got into the Laleli, donning slip-
pers they had brought with them, and noting that “mosques are considerably
cleaner than the Roman Catholic churches; no dogs are admitted.”[228] In the
same year Hamilton entered Hagia Sophia, somewhat grudgingly remarking
that “in conformity with Mahometan prejudices, the whole party set to work
to exchange their boots and shoes for slippers and papoushes.”[229] Wilson had
been equally grudging in 1823, his lack of understanding reflected in his com-
ment that “each of us were obliged to throw off his shoes and put on slippers
as if the mosques were less contaminated in the eye of the Mahomedan, in the
one than the other.”[230] And what is more, as Conder noted in 1830, they were
all clean, well endowded and, most important, finished,
whereas in France, we have scarcely such a thing as a finished church: if

the nave is admired for its largeness and the beauty of its arch-work, the
choir is imperfect; if these two parts are complete, the frontispiece is not
begun.[231]
By mid-century, therefore, because some mosques were providing large slip-

pers to don over boots (as Lynch found at the Fatih in 1849)[232] travellers were
welcomed, surely because of the money they handed over for the privilege of
visiting, suitably be-slippered.
Some visitors knew something of Islam and could therefore place such
mosque requirements in context. In 1858 Dunant reminded his readers that
removing footwear “est aussi un usage exigé par la politesse dans les réunions,
les visites, les cafés, les salons.”[233] However, many visitors still struggled
against the conventions. In 1865 one of Vivanti’s colleagues tried fitting slippers
over his boots; the foreigner struck a blow for England, “which offended one of
the Turkish priests, who told him through the dragoman to take his dusty boots
off, but the proud young Briton refused to do so, and very nearly brought us all
into trouble.”[234] By 1894 Müller found mosques open, so “bury your feet in the
felt slippers provided to cover the boots, unless you prefer going barefoot, and
then step into the nave.”[235]
What if the foreigner objected to wearing slippers? This seems to have
made a useful excuse for skipping mosques, as when Berners in 1876 visited
Djezzar’s mosque at Acre; although this was the third largest in Syria (after
Damascus and the Dome of the Rock), “we did not, however, go inside, as it
would have involved putting on slippers and divesting ourselves of part of our
riding gear.”[236] Rapelje, travelling in 1822, visited several mosques, and was
impressed to see the Turks washing before entering (which, as a Christian, he
did not attempt to do), but “their churches, squares, and streets, are not pol-
luted with filth as the Roman Catholic cathedrals often are.”[237]

8 Seeing Hagia Sophias Everywhere They Look: Royal Mosques4
The Royal Mosques in particular, of which there are seven so call’d, are
very beautiful and stately Edifices, which well deserve the Attention of a
Stranger, and commonly take up the first Part of his Time, after his Arrival
at Constantinople. These Buildings appear to much more Advantage than
many of our finest Churches in Christendom, which are often so closely
surrounded with Houses and Tradesmens shops.[238] [1744]
Some of the mosques of Constantinople formed a collection often described

by westerners as “royal,” perhaps because these were the ones often visited by
the Sultan for Friday prayers, as they were known to be built and endowed by
various sultans or their family, or because they resembled Hagia Sophia. Their
number varied (and Castellan offered a long list of others worth visiting),[239]
but seven was the usual count, given by Thompson in the above quotation,
and also by Sandys, simply counting seven hills for the city.[240] Their position
gave them prominence and, for some, magnificence.[241] Gédoyn, French con-
sul at Aleppo 1623–5, called them superb, with rich materials, but did not say
he entered any of them.[242] Tournefort admired them in 1701.
Ces bâtimens très beaux dans leur genre, sont tout à fait finis, & par-
faitement bien entretenus, au lieu qu’en France nous n’avons presque
point d’Eglise achevée … quoique l’architecture n’en soit pas comparable
à la notre, elles ne laissent pas de frapper par leur grandeur & par leur
solidité.[243]
But they “may be reckon’d so many Copies of Sancta Sophia, more or less
resembling this Original.”[244] He was able to enter when the mosques were
empty, but not while Muslims were praying.[245] And as for how they were
maintained: “these Mosques require such immense Sums for their Support,
that they consume a Third of the Land-Revenue of the Empire.”[246]
In 1744 Thompson counted four royal mosques (Hagia Sophia, Sultan
Mahomet, Sultan Selim, and Sultan Bajazet), but saw them all as copies of
Hagia Sophia, so that there was no need to view other mosques outside the
canon.
4 Ousterhout 2019, 687: “with the ubiquity of great domed mosques dominating the skyline,
uninitiated visitors to modern Istanbul may be forgiven for seeing Hagia Sophias everywhere
they look.”

116 Chapter 4
He that has seen the Inside of two or three of the best, need not be
desirous of viewing any more, the Ornaments being much alike, and
only differing from those of the Royal Mosques in the Cost, Beauty, and
Magnificence.[247]
In 1745 Vallée noted “singulèrement quatre ou cinq, bâties par l’ordre des
Grands Seigneurs,” but differing little in design: “Elles sont faites de bon mar-
bre, d’une maniére d’architecture, qui les rend fort peu diférentes les unes des
autres, & en forme de Temples, qui ont leur quadrature & leur rondeur, comme
le dessein de S. Pierre de Rome.”[248] In the late 1730s Pococke, pointing out the
beauty of their marbles, granite and porphyry, listed six royal mosques, and vis-
ited four of them, Sultans Achmet, Suleiman, Mahomet and Selim: “the other
two are the Waladea [Valide] mosque, and sultan Bajazet; all of them having
in them, and the courts belonging to them, many fine pillars, especially of verd
antique.”[249]
In 1784 Habesci reckoned there were ten royal mosques (“truly superb”), but
based on Hagia Sophia, so that “there is little to be seen in the rest; for they are
all built after one plan, however, their situations are all delightful, and on that
account attract the notice of passengers.”[250] Elias Habesci spent many years
in Constantinople, in the Sultan’s service. He noted in 1784 that “few ecclesiasti-
cal edifices in any country surpass the Mosques at Constantinople,” and stated
that all ambassadors and their suite were allowed to enter all the mosques on
both their arrival and departure, while others could obtain a firman for ten
piastres. “But with respect to private persons, it is always hazardous to gratify
their curiosity, especially in time of service, though they have the Sultan’s order,
for it is impossible to guard against the vengeance of Fanatics.”[251] There were,
he wrote “a great number” of royal mosques, naming Bursa and Adrianople,
but forgetting Magnesia/Manisa.[252]
Andréossy, the French ambassador, in Constantinople 1812–14, seems to have
believed that it was Greeks who built the mosques for the Turks, exhibiting
sinon un bon goût, du moins une noblesse et une certaine hardiesse d’exé-
cution appropriées aux monumens qu’ils ont dû élever: et à cet égard les
mosquées sont des objets qui excitent une sorte d’admiration dont on ne
peut se défendre, surtout en les voyant pour la première fois.[253]
Although it is known that Greek Christians were indeed involved in mosque

building (see below), remember that at this date we are in the period of
Romanticism: perhaps here we have the modern Greeks, descendants of
ancient Greeks, and therefore lending the Greek genius to Islamic architecture.

For Pertusier in 1815 mosques, along with baths, kiosks, hospices and tombs
were “les édifices dans lesquels les Ottomans déploient de la magnificence.”[254]
No statues or pictures inside, but it was the play of light which “pénètre avec
réserve, et contribue à l’air de solennité qui frappe de premier abord, sans rien
perdre ensuite de son effet.”[255] Writing in 1835, Barrault agreed with the novel
use of light, for “au dedans elle le spiritualise plutôt qu’elle ne le matérialise,”
and he then offered a lengthy exposition of the beauty of mosques, empha-
sising originality rather than “Hagia Sophias everywhere they look.”[256] Two
years later Royer praised their majesty and magnificence, but also remarked
on their similarity: “Il me semble pourtant qu’en poursuivant notre route nous
ne voyons pas que les mosquées splendides des empereurs aient changé de
place ni de forme.”[257] For Pigeory, writing in 1854, there was little to be said
and seen in the large mosques after visiting Hagia Sophia, and the small ones
“rentrent dans la catégorie des monuments dont la simplicité laisse peu de
souvenirs.”[258] The implication is surely that some visitors went round at light-
ening speed, and in one day. Thus, Willis in 1853 declared, “mosques, having
visited Bajazet, Süleymaniye, Sultana Valide: the mosques of Constantinople
are a kind of ‘lion’ well killed in a single visit.”[259] (“Lion” is a standard nine-
teenth century English term for must-see monuments).
Who were the architects who built the royal mosques? In spite of his defence
of their newness and beauty, for Barrault it did not really matter, for they were
simply variations of Hagia Sophia, with assimilated additions.
Sainte-Sophie est le type de toutes les mosquées de Stamboul. L’islamisme

ottoman rencontra dans la forme architecturale inventée par le christia-
nisme grec une expression assez vraie de sa propre foi pour l’adopter, sauf
à greffer sur l’art byzantin une portion de l’art arabe.[260]
He should have taken account of the various peoples with different traditions
inhabiting the Empire, and looked more carefully at architectural differences.5
Sinan (1489–1588) was born a Greek Christian, and learned engineering as
a janissary (Tietz seemed to think he was an Italian.[261]) He was certainly
competitive with existing monuments,6 and alert to size and dimensions.7
Westerners of course knew this, and when they visited Constantinople, many
5 Freely 2011, 22–23: a further innovation of the imperial mosques as compared with Hagia
Sophia is in their monumental exteriors, which are in attractive grey stone rather than brick,
with a cascade of domes and semidomes balanced by the attractive upward thrust of the
minarets.
6 Necipoğlu 1993.
7 Crane & Akin 2006, with much on domes and dimensions.

118 Chapter 4
did indeed see contemporary Greeks engaged in building mosques, as well as

Greeks doing building work elsewhere in the Empire. It was a Greek who per-
haps had studied in Paris who built the Nuruosmaniye Camii (1748–55.) In 1797
Dallaway explained that the Greeks were prevented from building churches
or their own palaces – a restriction partly in force throughout the Empire. As
a result,
they have been employed only in building mosques by successive sultans,

in a style, if not peculiar, retaining much more of the Saracenic and gro-
tesque than any analogy to the rules of the antique.[262]
Not that the Greeks travellers who met in the capital seemed to know of the
Greek contribution to Constantinople’s buildings, for already in 1716 Montagu
reported that talking to them, “were you to believe them, there is nothing
worth seeing in Constantinople, but Sancta Sophia, though there are several
large, and, in my opinion, more beautiful mosques in that city.”[263] Of course,
writing of the use of Greeks as builders provided a clear path for denigrat-
ing the Turks, as we see from Crowe in 1853, who asserted that “nothing can
be more poor than Turkish genius in the arts … At Constantinople the Turks
learned to imitate the Greeks, to erect cupolas.”[264] Two years earlier Monk
visited Hagia Sophia, when “the mosque was under repair, and all the workmen
employed, singularly enough, were Greeks.” Scaffolding obscured the heights
of the interior, but “having gratified ourselves with the contemplation of this
beautifully-proportioned edifice, and collected some of the mosaic which has
fallen and lay scattered in the dust, we proceeded to visit the rival mosque of
Suleiman.”[265]
In 1829 Beaujour affirmed that “la mosquée de Soliman est après celle de
Sainte-Sophie la plus grande, et celle d’Ahmed la plus élégante,” but sullied
his credentials by stating that “les différentes parties de l’édifice sont ordi-
nairement supportées par des colonnes de marbre, de jaspe ou de porphyre,
et l’on y a prodigué tous les ornements d’architecture, empruntés aux temples
chrétiens.”[266] He evidently knew little about Early Christian architecture.
Other westerners had done more homework: by 1830 Brewer could point to
a familiarity with the royal mosques, especially Hagia Sophia, “with which we
must of course begin, need not detain us long. – It is as well known as St. Paul’s
in London.”[267] He admired the minarets, so that
though Christians at present do not obtain access to the interior, you may
find in the books of travellers, a minute account of the porphyry, jasper
and marble columns, which the ruined cities of Asia Minor, Syria, Egypt
and Greece, have furnished for their principal ornament.[268]

This must have been some temporary glitch for eight years later Addison,
unable to procure a firman for Hagia Sophia, visited the royal mosques with a
dragoman.[269] In 1840 Reid (like Andréossy a year later)[270] wrote that there
were thirteen royal mosques which “afford little variety of description,”[271] but
confirmed that “it is not allowed for any of them to go beyond the outer porch
of any of the royal mosques, without a firman from the sultan,” this being
granted to ambassadors and “on the arrival of a traveller of great rank.”[272]
Dragomans could be helpful, as Bennet, a doctor, asserted in 1875: spending
six days being led around, he was shown all that was interesting, but left their
description to others.[273]
By the later nineteenth century, some foreigners were offering extended
descriptions of the Royal Mosques. Amicis, for example, writing in 1878,
asserted that their architecture was far from simple, noting walls, domes, and
fluted minarets, so different from western forms.
Those monuments that are as it were a colossal marble affirmation of an

order of sentiments and ideas diverse from those in which we have been
born and grow, the skeleton of a race and faith hostile to our own, which
tell us in mute language of superb lines and daring heights, the glories
of a God who is not ours, and of a people before whom our ancestors
trembled, inspire a respect mingled with awe that overcomes curiosity
and holds it at a distance.[274]
But such piety did not prevent him declaring that all such mosques looked
the same, and derived from Hagia Sophia, delivering a mini-lecture on their
characteristics.[275]
8.1 The Beyazide/Bajazet

This imperial mosque complex was built by Beyazit II (r. 1481–1512) in 1501–
1506, the Emperor himself often called Bajazet by our travellers, and by Racine.
It was rich in ancient marbles (including a peristyle of twenty columns), as
Turner described in 1820 when he listed other mosques with conspicuous
spolia, and their sources.[276] Fresne-Canaye visited this and other mosques
in 1573, all domed like Hagia Sophia, removing shoes because of the fine
carpets.[277] Egmont and Heyman entered easily in 1759 because they wore
Turkish dress.[278] In 1830 Post noted Bajazet as worth visiting, recommending
the Süleymaniye, Achmet and Sultana Valida as well.[279]
Marchebeus also noted the rich marbles, after visiting the nearby bazaars,[280]
as did Lynch at the mid-century, “stumbling” on it on his way to the same shop-
ping opportunities: “the court of which is surrounded by a row of old columns,
evidently pillaged from one or more heathen temples of remote antiquity. Ten

120 Chapter 4
were of verde antique, six of Egyptian granite, and four of jasper.”[281] So popu-
lar was the mosque (due to its location) that the Joanne guidebook described
the exterior and courtyard (but not the interior) in 1861, also remarking that
“Cette mosquée passe pour la plus élégante de Constantinople.”[282] It was per-
fectly visible from Galata, Elliot remarking that
the mosques of Ahmed, Bajazet, Suleiman, Mahmoud and Selim form

a grand but monotonous procession – the fashion of the mosque being
prohibitive of much display of art or sculpture.[283]
8.2 Hagia Sophia
The Turks are rather scrupulous about shewing this mosch to strangers,
or perhaps they only pretend to be so, because this is the one strangers
are most anxious to see. We were obliged to pay fifteen dollars to gain
admission.[284] [1803]
The first church on the site burned down during the Nika riots of 532, and was
replaced with the present building by Justinian, who reused marble and por-
phyry from older, pagan buildings. Perhaps this was intended as a display of his
empire’s reach and transport abilities, and because of his desire (which west-
ern Rome had shared) to employ the most beautiful, rare and therefore presti-
gious marbles and other stones. This reuse was always known, but sometimes
little appreciated, as was the quality of the building. Luckily, as Hunter related
in 1803 (above), Mahomet II felt differently when he entered the city in 1453,
and the church became his predominant mosque and part model on grandeur
and form for many purpose-built mosques.[285] So the church was indeed a
mosque, arguably the most important, certainly the largest in Constantinople,
and for this reason appears in this book on Islamic architecture.8 It was indeed
“chiexia bellissima più di quella di san Marco” wrote an admiring Venetian
in 1523.[286]
Hagia Sophia obviously stood as a model for Ottoman mosques, and
Necipoĝlu discusses how Sinan with the Siileymaniye in Istanbul (1548–59)
and the Selimiye in Edirne (1568–74) could “further cultivate the iconographi-
cally potent dialogue with Hagia Sophia.”9 As for any dialogue with the West,
8 Vryonis 1971, 356–357 for the sixteenth century Sa‌ʾd al-Din’s account of the 1453 conquest,
which states that “prayers were recited in Aya-Sofia … that most desirable of shrines, that
lofty mosque, that heart-pleasing temple.”
9 Necipoĝlu 2005, 77–103, “Architecture in the Islamic East and Renaissance Italy;” see 102.

Sinan “may have familiarized himself with the project for Saint Peter’s: the
most ambitious of all cathedral churches in the Christian West.”10
Many western visitors compared Hagia Sophia with structures in the West, a
good example honouring its prime position being Vere in 1850:
After the lapse of nearly fourteen centuries, Sancta Sophia continues to

lift on high that dome, the first that ever was raised to any great eleva-
tion, and remains the Mother Church, as it may be called, of every dome-
surmounted fane in Europe. To its family belong St. Mark’s at Venice, the
glorious Duomo of Florence, our own St. Paul’s – nay, St. Peter’s itself.[287]
In 1837 Claridge amended the epithet to affirm “that of Achmet is the fin-
est in architectural beauty; that of the Sultan Mehemet has been named the
St. Peter’s of the East; but that of Sancta Sophia is the most celebrated for its
historical associations,”[288] and Slade still further, writing of the hills declared,
“each crowned with a superb mosque … unsurpassed, save in Rome.”[289] But
none of them entered into any speculation than some of Sinan’s inspiration
might be from the West.
Ousterhout is surely correct to see the church as referring back to the
Pantheon, and “participating in a competitive discourse with the Roman impe-
rial past, played out in architectural terms.”11 In sheer scale it is stupendous
because, thanks to its semi-domes, “measured from entrance to apse, the nave
preserves the greatest vaulting span of any building to survive from antiq-
uity or the Middle Ages.”12 Sandys, in Constantinople in 1610, was well aware
of the dimensions, for the structure “exceedeth not onely the rest, by whose
patterne they were framed, but all other fabrickes whatsoever throughout the
whole Universe.”[290] For the contrary-minded, Hagia Sophia was inferior to
western churches, Marchebeus in 1839 affecting to find not only the dome
heavy, and also inferior not only to the Pantheon, but also to Brunelleschi’s and
Michelangelo’s creations as well.[291]
Prized by westerners because it was known to have been an important
church, we shall continue to see how many were convinced that Hagia Sophia
formed the model for later mosques,[292] and was therefore superior to them.
Also, just like some Jerusalem monuments, Hagia Sophia proved to be a cash
cow for the Turks. As Wittman observed in 1804, a firman from the Turkish
government was necessary to gain admittance, “but the Mussulman after all
10 Ibid., 103.
11 Ousterhout 2019, 199, 206.
12 Ousterhout 2019, 201.

122 Chapter 4
makes him pay handsomely for the gratification of his curiosity.”[293] In 1934,
Kemal Ataturk converted it into a museum. By a decision of a Turkish court in
July 2020, Sancta Sophia will no longer be a museum, and will become once
again a mosque.
8.3 Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century Descriptions
Once a Christian Temple … exceedeth not only the rest, by whose pat-
tern they were framed, but all other Fabricks whatsoever throughout
the whole Universe. A long labour it were to describe it exactly: and hav-
ing done, my eyes that have seen it would but condemn my defective
relation.[294] [1673]
In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Hagia Sophia was frequently

open to Christian travellers, and westerners usually preferred it over later
mosques. An earthquake in 1509 from the Sea of Marmara, described in detail
by Hammer,[295] had exposed the mosaics in walls and dome, for the cover-
ing plaster was shaken off.13 Early the following century Otavio Sapienza,
a Spanish priest, described the mosaics, so must have roamed through the
whole church.[296]
Piero Zen in 1523 noted how “e con grande artificio si reduse a la sumità; e nel
mozo vi è formato una quasi quadrata forma, la qual da le colone, che da uno
ladi e l’altro sono riposte, rende a li spectanti gran meraveglia.”[297] Maurand
in 1544 compared it with the Pantheon, and conceded that it was “di grandessa
qualque pocho più.”[298] Pierre Belon, travelling 1546–1549, agreed with Sandys
(opening quote), declaring Hagia Sophia the greatest standing monument,
with a vast internal space and columns of differently coloured marbles. It
was far different from the Pantheon and, although Christians could only peep
throught the doors, “Quiconque l’aura veuë ne prenra plus d’admiration de
regarder le Pantheon de Rome.”[299]
With a sideswipe at Turkish competence and inventiveness, Fresne-Canaye
explained in 1573 that “Toutes les mosquées turques se font sur ce modèle, mais
on ne trouve pas d’architectes qui aient assez de talent pour en faire une aussi
belle.”[300] Sapienza described it inside and out in 1622, with emphasis on the
marbles and mosaics.[301] Lithgow, in Constantinople 1611–1612, entered with
a janissary to view “that glorious and great Church of Sancta Sophia, once the
beauty and ornament of all Europe.”[302] Peter Mundy, travelling 1628–1634,
thought it beat “all other fabrickes whatsoever throughout the whole Universe,”
and admired the mosaics as
13 Ambraseys 2009, 423.

an antique kind of worke, composed of litle square peeces of marble;

gilded and coloured … which set together, as if imbossed, present an
unexpressable stateliness, and are of a marvellous durance.[303]
Janissaries “sold” the mosque to visiting Christians, just as happened with the
monuments of Jerusalem. Thus, in 1631 Pacifique was taken to the gallery and
was shown a little basin in which the BVM washed Jesus’ clothes, “& la tiennent
en grande reuerence.”[304] Probably the only area then accessible to infidels,
and it could conveniently be accessed from the vestibule, thereby avoiding
soiling the ground floor and its carpets.
For Stochove in 1650 it was the dome and marbles which he described,[305]
for Du Loir in 1654 the host of columns,[306] and for Leslie in 1672 the “peculiar-
ities” of the mosque – no altar, and no paintings except for what he interpreted
as a Last Judgment.[307] For Sandys, Sancta Sophia was indeed the best struc-
ture anywhere. Thévenot entered in 1655 after tipping a Turk, and climbed up
to the gallery.[308] According to Grelot, in the city 1670–1672 (and who thought
structure never had a proper façade),[309] the dome was of pumice and light
cement (he knew about the Pantheon); but he could not climb up to see for,
as he indelicately phrased it, “aujourd’huy, il n’est pas permis à un Chrétien d’y
monter s’il ne veut laisser son prépuce en bas.”[310] In 1676 Rochefort regretted
the removal of its Christian ornaments, the absence of which “rendent ce lieu
triste & en mauvais ordre.”[311] Biddulph had already made the same point in
1609, claiming in alternative reality that the Turks had made of the building “a
stable, and a brodell for buggerers and whores.”[312]
Turks agreed on the beauty of this structure: Çelebi wrote in 1684 that “all
architects are lost in astonishment at the solidity of the foundations of this vast
building, and no tongue or pen is capable of adequately describing it. We have
seen the mosques of all the world; but never one like this.”[313] The columns
on the group floor were forty Mecca-cubits high, those in the gallery thirty;
and there were 361 gates, “all so bewitched by talismans, that if you count
them ever so many times, there always appears to be one more than there was
before.”[314]
In 1667 Arvieux, although the French ambassador, apparently could not
get entry permission in his official capacity. However, some friends dressed
him as a Turk and took him inside when the mosque was empty: “Je ne lais-
sois pas de risquer beaucoup, mais la curiosité l’emporta sur les regles de la
prudence.”[315] This was the model for the other imperial mosques, but “il s’en
faut pourtant beaucoup qu’elles soient aussi grandes & aussi magnifiques.”[316]
Fermanel entered in 1670, praising its great dome (“basty de marbre brun”!)
and its marble columns.[317] He had no trouble, he said, and found no diffi-
culty getting into any of Constantinople’s mosques, “mais il faut prendre garde

124 Chapter 4
à n’y pas entrer avec les souliers, & n’y cracher point.”[318] In 1687 Thévenot
climbed the “easy staircase” to the gallery, “and it behoved us to give a Turk
money to open the door of it.”[319] In 1803 Hunter was also conducted to the
gallery, and it cost him fifteen dollars, commenting on the captive market that
“the Turks are rather scrupulous about shewing this mosch to strangers, or per-
haps they only pretend to be so, because this is the one strangers are most
anxious to see.”[320]
In an attempt to “place” the monument in what they knew of architecture
and its history, many travellers compared Hagia Sophia with western churches,
and usually found it wanting, either because modern buildings were more to
their taste, or because they were in some way bigger. In 1544 Maurand com-
pared it both to the Pantheon and Milan Cathedral, conceding it was taller
than either.[321] For Della Valle, travelling 1614–26, the entrance was compa-
rable to that of the old Saint Peter’s, but the structure was smaller than the
new church.[322] Spon and Wheler did not bother describing it, for Saint
Peter’s outdid it in size and architecture.[323] Later that century, Nicolai wrote
at length on the marble richness of the interior, and used the Pantheon as a
comparison.[324] In 1701 Tournefort declared it “certainly the finest Structure in
the world next to Saint Peter’s at Rome,” and gave a two-page description of the
interior. He surely did visit, since he described both marbles and mosaics, not-
ing that the Turks had destroyed the nose and eyes of some of the figures.[325]
Coppin described the interior two years later, with some measurements, and
declared it “la plus vaste Eglise & la mieux proportionée qui ait paru dans le
Monde apres le temple de Salomon.”[326] Of the other royal mosques (“encore
cinq autres fort magnifiques que divers Sultans ont fait bâtir”) he declared that
the Süleymaniye “celle de Soliman l’emporte sur toutes, quoi qu’elle n’arrive
pas à l’excellence de la structure de l’Eglise sainte Sophie.”[327]
Le Brun’s praise of 1698 almost echoed that of Tournefort. He described
Hagia Sophia as the most remarkable structure in Constantinople,[328] used by
the Turks as a model, although the mosques they built “n’ont rien qui approche
de la beauté de cet incomparable édifice.”[329] While giving the impression he
had toured the interior (for which he offered a description), he then confessed
that he had in fact obtained the details from an English friend, who led him to
an entrance door.
Car il n’étoit pas alors permis aux Chrétiens d’y entrer, quoi qu’ils en eus-
sent eu la liberté peu de tems avant mon arrivée. Je fus surpris de sa gran-
deur, & ce ne fut qu’à regret que je fus oblige de m’en retourner sans l’oser
considérer davantage.[330]

8.4 Eighteenth Century Descriptions

By the eighteenth century, access was often difficult without a firman. As we
have seen in 1698 Le Brun was able to peep inside with the help of a renegade
Englishman, and was surprised by its grandeur.[331] In 1716, Lady Montagu, no
less than the wife of the British ambassador, had to write three times to the
authorities to get permission to enter, and “I can’t be informed why the Turks
are more delicate on the subject of this mosque, than on any of the others,
where what Christian pleases may enter without scruple.” But once admit-
ted, she offered an excellent description of the interior.[332] In the late 1730s
Pococke was fascinated by the marbles.
There are in it eight porphyry pillars, and as many of verd antique, which,
I believe, for their size are not to be exceeded in the world; for the dome
being supported by four large piers; between them are four verd antique
pillars on each side, and a semicircle being formed as at each corner by
these and four more piers, there are two porphyry pillars in each of them,
and it appears plainly that there was a third …[333]
Pococke had no difficulty entering in the late 1730s because, he thought, the
Turks were at peace with Russia and the Emperor.[334] A Christian bishop, he
particularly wanted to see churches that had been turned into mosques; he
was impressed by the scale of the columns in Hagia Sophia, by the boldness
of the dome, and by the many precious marbles, but remarked that “Cette
Mosquée a beaucoup moins d’apparence par dehors que celles qu’on a bâties
depuis.”[335] Salmon presumably entered in 1739, for he gave the dimensions of
the dome.[336]
Thompson, travelling from 1733, thought that “not one of the Mosques in
Constantinople comes near to that of Sancta Sophia in the Beauty of its Dome,
except the Solymania,” so presumably he entered without difficulty,[337] as did
Vallée in 1745, offering a multi-page description.[338] In 1748 Otter declared it
superior to the Sultan Achmet and the Süleymaniye,[339] and noted that entry
could be obtained by ambassadors, “qui ne s’accorde ordinairement qu’apres
l’audience de congé.”[340] He entered with the Venetian ambassador, gave no
long description because other travellers had already done so, and focussed on
the mosaics.
Les dedans étoient autrefois incrustés de belles Mosaïques, mais depuis

que les Turcs en sont les maîtres, ils les ont cassées & détruites par-tout
ou its ont pu atteindre.[341]

126 Chapter 4
In 1748 Otter had the help of the Venetian ambassador, and entered the
Süleymaniye and the Sultan Achmet as well.[342] Baltimore obtained permis-
sion in 1767, but “I observed nothing very remarkable: the dome is extensive
and well proportioned, but the rest of the building is very heavy.”[343] For
Calvert in 1767, and excepting the dome (“extensive and well proportioned”)
he observed nothing very remarkable; the rest of the building was very heavy,
and “Sancta Sophia is not to be compared to two or three other of the capital
mosques.”[344] Bell entered in 1788, noting that “it is highly esteemed by archi-
tects, for the flatness of the dome, or cupola, which, it is said, the moderns can-
not imitate … we were conducted up a pair of back-stairs to the gallery, from
whence we had a full view of the whole.”[345]
The gallery was, as already mentioned, probably the usual vantage point for
travellers. In 1789 Craven went and “sat some time up stairs, to look down into
the body of the temple,” admired the dome (“extremely large, and well worth
seeing”), but thought that “some of the finest pillars are set topsy-turvy, or have
capitals of Turkish architecture”[346] – that is, bad architecture. Morritt, enter-
ing in 1794, noting that “its great ornament is a very fine dome. The measures of
all these I have not now, but will send them in another letter. The dome is not
so large, by any means, as that of Saint Paul’s; but it is a very wonderful effort,
when we consider that it was built about the year 540.”[347] In 1799 Salaberry
complained that there was little to see in the building than the galleries.
A-peu-près au milieu de la hauteur du temple, sont d’une largeur prodi-

gieuse et d’une hardiesse étonnante; leur voûte a travaillé dans quelques
endroits.[348]
Sometimes obtaining a firman does not seem to have been difficult; at the end
of the century Dallaway secured two and used them to offer long interior and
exterior descriptions, including comparisions with western churches.[349]
8.5 Nineteenth Century Descriptions

Visiting Hagia Sophia continued to require a firman, and sometimes gave
the impression to ordinary travellers that it was hermetically closed. Alcock
in 1831 thought the “Greek revolution” as well as “spoliation” by some visi-
tors had strangled access.[350] Thus, in 1829 Renouard de Bussières declared
(incorrectly) that no Frank could enter any of Constantinople’s mosques,[351]
Riedesel entered in 1802, confirmed the unusual nature of the dome (“La voûte
de la coupole est fort hardie, et beaucoup plus surbaissée qu’aucune autre que
j’aie vu,”) and offered plentiful measurements.[352] Indeed, wrote Baruffi in
1847, “questa e la madre e la prima delle cupole conosciute, il cui segno venne
perfezionato da Brunelleschi in Firenze, e da Michelangelo in Roma.”[353]

In 1805 Griffiths reported that the local Greeks thought Hagia Sophia,
“undoubtedly one of the finest buildings of its kind, but not, as the Greeks
imagine it, superior to the church of Saint Peter at Rome, or Saint Paul in
London.” He noted the need for a bribe delivered through an ambassadorial
janissary (or a firman) to enter, and he then offered an excellent description
of the interior, although “the variety and ornamental beauty of the whole pile
is, however, too difficult to be described.”[354] Nor did Wittman try to do so,
conceding that this was
a very massive building, but which, considered in an architectural point

of view, is, in my opinion, very inferior to our St. Paul’s. With the excep-
tion of the dome, and of the four minarets which are detached, there is
nothing very singular or striking in the pile.[355]
In 1807 Sandwich offered a short description inside and out, in fact boasting
that he had obtained admission (“whereas the admittance into the others is
not attended with the least difficulty”[356]) and the previous year Pouqueville
found no difficulty in paying an imam and climbing up to the gallery, where
the visitor
may contemplate with leisure that stately edifice, whose greatest merit
is the beautiful marble of which it is composed. The Greeks, however,
speak of it with a sort of admiration, which proves that they consider it
far superior to either of the seven wonders of the world; and they have
transmitted in a common song an account of the riches which it formerly
contained.[357]
Count Andréossy, the French ambassador 1812–14, offered the usual compari-
sons, but then noted a crucial difference between domes in the east, which few
visitors took into account.
Les Turcs en introduisaut les coupoles dans la construction de leurs édi-

fices religieux, n’ont point adopté les doubles coupoles, mais ils ont donné
une élévation considérable à leurs mosquées, et se sont attaches à placer
les plus beaux monumens de ce genre dans des situations dominantes:
avantage que n’a point Sainte-Sophie, qui, se trouvant sur le revers de
la première colline, est à peine aperçue, quoi qu’en aient dit plusieurs
écrivains.[358]
Pertusier visited in 1815, and gave a cogent description of the architecture. But
his first impression upon entering was amazement.

128 Chapter 4
Au premier instant, l’observateur ne mesure qu’avec cet étonnement

mêle de crainte, l’immense distance qui sépare le parvis avec lequel il
se confond, de cette coupole que huit colonnes de porphyre énormes, et
quatre-vingt-douze autres de vert antique, de jaspe ou de marbre rares
élèvent dans les airs.[359]
Ali Bey, the pseudonym of a Spanish explorer (1767–1818), travelling in 1816,

noted that “its immense elliptic cupola, surrounded with half cupolas, pro-
duces a surprising effect,” but forbore to describe it because it had already been
described by several travellers. However, “the lining of the walls is of marble,
and the columns are in tolerably good preservation, but the roof is beginning
to decay.”[360] Like other imperial mosques, Hagia Sophia was illuminated by
thousands of small lamps during Ramadan, which “serve to display the majesty
of this temple better than the light of the sun. I confess I had not a complete
idea of it until I saw it in a state of perfect illumination.” This he contrasted
with the streets themselves.
Whilst they lavish so many lights in the temples, and even upon the tow-
ers, where they are of no use, there is not a single lamp in the streets; the
mud and the wet soil are perfectly black … the profound darkness … ren-
ders the progress of passengers very tiresome, unless they have lanterns
before them.[361]
Leslie had already given a darker explanation for the lamps well over a cen-
tury before this: “toutes les lampes qui l’éclairent, ne luy servent de rien, qu’à
déplorer les tenebres de la superstition de Mahomet, au service duquel il est
malheureusement réduit.”[362]
In 1833 Michaud and Poujoulat could not easily obtain a firman, and
declared themselves willing to rely on the descriptions of Grelot and others –
Grelot having written in 1672![363] In 1839 Spencer opined that the mosques
of Constantinople “when viewed in detail, are not calculated to bear a critical
examination,” and yet “from their novel style of architecture, and the graceful
form of the tapering minaret, they captivate the imagination of the beholder,
and win from his judgment the tribute of involuntary admiration.” Where did
Hagia Sophia stand? For Post’s western view in 1830, “before Saint Paul’s of
London was built, [it] was considered the noblest edifice in the world, next to
the Vatican church at Rome.”[364] As for local rivalries, it must yield in beauty
to the Sultan Achmet, but “is far more interesting, from its connexion with the
early history of the church, the downfall of the empire of the East, and the
establishment of Islamism in Europe.”[365]

Perhaps the imams of individual mosques could help? When approached

by travellers seeking admission, imams could be helpful, or surly. In 1836 Tietz
marvelled that “I did not meet with the least symptom of unpleasant feeling,
nor was the slightest curiosity even manifested in the countenances of the
Mussulmen who perceived my presence,” but his group was accompanied by
the chief imam.[366] Two years later Pardoe wished to visit the mosques (“the
great object of every lion-hunting traveller in Turkey”), “and it is with a dis-
gust and a reluctance which they scarcely care to conceal, that the officiating
priests condescend to do the honours of the shrine, even when the Imperial
firman leaves them no alternative.”[367]
By mid-century it seems the cost of firmans had risen. In 1846 Schroeder
wanted to visit Hagia Sophia because of its Christian origins, but did not obtain
a firman
because they can only be obtained by request of the minister, and because
the expense is most abominable, and not to be endured. Twenty-five dol-
lars we thought by no means equivalent to the satisfaction to be obtained,
and as I could peep in at the doors and windows, I felt reconciled.[368]
However, entering without a firman was dangerous, as Arnold discovered in

1868, chased out, boots in hand, by boys and imams. “I have no doubt whatever
that, if I had pulled out a five-franc piece, these rapacious wretches, who are
the curse of Turkey, the obstacles of all reform, would have allowed me to walk
at leisure through the mosque. But I was so disgusted with their insulting man-
ner and their running at me across the carpeted floor, that I was in no humour
to bribe them into better behaviour.”[369]
8.6 Nineteenth Century Criticisms – and Spolia

We should always be alert to the fact that few nineteenth century visitors had
any knowledge of Byzantine architecture, of which plenty survived, or of the
reuse of classical spolia, let alone interest therein, for their structures were
ignored in favour of standing classical survivals. In 1818, and because “there
is so much of littleness and bad taste in the patchwork of its interior deco-
rations,” Clarke thought Hagia Sophia scarcely more worth visiting than the
Süleymaniye or Sultan Achmet, the latter building “although constructed con-
trary to the sound rules of architecture, is nevertheless, without exception, the
finest building the Turks ever raised.”[370] Adding insult to injury, Clarke main-
tained that “the flatness of its dome constitutes all that is marvellous in the
architecture of the building.”[371] Hence the Sultan Achmet beat it, “although
constructed contrary to the sound rules of architecture.” His final comment

130 Chapter 4
(“but that of Sultan Solyman may fairly vie with the boasted chef-d’oeuvre of
Anthemius of Tralles”) reveals that he believed the Turks – not Anthemius –
were responsible for the patchwork interior.[372] Based as it was on his knowl-
edge of how much spolia were used in other mosques of Constantinople, this
was far from a clueless evaluation.
Because of the contentious matter of spolia, which travellers continued
to address, Clarke was far from alone in his downbeat assessment. For many
travellers, especially those lacking knowledge of what happened throughout
the Roman Empire, structures made from spolia were to be frowned on, since
a classical building had been mangled in order to build them. Thus, in 1821
Laurent explained that “the plunder of ancient Greece has served to adorn the
principal mosques,” because “of all nations, ancient or modern, the Osmanlis
seem the least capable of invention, either in science or in art.” But Hagia
Sophia was no better, for “far from producing those sublime feelings expe-
rienced in contemplating the monuments of Rome and Athens; nor can it
boast the awful majesty which characterizes the bold structures of the Gothic
age.”[373] Frankland clearly had difficulty getting into such mosques, but from
hearsay opined that “their principal merit lies in the ancient columns and
fountains which they contain; and if there be any beauty in the design of their
architecture, it is derived from the Greek builders of Sta. Sophia.”[374]
So were mosques in good taste because they produced a grand effect, or
inferior because of the use of spolia? Hunter, in 1803, agreed that mosques
were noble structures, and “although incorrect in point of architecture, like
the Gothic cathedrals with us, are striking on account of their solidity and
dimensions.”[375] Lamartine, travelling 1832–33, called Sancta Sophia the orien-
tal Saint Peter’s,[376] However “on sent, à la barbarie de l’art qui a présidé à cette
masse de pierre, qu’elle fut l’œuvre d’un temps de corruption et de décadence.
C’est le souvenir confus et grossier d’un goût qui n’est plus; c’est l’ébauche
informe d’un art qui s’essaie.”[377] He went further, explicitly condemning the
use of spolia, while praising the dome.
L’enceinte de l’église est décorée sur ses flancs de superbes colonnes

de porphyre, de granit égyptien et de marbres précieux; mais ces col-
onnes, de grosseur, de proportion et d’ordre divers, sont évidemment des
débris empruntés à d’autres temples, et placés là sans symétrie et sans
goût, comme des barbares font supporter une masure par les fragments
mutilés d’un palais. Des piliers gigantesques, en maçonnerie vulgaire,
portent un dôme aérien comme celui de Saint-Pierre, et dont l’effet est au
moins aussi majestueux.[378]

Or, as Claridge affirmed in 1837, “few will leave it without feelings of disap-
pointment. It will bear no comparison with the churches of Italy for architec-
tural beauty, and its walls are destitute of all ornament.”[379] Vernet echoed this
opinion in 1843: “la beauté proverbiale de ce monument est bien au-dessous de
sa réputation.”[380]
Hobhouse in 1817 had winced at the external buttresses, which “totally ruin
any effect which might otherwise be produced by the height and expanse of its
far-famed dome.” As for the interior, “your admiration diminishes as you pro-
ceed with your inspection” because mats covered the marble floor and “a thou-
sand little cords depending from the summit” for the lamps meant the interior
could not adequately be admired. Again, the intricate Byzantine capitals were
“painful to the eyes of an architect,” being of no recognisable Order, but only “a
sort of Gothicised Greek.”[381] Pardoe visited in 1837 and “ignorant as I am also
of architecture as a science”, lamented the incongruity of the spolia, reckless in
their profusion and variety, with the result that “the eye is bewildered, and the
mind remains unsatisfied.”[382]
De Kay enlarged on this criticism in 1833. As an American visitor, having
been told that this was one of the most splendid monuments of the middle
ages, “he approaches, beholds a shapeless pile of stones, gigantic but barba-
rous, destitute even of simplicity, and violating every principle of architectural
science.”[383] He then quoted another section of Hobhouse’s damning assess-
ment that “the skill of a hundred architects, the labour of 10,000 workmen, the
wealth of an empire, and the guardianship of presiding angels, had raised a
stupendous monument of the heavy mediocrity which distinguishes the pro-
ductions of the sixth century from the perfect specimens of a happier age.”[384]
In an official party in 1837, the Duc de Raguse admired this magnificent monu-
ment, and then moderated his praise.
Son immense coupole est d’une majestueuse élégance; mais la réflexion

en diminue beaucoup l’effet quand on se rappelle nos belles églises d’oc-
cident, leurs vastes dimensions, leur style gothique élancé qui semble
communiquer avec le ciel, et leur obscurité religieuse qui laisse l’homme
avec lui même et au milieu de ses réflexions. Bien plus encore quand on
se rappelle l’église de Saint-Pierre de Rome, le plus admirable monument,
sous le rapport de l’art, que les hommes aient jamais execute.[385]
Like Hobhouse, Addison latched on the exterior in 1838, ridiculing Tournefort’s

1701 claim that “it is the finest structure next to Saint Peter’s at Rome,” because
“in fact there is no striking beauty whatever in the exterior of a place which

132 Chapter 4
was the wonder of past ages and the boast of Justinian.”[386] However, like
Tournefort, Perthes declared in 1855 that “c’est, après Saint-Pierre, le monu-
ment qui m’a fait le plus d’impression.”[387]
Given human nature, some criticisms might derive from the difficulties
and expense in the 1830s and 1840s of obtaining a firman. For Elliott in 1838,
“this is never granted but on special occasions.[388] The following year Lacroix
entered and described the interior, after having stated that entry “ne laisse pas
d’être difficile.”[389] And in 1848 Warburton declared that Hagia Sophia “scarce
repays the trouble of procuring a special firman, and the troop of guards that
must accompany you.” Faint praise was beyond him, for “a mosque seems to
me the most uninviting and prayerless-looking place of worship in the world:
it is naked, altarless, tawdry, and dreary-looking.”[390]
As travel became easier and as more travellers arrived, opinions on the
development of architecture evidently became more latitudinarian, although
condemnation increased as knowledge of spolia informed more travellers.
Reid in 1840 looked back on decades of airy waffle.
Much has been said and written regarding St. Sophia, but I think the
new twaddler merely catches the former twaddler’s opinion, and, with-
out taking the trouble of thinking, exclaims, or writes down – sublime,
beautiful, without considering the value of the words. St. Sophia, in my
opinion, is a building sacred to the eye of every member of civilization,
but sacred from nothing that is in it as a building; sacred solely from its
being the only entire building of Greece that remains, amid the wreck
of former ages; and sacred from the materials of which it is composed,
connected as they are with every thing great in the ancient grandeur of
Greece and Rome.
This is not to suggest that he admired such a use of spolia, for it was “evidently
the work of an age when the arts were on the decline,” as he wrote:
it is a remnant of ancient Greece, and I revere it because it is so, and

not on account of any thing intrinsic in its form, for it is evidently the
work of an age when the arts were on the decline, and when, to raise an
enormous edifice, not a fine one, was the taste of the day. It is a confused
gathering together of marble, granite, porphyry, and freestone, built with-
out a leading design by various hands, full of beauties, full of faults, and
embellished with pillars of all heights, colours, and diameters, evidently
torn from other temples, by those who could not see the sin of so doing,
and huddled together by those who did not know their value.[391]

The use of spolia also swung De Kay in 1833 against Hagia Sophia, citing
Hobhouse’s stricture (above).[392] Smith, travelling in 1849, spent a bad-tempered
day trying to discover whether “all the places the firman permitted us to see
were not failures,” which prepares us for his respiratory failure inside Hagia
Sophia, which
did not, in any way, excite my astonishment. Grand it certainly is; or

rather, very large indeed; and there is a quantity of gilding and fine work
about it, but it does not cause you to hold your breath on first seeing it as
does St. Peter’s, or Milan Cathedral.[393]
Nor in 1849 did Chenevard admire the use of spolia, yet “la richesse des marbres,
le granit, le porphyre des colonnes, la mosaïque dorée de ses voûtes, la gran-
deur de la coupole, le jeu perspectif des nefs, tout étonne dans ce monument.”
But he thought the Turks had destroyed the balance of the building by their use
of plaster: “Combien il est à regretter que les Turcs en aient détruit l’harmonie,
en effaçant par une zone blanche les figures qui occupaient l’espace compris
entre la retombée de la voûte et l’entablement du deuxième ordre!”[394] Damer
visited in 1841 and offered a five-page description of the interior:
the beauty as well as the extent of the mosque excited much more
admiration among us than we had anticipated, and the interior decora-
tions and ornament seemed to us much finer than that of its neighbour
Achmet, though this latter is preferred by the Turks.
But she was disturbed by the evident ill will of the Turks, “and one old man
went so far as to scold me into getting up from a stone seat on which I was
resting myself.”[395] Such “sentries” could be oppressive, as De Vere acknowl-
edged in 1850, regretting how few Christians had been allowed to examine the
structure in detail.
The opposition thrown in the way of a leisurely inspection is the less to

be regretted, however, as it is the interior of the building which has suf-
fered most by that change which has converted it into a mosque. Its main
features remain still unsubverted.[396]
The following year Walpole wrote that “the interior, done up by Italian artists
[the Fossati brothers were Swiss] within the last few years, is a masterpiece of
art – a wonder. The size, the grandeur, yet lightness and grace of the whole, are
perfect.”[397]

134 Chapter 4
Some travellers offered constructive suggestions for comparisons. Gautier

thought in 1852 that the architect of San Marco in Venice had actually seen
Hagia Sophia.
San Marco is Saint Sophia in miniature, a reduction of Justinian’s basilica

on the scale of one inch to the foot. This is not surprising, for Venice,
which a narrow sea scarcely separates from Greece, was always familiar
with the East … and the architect certainly had the opportunity of seeing
Saint Sophia in all its integrity and splendour long before it was profaned
by Mohammed II.[398]
Similarly, Oldmixon in 1854 wrote that “except St. Peter’s, I have seen nothing
comparable in grandeur, in the true sublime, within the reach of the hands of
man.”[399] Venetian contacts with the Byzantines were indeed many, as were
Venetian desires for Islamic artefacts.14
8.7 Slippers and Bad Behaviour

As already flagged in an earlier chapter, imams and alert worshippers were fre-
quently shocked by western behaviour in mosques. The provision of slippers
moderated some of those who thought it their right to enter with their shoes
on, just as they did in churches. But bad manners persisted. In 1810 Struve, evi-
dently not observing what the locals did, misunderstood the need for slippers,
these to his mind donned so that “I should not prophane their church, I being
a Christian.”[400] Not so: in 1833 Slade recounted how the Russian ambassador’s
wife had not removed her shoes in the Süleymaniye. She had only been chided,
but the ADC “had two of his front teeth knocked out with the heel of his own
boot; and the whole party were violently ejected into the street.”[401] In 1854
Pigeory chose to be offended by the shoes-off diktat, and to throw an insult,
maintaining dustily that “je suis très-disposé à croire que les chaussures des
chrétiens sont, pour la plupart, dans un meilleur état que les pieds de la grande
majorité des Turcs.”[402] According to Spencer in 1839 the Russian ambassador,
clutching his firman, entered the Süleymaniye with a large group, to the “lour-
ing frown on the countenances of the Turks.” But it got worse.
The moullahs observed a Russian laughing. Supposing that this levity

originated in contempt for their religion, they imparted their suspicions
to the fanatic mob, who attacked the ambassador and his retinue, and
would certainly have massacred the whole, if it had not been for the
14 Grube 1989.

speedy interference of a corps of janissaries: as it was, every individual of

the party suffered in a greater or a less degree.[403]
White told an unlikely story of how a party of young English travellers dur-
ing the spring of 1842 carried a basket of beer into Hagia Sophia, drinking it
to the horror of the Turks and the terror of their cicerone. An imam declared
to the worshippers they were mad (a condition the Turks sometimes regarded
as excuse from the norms of behaviour), and “this pacified the people, and the
gentlemen escaped the ill-treatment they merited, for this wanton and impru-
dent breach of decorum.”[404]
The gallery, as we have seen, offered a view which Pardoe described in 1837
as “extremely imposing.”[405] In 1812 Galt entered the gallery with a firman
obtained by Stratford Canning, the British ambassador. On a previous occa-
sion he had tipped the doorkeeper five piastres and climbed up to the gallery
where, “though it is pretended that the view from them is greatly inferior to
what is seen from the area below, it is still sufficient to satisfy all the common
desires of curiosity.” He thought the exterior had no architectural symmetry,
but the interior was very grand, the dome apparently larger than that of Saint
Paul’s. However, applying the classical rule,
as a work of scientific art, the Sancta Sophia must be considered as a very

clumsy structure. The ornaments of the capitals of the columns seem
designed rather to imitate feathers than the acanthus, and the native
beauty of the marbles is not enriched by any shew of taste or skill. In point
of workmanship, it is immensely inferior to Westminster Abbey.[406]
Although not noted by other travellers, in 1839 Marchebeus wrote that “ces
galeries supérieures sont tellement endommagées par les tremblemens de
terre et le manque d’entretien, que les colonnes fortement inclinées et les
voûtes étayées en beaucoup d’endroits, semblent voisines d’une prochaine
destruction.”[407]
Accessing the ground floor with its carpets could be precarious. Addison
was chased out of Hagia Sophia in 1838 (“I saw nothing but a large hall with
a low dome of great circumference”[408]), so proceeded to visit the royal
mosques with a dragoman.[409] He retold a story that probably scared him off:
an English lady entered Hagia Sophia, at first unseen, but then “some Turks
espying her, immediately caught up their slippers and threw them with loud
curses and imprecations at her head.”[410] Accompanied by a cavass, Slade
entered in 1833 in pseudo-local dress,[411] and stood at the great door, “we stood
to admire! – but in truth were disappointed at finding it inferior in disposition

136 Chapter 4
and the richness of its marbles to some of the other mosques.” He offered no
description of the interior because, like that of Addison, his party was quickly
chased out, and saved from the fury of five Turks only by the intervention of
an imam.[412] In 1837 Miss Pardoe entered both Hagia Sophia and the Sultan
Achmet in local dress, and coiffed with a fez. In her account she talked up the
danger she might be discovered (“making a strong effort to subdue the feeling
of mingled awe and fear, which was rapidly stealing over me, I pulled the fez
deeper upon my eye-brows.”[413]) This impressed Taylor two decades later, who
also noted that “the cost of a firman, including backsheesh to the priests and
doorkeepers, is 100 piastres (about $38).”[414] Some items of European dress
must have seemed very strange, as Morier recounted in 1818 in Shiraz, when
one of his party wore a wig,
a commodity totally unknown in Persia. It is impossible to describe the

extreme and amusing astonishment which the surrounding spectators
exhibited upon seeing this gentleman, at one pull, take off the whole hair
of his head, and walk off totally unconcerned.[415]
Although small towns and villages were sometimes lax in their shoes-off
custom, this was not always the case. One traveller to Bagh Kerah, Lorestan
Province, Persia, in 1830, found a pretty little mosque
containing the tomb of Goorah Ali, a Mahometan saint. It was built …

with cupolas and minarets, a flight of steps, and a very handsome por-
tico…. This, being too sacred for us to enter with our shoes on, and not
being disposed to comply with the ceremony of taking them off, we con-
tented ourselves with merely looking into.[416]
8.8 Mosaics
It seems that the Ottomans covered the Byzantine mosaics with whitewash
and plaster immediately after they took over the building as a mosque,15
although not completely, leaving the Cherubim faintly visible apart from their
faces.[417] (likewise, as Müller discovered, in other converted churches, having
also visited the Karye Djami.[418]) The mosaics remained in view until Sultan
Ahmed I had them re-covered in the early seventeenth century. Many of the
covered mosaics were not to last. The 1509 earthquake, already noted, shook
loose some of the whitewash and uncovered some mosaics.
15 Teteriatnikov 1998, 6: [the mosaics] remained hidden for 400 years, until the architects
Gaspare and Giuseppe Fossati temporarily uncovered them in 1848 and 1849.

By the eighteenth century, again probably thanks to earthquakes, some

sections of mosaic decoration were again to be seen and, indeed, were fall-
ing off the walls, probably often with help (see below). Pococke, travelling in
the late 1730s, described how the dome was supported, and gave some dimen-
sions. He called it a half-sphere, “revêtu ou pavé de plusieurs sortes de marbre”
[he means mosaics] and lit by twenty-four windows.[419] He was fascinated by
the mosaics, which were dropping from their cement backing every day, and
deconstructed some to discover how these “sandwiches” were made, noting
that “il n’y a que l’eau bouillante qui la puisse detacher.”[420]
In the mid-seventeenth century Egmont and Heyman remarked that there
was little mosaic decoration left, and “the Turks never scrupling to break off
pieces and sell them to the Franks.”[421] In spite of touristic fascination with
these mosaics, no doubt because they could pocket tesserae as souvenirs, there
was no appreciation of them as complete “pictures,” no attempt to deal with
their iconography, and no attempt to date them, let alone to try and “locate”
them in the history of art (as already noted, Byzantine architecture was a simi-
lar black hole).
In 1802, the temple was open, and yellow slippers were ready for visitors,
although Struve was alarmed at the poor state of the building and its decoration.
Les voûtes, ainsi que les murs, sont revêtus d’ouvrages en mosaïque de la
plus grande perfection, et de peintures qui représentent les douze apôtres.
Les premiers tombent de vétusté, et les morceaux qui se détachent des
murs, sont ramassés avec soin par les Turcs, et vendus aux étrangers qui
désirent les acheter.[422]
Five years later Sandwich explained that it was the Turks who were indeed try-
ing to preserve the mosaics.
The cavity of the dome is adorned with a Gothic mosaic, as are all the
walls of the mosque, representing saints, crosses, and other symbols of
the Christian religion; which the Turks have been so far from destroying,
that they have endeavoured to repair the ruined parts of it, by painting it
according to the model of what is remaining.[423]
The planned removal of the plaster (which covered the mosaics) from the
dome was apparently in progress by 1820, well before the Fossati intervention
(see below), and this evidently increased the commerce with souvenir-hunting
visitors. The Duchesse de la Ferté-Meun was here in 1816 and noted the degra-
dation of parts of the vault: “Les Turcs en vendent des fragmens dans la mos-
quée, et chacun peut, en sortant, emporter dans sa poche des échantillons de

138 Chapter 4
Sainte-Sophie.”[424] Hobhouse recorded the same selling of mosaic tesserae in

1817.[425]
By 1821 Hagia Sophia was open to the privileged armed with a firman. “But
the Mussulman after all makes him pay handsomely for the gratification of
his curiosity,”[426] wrote Martin, who proceeded to complain about the fanat-
ical destruction of the mosaics by the Turks, but then “On nous a distribué
quelques morceaux de mosaïque, qu’on détache facilement des murailles.”[427]
Elliott wrote in 1838 that the Christian mosaic scenes “were spared by the Turks
till lately, when they discovered that it was a profitable speculation to pick out
the component pieces and sell them to the Franks as ornaments or relics.”[428]
Spencer in 1839 laid the blame for the destruction of mosaics on the local
Greeks eager to trade them.
They were, however, destined to sustain a still greater and more irrepa-
rable injury through the fanaticism of the Greeks, who, anxious to obtain
some relic of so sacred an edifice, bribed the Turkish custodia to abstract
small pieces of the crystals, which they caused to be converted into trin-
kets, and the pious throughout Christendom became the purchasers.[429]
This was obfuscation, for visitors and Turks were also responsible. Reid visited
the gallery the following year, and physically attacked one of the smaller domes.
The mosaic work on the dome appeared in every little patch to be what it
really was, coloured and gilded pieces of glass, a few of which I abstracted,
having taken them off with the point of my staff.[430]
Nature again contributed to some devastation, for in 1835 during a period

of heavy rain and high winds, one of the subsidiary domes fell in. Quin saw
workmen “engaged in removing the ruins of the dome,” and “I bought a few of
them as memorials of an event which, taken in coincidence with the other just
mentioned, was imagined by many persons to be ominous of great changes
in the Ottoman empire”[431] – that is, a sign from heaven that the Empire, like
the dome, was about to collapse. Work was already under way on the dome
because, as Lacroix wrote in 1839, mosaics were visible, and “l’éclat dont brillent
ces riches mosaïques, lorsqu’elles sont frappées par les rayons du soleil, signale
de loin la grande basilique à la vénération des fidèles.” What was more, “cette
espèce de linceul jeté sur un temple éblouissant de magnificence ne tarda pas
à être enlevé; l’or et les couleurs du dôme de Sainte-Sophie furent rendus à
l’admiration des curieux et à la lumière du soleil.”[432]

Pardoe in 1838 offered a description of the mosaics. Looking up to the dome,

and thanks, no doubt to the ongoing work,
the original richness of the design is now only to be distinguished in

spots where the plaister has fallen away; while, as if to render the ruin
more complete, the inferior Imaums attached to the mosque make a
trade of the fragments of mosaic, which they tear away and dispose of to
travellers, who thus thoughtlessly contribute towards the destruction of
a noble work of industry and art.[433]
Commenting on his visit, Reid pointed at the English who, “as usual, filled their
pockets with bits of stone, glass, and any other relic they could lay their hands
on.” Nor was that all.
I actually heard one wish that he could get one of the small balustrade
pillars to take home to his brother-in-law, Mr. St. Leger Smith, who, he
assured his friend, had a nice little box at Newington, and would be so
pleased to have one of them for his natural grotto, which he had raised in
his garden with great care.[434]
Tesserae were still plentifully available by mid-century, their sale not merely
continuing but also well organised, for workmen were still engaged in remov-
ing much of the plasterwork which concealed them. In 1843 Formby had
explained just how organised such sales were.
The depredations which travellers and others have here made upon the
mosaic work of the ceiling of the dome are but too plain. In some places
the mosaic is stripped off for several feet; and such appears to be the rav-
enous collectorship of the Frank visitors, that even the little boys in the
streets are assiduously on the watch for their opportunity clandestinely
to offer for sale the plunder of this ancient edifice, wrapped up in pieces
of paper; and, now and then, positive fragments of the plaster, with the
mosaic work imbedded in it. The material consists of square bits of glass
with a gold enamel over the surface exposed to view.[435]
The brothers Gaspari and Giuseppe Fossati had already done much build-
ing in the city, and in 1847 had been engaged by the Sultan Abdülmecid to
restore Hagia Sophia, which they did in two years, using over 800 workers,
and in the process documenting a large number of mosaics which their work

140 Chapter 4
uncovered.16 Removing the plaster from the dome was evidently a long job, for
Lynch wrote in 1849 that “from near the floor to the roof of the dome, its inte-
rior presented one entangled network of scaffolding.”[436] Viewing was there-
fore difficult, but “on leaving the mosque, our curiosity ungratified from its
condition, we were accosted by many boys, proffering for sale pieces of mosaic,
that had fallen from the ceiling.”[437] In 1848 Monseigneur Mislin had also suf-
fered the scaffolding, noting that “on a enlevé toute la couche de badigeon qui
recouvrait les mosaïques; il n’y a plus que les figures, proscrites par le Coran,
qui soient cachées aujourd’hui.”17 Mislin thought loyally that “Sainte-Sophie
est bien loin d’égaler en beauté nos grandes basiliques,” and we are forced to
believe him, given that he wrote the following before he began the account of
his travels.
PROTESTATION DE L’AUTEUR: Attaché d’esprit et de cœur à l’Église, je

soumets chacun de mes sentiments, chacune de mes paroles, à son juge-
ment infaillible.[438]
Part of the reason for the continuing sale of mosaic tesserae seems to have
been that the Fossati workmen were supposed to learn “mosaic preservation”
as they went along. But they surely skimped their task, so that when their work
was examined by the Byzantine Institute in the 1930s “it was apparent that
many of the mosaics were in fragile condition. In several places, sections of
plaster and mosaic had fallen off.”18 Given such fragility, what probably hap-
pened was that workmen colluded with the boys, and that tesserae actually
“fell” from the ceiling by design. Oldmixon bought just such a souvenir in 1854.
“A Turk in the gallery offered a bit of the mosaic, chipped off somewhere in the
mosque, for sale; after some little haggling sotto voce aside, my Greek got it for
me. It will help at home to put me in mind of St. Sophia.”[439]
Senior, travelling 1857–8 after the scaffolding was down, was impressed by
the structure but not by its condition, for “all is now dim from dirt and neglect.”
He gave measurements, noting that “the roofs and vaults were covered with
gold and mosaics, of which only a part remains. The portions which have fallen
out have been repaired with yellow paint.” The capitals were “exceedingly fan-
ciful and rich,” and his conclusion was as follows:
16 Teteriatnikov 1998, 8–9.

17 EoI_I_1986_776 s.v. Aya Sofya: the lime wash was only left in the places which depicted
human forms; apart from this, the walls came back into prominence with the disclosure
of their old splendour.
18 Teteriatnikov 1998, 36.

altogether Sancta Sophia is the most beautiful interior that I have seen. It
is not so grand as the Great Hall of Karnak or the Pantheon, or so awful
[engendering awe] as the Duomo of Florence; but it is superior even to
them in grace, in elegance, in proportions, and in skill and boldness of
conception and execution, and far superior in everything to St. Paul’s,
and, to my taste, to St. Peter’s.[440]
Few travellers were scandalised by such vandalism: after all, the locals were
feeding the continuing thirst for souvenirs to admire once back home (and
tesserae were being picked up in Jerusalem as well, some supposedly from the
time of Solomon, as gullible tourists were informed). Yet some were disgusted:
Arnold’s account in 1868 (he does not say exactly when he was in the city), sug-
gests that such sales continued long after the scaffolding came down.
The mollahs smiled and assisted our dragoman in pointing out these
faint traces of our faith conquered in this church, and one, opening his
hand, offered me for “baksheesh” some bits of mosaic broken from the
walls. If I could have purchased the handful for a para, I would not have
encouraged the sacrilege; indeed I felt disgusted that a priest should offer
to sell the ruined fragments of his own church.[441]
8.9 Later Nineteenth Century Opinions

Perhaps as a result of the Fossati refurbishment, and the desire to generate
funds to pay for it, entry to Hagia Sophia soon became easier, if evidently more
expensive. In 1854 Young explained that a firman cost eight pounds sterling,
and groups were therefore formed to defray the individual cost.[442] However,
writing of July that same year, he learned the news “that the day of firmans and
dragomen was at an end, and that the Mosque of Sancta Sophia was as free to
the foot of the Christian as of the Turk; a marvellous innovation, and one that
points to yet greater changes in the history of the Crescent, its influences and
power.”[443] This was not true: fees were exacted, and sometimes a firman con-
tinued to be necessary, as we shall see.
Wratislaw admired the interior in 1862, much higher and wider than the
Pantheon, with handsome galleries and marble pillars “of wonderful height,”
so that “in a word, I never saw a more beautiful temple.”[444] He paid fees to
poke around the mosque’s exterior, seeing “almost all their conventicles, which
are adorned with beautiful marble columns, and are certainly objects of great
admiration to a person previously unacquainted with them.”[445] The following
year Phelps looked with wonder on the domes, columns, and various marbles.
Entering cost each of his party three dollars, but this included other mosques,
and Topkapi as well.[446]

142 Chapter 4
In 1865 Black refused to pay the fee for a firman, and “therefore I content
myself with simply inspecting the exterior … I hope that the time is not far
distant when these cathedrals will be restored to their original use.”[447] Three
years earlier Newton apparently could not get a firman, and “we could only
see the interior by joining a large miscellaneous party gathered together from
several hotels by the laquais de place.” This, his own group did not appreciate.
We gave ourselves up with a feeling of abject dependence, to be dragged

through the muddy streets of Stamboul from mosque to mosque, com-
pelled to listen to the unmeaning jabbering of a Levantine cicerone,
instead of being allowed to halt for a while and contemplate at leisure
the mighty structure which, even in its present desecration, the eastern
Christian still venerates as the noblest monument of his faith.[448]
In 1869 Buckham and his party (“after the usual hesitancy and palavering
among the keepers”) climbed up to the gallery and described what he saw. The
looking and admiring was evidently hard work, and
being wearied, we sat down on a step, but were soon ordered by an atten-
dant to move. We were not in haste to obey, when another approached
and said, “This is not a coffee-house; move on or leave.”[449]
In 1878 Edmondo de Amicis still needed a firman, and wrote an exuberant ten-
page and somewhat catch-all account of what he saw and how he emoted,
without having anything exact to say about the actual architecture.
There is a something rather scenic and princely than sacred; an ostenta-

tion of grandeur and force, an air of mundane elegance, a confusion of
classic, barbarous, capricious, presumptuous, and magnificent; a grand
harmony, in which, with the thundering and formidable note of the cyclo-
pean arches and pilasters, there are mingled the gentle and low strain
of the Oriental canticle, the clamorous music of the feasts of Justinian
and Heraclitus, echoes of pagan songs, faint voices of an effeminate and
worn-out race, and distant cries of Goth and Vandal etc. etc.[450]
Even in the later nineteenth century, and with supposedly free entry, the guard-
ians of this mosque often proved awkward over admission. In 1876 Townsend’s
janissary thought he could negotiate, “but its obdurate guardians refused
admission on the plea of its being the feast of Ramazan.”[451] (Actually obtain-
ing the firman could be difficult: Brassey reported in 1890 that the officials

charged with issuing them were often in bad temper, trying to live at night
and therefore sleep during the day.[452]) Indeed, continued Townsend, “neither
remonstrances, bribes, nor persuasion could obtain from the obdurate door-
keepers the relaxation of their stern denial of admission,” so a firman had to
be obtained from the Sultan via the Turkish Home Office. This “was made out
for three persons, and cost a lira, eighteen shillings English money.”[453] But the
effort was worthwhile.
It is in every way (by the loftiness of its arches, the noble succession and
expansion of its domes, the beauty of its apsidal end, the vastness of its
area, the unwonted grandeur of its unrivalled narthex, the richness and
variety of its multiplied mosaics, which are not even now entirely con-
cealed amidst all its disfigurements) worthy of its reputation as the fore-
most ornament of the once most richly adorned of capitals.[454]
As time passed, visitors were sometimes more understanding of the structure’s

use of spolia. Thus Cochran, writing toward the end of the century, paid ten
piastres, removed his boots, gave dimensions and a general description, and
wrote of its materials.
Justinian rebuilt it in 538, using in its resuscitation spoils from all the
grandest ecclesiastical remains of Egypt, Syria, and Greece. It thus pres-
ents to the eye a multitude of beautiful and artistic items, the skilful com-
bination of which into one majestic fane evinces a degree of merit in the
architect, for which he deserves almost as much credit as if the whole
had been his own original conception. On the other hand, it has been
deplored that the grand temples of antiquity should have been robbed
for the sake of embellishing any modern pile.[455]
And there was no longer any harassment.
These little preliminaries submitted to, no other demands are made, and
the guide, along with his party, is free to wander all over the interior of
St. Sophia at their leisure.[456]
9 Domes, Minarets, and Dimensions
A sure way of attaining architectural fame in east or west (sometimes for the
patron who was paying, rather than for the architect) was to build big and/or

144 Chapter 4
high, to flaunt technical expertise, and to employ luxurious materials. Large

and tall domes were a recipe for success, as were mosque minarets, the major-
ity easily much taller than post-mediaeval church bell towers, though not taller
than the topping spires of earlier cathedrals, which often incorporated bells.
Minarets, admired for their height by travellers, were often compared by them
to bell towers. And of course, a dome large or small was a feature of many
mosques, as were one or more minarets. In 1859 Moncaut located domes as a
thermometer of excellence.
Elle nous apparaît dans l’Alhambra de Grenade, comme dans la mosquée

del Goury au Caire. Les chrétiens s’empressèrent d’adopter cette dispo-
sition élégante, qui se prêtait admirablement au symbolisme religieux,
puisqu’elle faisait descendre la lumière directement du ciel, sans la laisser
toucher aux souillures de la terre.[457]
The form he then linked to Renaissance Europe.
Elle [Spain] se lança avec toute sa passion méridionale dans le nou-

veau style; ses provinces du sud, dépourvues de cathédrales gothiques,
n’ayant encore que les magnifiques mosquées de Tolède, de Séville, de
Cordoue, de Villaviciosa, se couvrirent d’églises copiées sur Saint-Pierre
de Rome.[458]
Minarets were evidently the signal that the adjacent building was a mosque:
thus Ferhat Pasha invaded Persia with 400 master carpenters, one of whose
tasks was to rearrange converted churches, and erect wooden minarets using
their materials.19 They were often sturdily built, and many survived earth-
quakes when surrounding buildings collapsed.20 For example, Cairo suffered
so badly from an earthquake in 1303 that a commentator thought that it looked
“as though it had been wrecked by a conquering army,” a devastation requiring
several minarets to be pulled down and rebuilt. No earthquake was recorded
for 1361 in that city, when Sultan Hasan’s taller minaret (at 84m) fell and killed
about three hundred, hence attributable to bad construction21 and, of course
to the desire to build high. In 1489 an earthquake and storm at Constantinople
destroyed many buildings and minarets.22
19 Goodwin 2006, 104.

20 Ambraseys 2009, 33–34.
21 Ambraseys 2009, 357, 376.
22 Ambraseys 2009, 406.

Church bell towers and steeples do not concern us here, except perhaps in
the mind’s eye of visitors, for it is minarets and domes that indicate the Islamic
path to architectural fame. Even an energetic muezzin might have disagreed,
but important mosques sported tall minarets, and thereby offered themselves
for comparison. Among the very highest minarets from our period are the
Qutub Minar in Delhi (72.5m) and Jam (65m), but the most naked competition
(analogous to that between the Dome and the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem) is
in Cairo, between the Sultan Hasan on the ground at 84m and the Mosque of
Muhammed Ali already towering above it high on the citadel, at 10cm higher;
this surely cannot have been incidental. Visitors were often keen to ascend a
minaret, for the view they offered. Egmont and Heyman tried one unnamed
mosque in Constantinople, and
I had a great deal of difficulty, though my intreaties were strengthened

by the offer of a handsome present, to obtain leave to ascend one of
those towers. But the prospect of the city, country, and the sea, is truly
enchanting.[459]
9.1 Domes and Their History in the West
To an architect these mosques are no doubt highly interesting; to a pro-

fane person like myself they offer little attraction. Their principal beauty
generally consists in the bold arches of the cupolas.[460] [1851]
Along with materials, height (and not just domes) has often been one of the
defining features of prestigious buildings, certainly for the Egyptians and the
Romans, and for the naves of mediaeval cathedrals. The height of the vault of
Beauvais choir was 47.8m (but it fell down in 1284, after surviving for twelve
years); Chartres had a nave 35.5m high, and Cluny a choir rather less at 30.5m.
Prestige could derive from building materials (stone, marble), sometimes from
their source which, if spolia, could be distant; and often from dimensions, espe-
cially height. In much mediaeval western church architecture, nave and aisles
would be stone-vaulted, and the crossing could hold a belltower with a tall
spire. Guidebooks helped perpetuate the interest in size; for example, Cook’s
1907 Handbook to Palestine and Syria offered no fewer than 235 measurements.
The dome23 was another way of emphasizing a church at the crossing, with the
23 Baldwin Smith 1950 has much material on Islamic domes, but the author is concerned
with ideas, not dimensions. Stephenson 2005, 169–172 for Islamic domes. Author does
not deal with dome dimensions or height. See the extensive and up-to-date bibliography

146 Chapter 4
bell towers relegated to the western façade, which was a frequent design from
the Romanesque onward.
Few western travellers displayed interest in let alone knowledge of mediae-
val architecture in the West or further east, so they were unable or unwilling
to envision a broader context into which Islamic mosques could somehow be
slotted. Reading their accounts today, it is as if architecture began again with
the Renaissance; for them, it did, because there were no generally accessible
textbooks analysing earlier buildings, except for those of Greece and Rome.
And let us remember Vasari’s low opinion of mediaeval art, shared by his con-
temporaries. Not for nothing does “duomo” in Italian mean “cathedral,” or
“chief church,” without necessarily implying it included a dome over the cross-
ing, for the word derives from the Latin domus.
Renaissance architecture was admired for its assertiveness, its new styles,
and for the new development of the dome, inspired by Rome. We do not need
to bring the “cylinder-supported” Pantheon into the equation, for that is a far
different case construction method from skying the dome on arches, even with
supporting semi-domes. Indeed, as a strict comparison, the Pantheon should
be out of the running because the dome was supported on light tufo walls.
Its interior was conceived as a sphere, so that the dome diameter (43.3m)
equalled its height from the floor. This meant that the dome was supported on
the cylinder that forms the walls. The dome may well be 43.3m, but that is also
its height. Hagia Sophia has a smaller dome diameter (32.6m) but it is much
loftier at 55m, supported on tall arched walls and with a gallery as well. It is
no wonder that no domes in the Ottoman equal the Pantheon because none
use the same construction techniques. Further east, however, we do find tall
domes atop square supporting walls (not the cylinder of the Pantheon), as at
Bijapur (India) and Soltaniyeh (Persia).
But interest in domes began much earlier. In search of prestige Pisa erected
two: there was a dome over the cathedral crossing some 48m high, and a
separate domed baptistery, plus a bell tower, partly constructed from spolia
as well as from fresh-quarried marble. Florence went yet further than nearby
Pisa, no doubt to underline her growing primacy. The new cathedral (begun
1296) was originally intended to have a span of 36.271m, which would have
exceeded Hagia Sophia by over 3m. (Was this deliberate rivalry? Merchants
from Florence and Pisa would surely have known of that church, and perhaps
drawn it.) Brunelleschi’s Florence Duomo (1420–1434, 42.2m diameter), is
on domes in Wikipedia “History of Medieval Arabic and Western Domes.” This account
includes much on Cairo’s masonry domes.

conventionally seen as the first dome in the Renaissance West; but this ignored
the model provided by Pisa’s architects, who were certainly experienced in
Roman architecture (especially in demolishing it for their own buildings). In
1828 Andréossy was therefore already in error in attributing the first double
dome to Brunelleschi.
By the time Brunelleschi arrived the walls of Florence Cathedral were already
42.672m high, supporting the drum of another 9.144m. Hence Brunelleschi
was faced with a fait accompli and readers rejoice in the famous story of how
he triumphed. The Florence dome (one inspiration for that of Saint Peter’s in
Rome)[461] would be supported by the 51.816m high drum and have a span of
44m – much higher than any mediaeval cathedral, even Beauvais. Is it possible
that Brunelleschi knew all about mediaeval cathedral heights and was making
a statement? (We can also wonder whether he was glancing east as well.) For
with dome and lantern, the total external height at Florence is 114.5m, whereas
the internal height of Hagia Sophia is 55m from the floor. The Süleymaniye’s
is 47m/53m depending on the account and was sometimes considered equal
to Hagia Sophia. Even Hagia Sophia’s much later minarets, at 60m, cannot
approach Brunelleschi’s lantern; and he died in 1446, seven years before the
conquest of Constantinople.
Saint Peter’s in Rome (completed 1564) boasted a dome of 42m diameter, not
to mention arrogant brass markers down the nave emphasising how much lon-
ger it was than Hagia Sophia, Saint Paul’s, etc. Travellers were certainly aware
of such dimensions in their dome comparisons.[462] Saint Paul’s Cathedral in
London (dome diameter 30.8m) was built 1675–1710. Nor could the French, any
more than Wren, keep out of the pseudo-competition: the Invalides (dome
diameter 27.6m) was built 1680–1691, and the Pantheon (dome diameter 21m)
1755–1792, are both in Paris. San Francesco de Paulo in Naples, built in 1817–26,
has a dome diameter of 34m. Interest in height continued with new materials:
Nouvelle Larousse puts the arched but domeless Grand Palais (1897ff) at 43m
high on a base of 70m diameter.
Many of our travellers encountering mosques and minarets had difficulty
fitting them into any architecture they knew back home, hence the many
comparisons we have already seen. Would that they had the flexibility of
Goethe during his Italian Journey (1786–1788). He was rattled by what he saw
at Paestum, which presented a version of the classical unknown from the texts.
In his account he sat down, called to mind the history of art, and in no time
was reconciled to what he saw. Admittedly, the temples were recognisably in
some almost-known Greek tradition, and not a completely alien one; but to his
credit, he did see that architecture had a history. Winckelmann had led the way
with an explication of Greek sculpture, although he never travelled to Greece

148 Chapter 4
(Geschicht der Kunst des Altertums, 1764). The sculpture came to him in Rome;
but for architecture he would have needed to be on the spot.
The above sketch explains in outline why travellers in Ottoman lands looked
no further back than the Renaissance for their comparanda. The new Saint
Paul’s was popular, providing the first domed church for London. It was prob-
ably built to keep up with developments in Paris, which were predicated on
Bernini’s attempt to get the French to adopt good practice in their architec-
ture, namely Italian models. The prime movers were Brunelleschi’s dome in
Florence, and then Saint Peter’s in Rome, the wonder of the age, and with a
configuration much copied, for example, by Fischer von Erlach in Vienna,
by Saint Paul-Saint Louis (1627–1641) and the Val-de-Grâce (1645ff) in Paris
and, of course, by several Roman churches. All were on a smaller scale than
Florence or Saint Peter’s, allowing them to be used as either an architectural
comparison with mosques or as a proof of western architectural superiority. Of
course, the Grand Tour (largely restricted to Italy until late in the eighteenth
century) made the British and other Europeans alert to the recent wonders of
Italy, inspired by ancient Rome, without instilling a comparable knowledge of
mediaeval achievements.
9.2 A Note on Christopher Wren

Architecture was but one of Wren’s many interests, and his brief notes on archi-
tectural history were collected by his son, and only published by his grandson
in 1750. They are outlined here to illustrate the views of a well read and edu-
cated seventeenth century westerner on the history of the subject. He thought
the Gothic style should be called the Saracen style,
for those People wanted neither Arts nor Learning; and after we in the
West had lost both, we borrowed again from them, out of their Arabick
Books, what they with great Diligence had translated from the Greeks.[463]
Such translation was well known and acknowledged for literary and scientific
texts, but to hint at architecture as part of the package was something of a
stretch. Wren then enlarged on Saracen mosques and tombs, which “they con-
trived of a round Form, because they would not imitate the Christian Figure of
a Cross; nor the old Greek Manner, which they thought to be idolatrous.”
Wren was also aware of the Muslim use of spolia, for since quarries lay
abandoned, “the Saracens therefore were necessitated to accommodate their
Architecture to such Materials, whether Marble or Free-stone.” How did knowl-
edge of such works come to the West? “It was The Holy War gave the Christians,
who had been there, an Idea of the Saracen Works.”[464] Wren, of course, like

many of his contemporaries and Renaissance predecessors, was interested in

domes, and asserted both that “the Church of St. Mark at Venice, is built after
the Saracen Manner,”[465] and that the Muslims imitated Hagia Sophia.[466]
Recently, an attempt has been made to assert that Gothic architecture in
the West was imported wholesale from Islamic architectural forms,24 unfor-
tunately with a low signal-to-noise ratio. It is difficult for three reasons to
conclude that Wren was influenced by eastern domes. The first is that his
knowledge of Islamic architecture was sketchy: he thought mosques were all
circular, a widespread misconception surely based on knowledge of and illus-
trations of the (octagonal) Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem, and confidence that
such domed buildings must be circular. The second is that domes were well
anchored in the western tradition without any need to look east. Wren never
ventured to Rome, let alone further east, and his only far-from-adventurous
trip abroad was to Paris in 1665 to catch up on French competitors and on
the repercussions of Bernini’s visit. The third reason is that his dome for Saint
Paul’s is thoroughly in the western tradition, its double skin already seen long
before in the Pisa Baptistery (1363). Equally, we can see from the often highly
inventive architectural features of the fifty-one London churches he built after
the Great Fire that any interest he had in eastern forms stayed in his mind.
9.3 Domes and Their History in the East

The dome was a constant feature of ancient Roman structures throughout
their empire,25 and also of mosques, both Ottoman and further east. The
dome achievement depended both on its supports and on its height above the
ground, but our travellers usually had no means of making the height measure-
ment, always assuming they gained entry to the relevant mosque. (It would be
interesting to learn what measuring instruments were in the hands of Ottoman
24 Darke 2020.
25 Julio-Claudian: Bath house called the ‘Temple of Mercury’ at Baia dome diameter of 21.5m;
c.65 AD Octagonal hall of the Domus Aurea dome diameter 13m; 81–96 AD Nympheum
of the Albanum of Domitian at Alba dome diameter 16.1m; 109 AD Rotundas of the Baths
of Trajan dome diameter 20m; Hadrianic bath house at Baia called the ‘Temple of Venus’
26.3m; Half-dome of the Serapeum of Hadrian’s Villa dome diameter 16.75m; Second cen-
tury ‘Temple of Apollo’ at Lake Averno dome diameter 35.5m; Second half of the sec-
ond century: Bath house at Baiae called the ‘Temple of Diana’ dome diameter 29.5m;
Alexander Severus: Round Temple at Ostia dome diameter 18m; 309 AD Mausoleum of
Romulus, son of Maxentius dome diameter 24.5m; c.320 AD Mausoleum of the Villa of the
Gordianii (Tor dei Schiavi) dome diameter 13.2m; Beginning of the 4thC: Pseudo ‘Temple
of Minerva Medica’ dome diameter 24.5m; 326–30 AD Mausoleum of Saint Helena (Tor
Pignattara) dome diameter 20.2m etc. etc.

150 Chapter 4
architects.) Even today, there are often variations in the measurements given
for such buildings (see the table, below).
The commanding form of Hagia Sophia provided an important model to
emulate, and after the conquest was chosen as the Grand Mosque of the city
(the Holy Apostles was left to the new patriarch as a cathedral). Comparisons
between Hagia Sophia and other structures are of course to be expected, but
most ignore manifold differences, as does the stance of the bored European
that the Constantinople mosques are copies of Hagia Sophia and therefore
not worth seeing. Most visitors were more enquiring, and aware of the domes
in Constantinople, Hunter in 1803 calling them “in every respect, magnificent
structures.”[467] (Further east, and although only an arch, not a dome, the pre-
Islamic Taq Kasra at Ctesiphon near Baghdad boasted an iwan 37m high and
26m across, by 50m in length. This was the largest single span of free-standing
and unreinforced brickwork vault until modern times, and as a model to sur-
pass must have been in the consciousness of Muslim architects just as was the
Pantheon in that of westerners.)
European travellers were conscious of great domes because they were a
staple of prestigious European buildings, and it was natural for Clarke in 1818
to compare Constantinople with the European plums.[468] The frequently
expressed travellers’ opinion that the Ottomans simply copied Hagia Sophia
is far from the truth, the more so since they were building domed mosques
well before 1453 and the occupation of Constantinople. Their fellow Muslims
were building domes further east even earlier: the Green Dome in the Round
City of Baghdad (which fell in 941) had an external height of 48.36m; and the
Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem, whatever travellers considered its progeny, was
built as a mosque in 688–691. The Great Mosque at Bursa, the first Ottoman
capital (1378–1392) has a main dome of 11m, with its crown 16.5m above the
floor. The Üç Şerefeli Cami at Bursa (1437–1447) had the largest Ottoman dome
to date, at 24.1m (rebuilt 1771 after an earthquake). The Beyazidiye in the same
city (1484–1488) had a dome of 20m. In 1828 Andréossy affirmed correctly that
Hagia Sophia’s dome was brick-built (not, as many authors thought, of pumice
like the Pantheon). He also noted that “Les Turcs en introduisant les coupoles
dans la construction de leurs édifices religieux, n’ont point adopté les doubles
coupoles.”[469] Unless he meant strictly Ottoman Turks, this is not correct, for
the Umayyad Mosque in Damascus originally had a double wooden dome.
Soon after his capture of Constantinople in 1453, Mehmet II built the Fatih
Mosque (1463–70), but this was destroyed by earthquake in 1766. Its original
dome is thought to have been 26m. Çelebi, writing in the seventeenth century,
stated (se non è ver …) that the Emperor rebuked the architect for not equalling
the height of Hagia Sophia.

The architect excused himself by saying, that he had cut down two col-
umns three cubits each on purpose to give his building more solidity and
strength against the earthquakes, so common in Istâmból, and had thus
made the mosque lower than Aya Sofiyah.[470]
Indeed, the city had suffered severe earthquakes in 1509 and 1557, and yet again
in 1754, so the architect’s choice was a wise one, even though it conflicted with
Mehmet’s supposed conviction that height (rather than survival) equalled
glory. We cannot now know whether the columns were indeed cut down,
because the building was rebuilt on a different plan, but we may suspect the
story is untrue, because of the universal desire to reuse the largest columns
possible. Also, given Çelebi’s repeated interest in foundations throughout his
accounts of various buildings: if the columns were too tall, why not deeper
foundations? In any case, the story emphasises the Sultan’s desire to equal
Hagia Sophia. Çelebi also noted the Constantinopolitan Selimiye (not that in
Adrianople / Edirne), also by Sinan, and claimed its dome was wider than that
of Sancta Sophia, but not as high.[471]
The sixteenth century continued to build mosques with domes, and to
appreciate any competition between structures we must sometimes take
account of those other dimensions which pre-determine the size of the dome.
Beyazit II (r.1481–1512) built his in 1501–1506, but with a small 17m diameter
dome. Mihrimah Sultan (1562–5) has a dome of only 20m diameter, but it is a
lofty 37m from the floor. Yeni Camii, of 1597ff, has a smallish dome of 17.5m, but
once again with its crown 36m from the ground. Was such apparent downsiz-
ing to avoid the hubris of rivalling what was still the Great Mosque of the city?
Not at Adrianople (the second Ottoman capital from 1369) where, in 1570–75,
the Selimiye Mosque has a dome of diameter 30m, with the crown 43.4m from
the floor; this might well be the largest of Ottoman central domes, and the
highest from the floor. For Meri, Sinan was determined to outdo Hagia Sophia,
and cap his own Suleymaniye. Sinan’s supposed boast (from poet Mustafa Saʾi
Çelebi, his close friend) about this Mosque stated that
those who consider themselves architects among Christians say that in

the realm of Islam no dome can equal that of the Hagia Sophia…. [but] in
this mosque, with the help of God and the support of Sultan Selim Khan,
I erected a dome six cubits higher and four cubits wider than the dome
of the Hagia Sophia.26
26 Meri 2006, 717.

152 Chapter 4
As Freely comments, “Sinan’s claim is not quite valid, for the slightly ellipsoi-
dal dome of Hagia Sophia has a diameter ranging between 30.90 and 31.80m,
an average of 31.35m, with its crown 55.60m above the floor, both dimensions
surpassing those of the Selimiye.”27 (Although incorrect, Sinan’s boast, a reflec-
tion of Muslim pride,28 still held in the nineteenth century, several travellers
convinced that the Edirne dome was indeed higher.[472])
Ownership could also account for some rubbery dimensions. As Keene
commented of the Taj Mahal in 1878, “Shah Jehan was no more acquainted
with the exact dimensions of the Taj than was Jahangir with the names of the
mothers of his sons,” stating that his tomb was 90.22m high, when it was no
more than 74.06m.[473]
The competition for height was still well alive in 1616, when the Sultan
Achmet was given a dome of diameter only 23.5m, but with a height of some
43m to the crown, the mosque’s dimensions of 51m by 53m (2703sqm) mean-
ing that it was impossible to accommodate a larger dome. Hence the danger of
mosque comparisons: the Süleymaniye (1551–8) is 1.2 times bigger, and Hagia
Sophia is 2.2 times these dimensions, the crown of the dome being some 54.86m
above the pavement. Achmet compensated with minarets of 64m, still not
near the height of those at Edirne (70.89m) or those gracing the Süleymaniye
(72m). The Süleymaniye’s arches are supported on massive twelve-metre-high
columns,[474] its dome is 27.5m in diameter, and its crown 47m above the floor
(though in some accounts 53m). As Senior mistakenly remarked in 1859, “the
central dome is said to be of the same diameter as that of Sancta Sophia, but
20 feet higher. To my eye, the difference was not perceptible.”[475] However flat-
tering the mistake, the Süleymaniye at 59m by 58m interior dimensions could
not match Hagia Sophia, because the church is 1.7 times larger in floor area
that the mosque (which is 3,422sqm). Justinian might well have crowed that he
had outdone Solomon, but Suleiman had not out-topped Justinian.
9.4 The Dome of Hagia Sophia
After the lapse of nearly fourteen centuries, St. Sophia continues to lift
on high that dome, the first that ever was raised to any great elevation,
and remains the Mother Church, as it may be called, of every dome-
surmounted fane in Europe. To its family belong St. Mark’s at Venice,
27 Freely 2011, 76.

28 EoI_II_1991_685 writes that according to Çelebi the dome is six cubits higher than that of
Hagia Sophia, without noting that this is not true.

the glorious Duomo of Florence, our own St. Paul’s – nay, St. Peter’s
itself.[476] [1850]
In the above appreciation, De Vere correctly ignored the Pantheon (which

cleaves to the ground) in favour of a later European tradition, albeit one still of
course inspired by Rome. (See Curtis in 1903 affirming for the Pantheon, and
with some incorrect dimensions.[477]) Western visitors were dismissive of the
confusing mosque exterior (“Mais autant l’extérieur de ce temple est désagré-
able, autant l’mtérieur en est, dit-on, magnifique, admirable”[478]), which could
not compete with churches back home. For Colbeck, “its external appearance
was sacrificed for the sake of internal effect.”[479] But they admired the marble
wall veneers and columns inside, sometimes the mosaics, and often the dome,
the dimensions of which they were usually unable to measure. Frequently, as
we have already seen, they tried to “locate” the structure for themselves and
their readers by comparisons with churches back home, especially Rome (the
focus of the eighteenth century Grand Tour), and sometimes Venice. In 1876
Townsend (refused entry during Ramadan until he obtained a firman)[480]
recalled Michelangelo’s boast of placing the dome of the Pantheon in the air:
but this work of Anthemius is antecedent to his by the space of a thou-

sand years; and to him must be assigned the proud distinction of being
“the architect who first erected an aeriel cupola.”[481]
In 1759 Egmont and Heyman were apparently confused about dome dimen-
sions, remarking that
this dome is doubtless a masterly piece of architecture, though some-

thing flatter than that of St. Peter’s at Rome. It appears also, not to be so
large as it actually is, by reason of its being exactly proportioned to the
other parts of the structure.[482]
Most visitors wrote only about the diameter of the dome, but in 1799 Salaberry
concentrated on how high it started off the floor, and then how high the
saucer was:
On se fait une idée de la magnificence d’un temple qui renferme plus de

trois cents colonnes de verd antique que deux hommes n’embrasseroient
pas. Sa hauteur est incroyable. Elle est de cent quatre-vingt-cinq-pieds
depuis le pavé jusqu’à la corniche [56.38m] où commence le dôme qui

154 Chapter 4
lui-même a au moins quarante [12.19] ou cinquante pieds [15.24m], et le

diamètre est de cinquante-quatre.[483]
Praise continued. In 1836 Colton admired the “stupendous” dome and felt in
the presence of a Power.
No statues weep or smile in the cloistered twilight; no image of sanctity

or sweetness gleams, in mockery of life, upon the wall; the eye ranges at
once, unchecked and unconfined, from the broad pavement up to the
“heaven-suspended dome,” and the impression is one of delighted won-
der and calm solemnity.[484]
In the same year Spencer compared its dimensions with those of Saint Peter’s
in Rome and Saint Paul’s in London.[485] The following year Claridge paid for a
firman, slightly underestimated the dome dimensions, and declared that “few
will leave it without feelings of disappointment. It will bear no comparison
with the churches of Italy for architectural beauty, and its walls are destitute of
all ornament,”[486] evidently dismissing the marble cladding, richer than any-
where back west. For the clearer-sighted Parnauvel in 1855, however, viewing
the mosques of Constantinople, “I could not do otherwise than conclude that
our great works of architecture have all received their device and form from
the East.”[487]
Just how such travellers measured dimensions we are rarely told, so that
Hunter in 1803 gave the dome diameter as 34.44m,[488] and (in 1836) Tietz
as 35.05m. (These figures, whatever their source, were to be repeated by, for
example, Burford in 1841[489] and Cochran in 1888.[490]) Entering under the
protection of an ambassadorial firman,[491] Tietz acclaimed the architectural
boldness of the dome, “some explanation of its success has been offered, in
the nature of the bricks employed, which are said to be of so light a clay, from
Rhodes, that twelve of them equal in weight only one of those in common
use.”[492] In 1841 Count Andréossy, the French ambassador, provided a sum-
mary of the construction technique.[493] He offered a multi-page description
of the structure inside and out,[494] declared that the dome was 4.57m larger
than Saint Paul’s, and noted that “the Mosaic of the dome is mostly gone.”[495]
Gingras gave its dimensions in 1847, noting that “Les voyageurs qui l’ont visité
s’accordent à le donner comme l’un des plus beaux du monde; ce qui y frappe
surtout, c’est la coupole, monument qui a excité et qui excitera toujours, à juste
titre, l’admiration des artistes.”[496]

Table 1 Some large domes (the dimensions of which vary account to account)
Location Monument Date Dome Comments/internal

internal height
diameter
Rome Pantheon c. AD117–38 43.3m Circular base

Constantinople Hagia Sophia AD532–7 32.61m 55.47m
Ctesiphon Arched hall AD550 25.29m Portal, 28.5m to crown
of arch
Jerusalem Dome of the 7th century 12.19m 27.43m
Rock
Damascus Great Unknown? 36/45m
Mosque
Pisa Cathedral 1063ff 48m high?
Soltaniyeh Öljeitü Tomb 1302–12 24.38m 36.57m/38.1m high
Cairo Sultan Hasan 1359 54.86m Mausoleum 27.43m
Florence Duomo 1420–1434 41.75m 83.82m t
Constantinople Fatih 1463–70 26m Did not equal H. Sophia
Constantinople Selimiye 1521–27 32.5m high
Constantinople Süleymaniye 1550–57 26.51m 47.24m
Rome S. Peter’s By 1564 41.5m Outer diameter 58.9m
Edirne Selimiye 1568–75 31.28m Outer diameter
Constantinople Sultan 1609–16 23.5m Outer dome height 43m
Achmet
Bijapur Gol Gumbaz 1626–56 41.14m 53.34m Exceeded only
by S. Peter’s
Agra Taj Mahal 1653 17.67m 24.38m
London S. Paul’s 1675–1710 32.91m 67.05m
Paris Invalides 1680–1691 27.6m
Paris Pantheon 1755–1792 21m
Naples S. Francesco 1817–26 34m
10 Some Constantinople Mosques Visited by Travellers
10.1 Kuchuk H. Sophia

Conveniently close to Sancta Sophia, the Sultan Achmet and the Hippodrome,
is the Little Hagia Sophia, described at length by Gyllius in the mid-1540s. He

156 Chapter 4
noted the varied marbles employed, and the intricacy of the capitals, plus
their architraves, “finished with the nicest Art.”[497] Later visitors agreed. In
1759 Egmont and Heyman pointed to the gallery, “supported by marble pillars,
of most extraordinary beauty, and over it another equal to the former.”[498]
Hobhouse visited in 1817, noted its original dedication to SS Sergius and
Bacchus, and declared that “the interior is remarkable only for two rows of
eighteen and sixteen Ionic columns, fourteen of which are of verd-antique,
and twenty of white marble suffused with red spots.”[499] In spite of the evi-
dent beauty of the marble work in the interior, Lacroix in 1839 failed to be
impressed, explaining that
Ses proportions mesquines et la modestie de ses ornements prouvent

qu’en la construisant, les artistes grecs avaient reçu l’ordre de réserver les
ressources de leur génie pour un temple plus digne de la sagesse divine, à
laquelle la grande et la petite Sainte-Sophie sont consacrées.[500]
Its recent restoration would stun anyone, but its beauty (including capitals and
inscriptions) was reduced by whitewash; as Müller wrote in 1894, “all the mosa-
ics and frescoes are covered with whitewash, but nothing destroys the beauty
of the light Byzantine columns which support the galleries.”[501]
10.2 Sultan Achmet (1609–1616)
Whereupon he [Sultan Achmet] is now building a magnificent Mosque,

for the health of his Soul, all of white Marble; at the East-end and South-
side of the Hippodrom; where he first broke the earth, and wrought three
hours in person.[502] [1673]
With an outer dome height of 43m, and an interior diameter of 23.50m (which
Çelebi got slightly wrong c.1684[503]), this mosque was completed in 1616. Near
Hagia Sophia, it was very popular with visitors because of its location next to
the hippodrome, much visited because it was not only an open space (some
visitors hired horses to ride around it) but also because of its much-admired
antiquities. The mosque stood out because of its six minarets, and because of
the ease of gaining entry. Perhaps the Turkish authorities were intent on dis-
playing the best of their modern architecture to visitors.
George Sandys (whose book was in a seventh edition by 1673), saw the mosque
being built (see the above opening quote). Nor was he alone in describing the
architecture. Deshayes de Courmenin offered a short account in 1624,[504]
and in 1631 Stochove described both exterior and interior,[505] Pacifique had
no difficulty entering in the same year,[506] no more did Du Loir in 1654.[507]

Thévenot entered in 1655, declared it to be “one of the fairest and most mag-
nificent in Constantinople,” noted its stately dome, and was fascinated by the
large quantity of mosque lamps.[508] Monconys offered a reasonable descrip-
tion in 1665,[509] as did Fermanel in 1670[510] and Spon in 1678.[511] In that same
year Wheler concentrated on the structure of the dome, as well as the “marble
columns” which support it.[512] In 1670–72 Grelot gave a plan and elevation,
described it inside and out,[513] and declared that it “peut passer pour un des
plus beaux Temples, quant au dehors, que jamais les Turcs ayent élevé.”[514]
In 1701 Tournefort focussed on the minarets, dome and courtyard,[515] while
in 1735 Arvieux described the monument inside and out.[516] The ornaments
(lamps, glass and crystal globes, model ships) caught the attention of Le Brun
in 1725[517] and Salmon in 1739.[518] By the end of that century, Dallaway offered
a detailed description, dwelling on the minarets, marble, and internal fresco
decoration.[519]
These were general assessments for what was a relatively new mosque. Early
in the nineteenth century, Lechevalier admired the courtyard, with “vingt-six
arcades couvertes chacune d’une coupole en plomb, et soutenues par vingt-
six colonnes de granit égyptien, avec des chapiteaux à la turque et des bases
de bronze.”[520] Ali Bey found the structure “very handsome,” adding that “the
four great pillars that support the central cupola are incrusted with very fine
white marble in flutings; the tribune of the Sultan is supported by a great num-
ber of small columns, among which are some of a superb brown marble, and
the angular ones are of verd antique.”[521] Tancoigne concurred in 1807, “this
is a very beautiful edifice, remarkable for its lightness, and the elegance of its
minarets, which are six in number, each with three tiers of galleries.”[522]
Unlike Hagia Sophia, the exterior of Sultan Achmet was most impressive.
“Vu de la Propontide, à une distance convenable, la mosquée Achmet produit
un effet admirable, et procure à l’ami des arts cette jouissance qui prend sa
source dans le sentiment du beau,” wrote Pertusier in 1815,[523] while in 1820
Castellan moved into full romantic mode, praising the minarets,
à trois rangs de galeries entourées de larges cercles lumineux; ils se trou-

voient réunis par des guirlandes de feux de diverses nuances, jetées de
l’un à l’autre, et dont le scintillement acquéroit plus de vivacité lorsqu’un
souffle de vent leur communiquoit un doux balancement.
For him, this monument was part of a symphony in light and shade:
Ces masses d’ombre, dont les formes et les couleurs étoient plus ou moins
obscures, produisoient des oppositions et des contrastes piquans … l’éclat
des mosquées et des monumens publics se répandoit sur leur alentour

158 Chapter 4
en flots de lumière, qui se fondoient insensiblement avec l’ombre dans

laquelle étoient plongées les maisons et les masures dont l’entassement
irrégulier et les petits détails auroient nui aux beautés de cet ensemble
imposant.[524]
Distance and its admirable location also gave enchantment to the domes as
well as the minarets, wrote Lacroix in 1839:
Ces séries de demi-dômes qui fuient sous le regard, cette coupole qui
s’élève gracieusement dans les airs, ces flèches élancées, dont les pointes
déliées semblent, à une certaine distance, autant d’aiguilles suspendues
entre le ciel et la terre, tout cela produit un effet magique dont le voya-
geur ne saurait négliger la jouissance.[525]
Spencer concurred in the same year, with an enthusiastic description of the

Süleymaniye as well.[526]
Some authors tempered their praise according to their view of Turkish com-
petence in building, presumably believing that it was only Greeks who built
well. Riedesel in 1802 was astonished to see such a beautiful dome built by
Turks,[527] and Bussières in 1829 was to declare it “le plus beau monument que
les Turcs aient jamais élevé.”[528] However, Sandwich in 1807 could not help
modifying his praise by consulting the Correct Architecture Playbook, for he
thought it “might justly be esteemed a most magnificent edifice; if it were built
more according to the rules of architecture; of which the Turks have not the
least knowledge,” an opinion quoted by Thornton.[529] Stuart, travelling in
1835–36, noted the recent difficulty in gaining admission, because “it is said
that Greeks and Armenians began to pray there, which alarmed the supersti-
tion and aroused the anger of the Mussulmans.”[530]
Of course, the manufactured correctness problem was that the Turks did
not follow western, classically derived styles, proof-positive being the columns
supporting the dome “which, though fluted, cannot be reckoned an imitation
of any of the orders of architecture.”[531] In 1817 Hobhouse frowned on the
same “gigantic ill-proportioned piers,” but praised the stained glass,[532] as did
Ferté-Meun in 1816/19, this being “ce que j’ai trouvé de plus remarquable dans
cette mosquée.”[533] However, for some the mosque could not compete with
Hagia Sophia, for although splendid outside, the architectural pretensions
inside comdemned it.
There is, indeed, the dim solemnity of space, the undefined charm of
colossal proportions, and the grandeur of the “vaulted dome;” but there

is not that relieving beauty and richness which gleam from the pillared
walls of St. Sophia.[534]
By the 1820s, access to the interior was apparently difficult, and Carne in 1826
had to content himself with an exterior view.[535] (Was this because of continu-
ing warring with Russia, and the strains of the Greek War of Independence?)
In 1833 De Kay was more enterprising, and “through the windows we were
enabled to perceive a vast matted hall, and from the ceiling depended thou-
sands of little coloured glass lamps and ostriches’ eggs to within seven or eight
feet of the floor,” the glow of which was “almost overpowering” during eve-
ning prayers.[536] Three years later Tietz may or may not have entered (he does
not say, though he took an ambassador’s guard on his tour of the city), but he
noticed “the six great golden lamps presented to the mosque by Dshafer Pasha,
Governor of Abyssinia, richly studded with emeralds, and suspended by strong
chains of gold.”[537]
Again, later in the 1830s, the mosque seemed at times to be once again
closed to non-Muslims. In 1836 Brayer does not more than mention “la superbe
mosquée du sultan Achmed,”[538] and in the same year Cornille offers no more
than that “la mosquée du sultan Achmet se dessine élégamment, avec ses six
minarets élancés comme des colonnes.”[539] Poujoulat entered in 1837, and
pointed out that
Ce qu’il y a cependant de particulier dans le temple de l’Hippodrome,

c’est que le dôme repose sur quatre colonnes cannelées d’une prodigieuse
grosseur et tout à fait détachées du corps du bâtiment.[540]
The following year Addison managed the courtyard, but only a glance through
the mosque entrance door.[541] Allom in 1839 next wrote that “the interior of
a mosque resembles the nave and transept of St. Paul’s, with the exception of
its statues – grand and noble by its vastness and vacuity,”[542] and he provided
a view of the interior. In 1837 Hervé entered for “the closest examination to
discover its beauties.” He found the crowd of lamps and their cords distracting,
but bravely attempted to find western elements in the architecture.
The columns, their bases, and capitals are quite different to any style of
architecture adopted in civilised countries, although in their windows
their roofings, their archways, &c. I observed symptoms of the Gothic,
Saxon, and Norman, and I sometimes found as ornaments on some of the
walls of their mosques the fleur de lys.[543]

160 Chapter 4
Having just been in Hagia Sophia, Pardoe entered the Sultan Achmet the
same year, and at prayer time. She was overawed by the interior, by the pil-
lars and especially the lamps, which “gave the whole edifice the appearance
of a space overhung with stars.” Not that she appreciated the chanting, much
wilder and shriller than that in Hagia Sophia, for “it sounded to me, in fact,
more like the delirious outcry, which we may suppose to have been uttered by
a band of Delphic Priestesses, than the voices of a choir of uninspired human
beings.”[544] In all, she concentrated on the vases and ostrich eggs, not the
architecture.[545]
In 1839 Marchebeus described only the mosque’s size and courtyard, although
he did mention the dome “que supportent quatre gros piliers, en forme de col-
onnes très massives,” which perhaps he saw through the windows.[546] Two
years later Damer could admire only the courtyard of “the magnificent mosque
of Sultan Achmet,”[547] for “they would not suffer us to penetrate further than
the porch.”[548] In 1842 Leveson-Gower found the door open, “but a venomous
young priest first interposed himself to prevent our seeing, and then shut the
door; and thus forced to content ourselves by looking in at a window, we saw
two priests fast asleep on cushions.” Then his original tormenter held a hand-
kerchief to the window, and eventually closed the shutters.[549] However, in
the same year Hamilton entered with a firman, until it was prayer time,[550] as
did Morris, accompanied by a janissary. He described the building, praising the
late Sultan for his latitudinarian views, and equating the entry with nothing
less than civilisation itself.
A few years since a Christian would have been stoned to death by the
populace who should be seen entering a mosque. This war waged upon
the religious prejudices and fanaticism of his people, is the most sig-
nal evidence of the sincerity and zeal of the late Sultan in the cause of
civilization.[551]
The following year Formby visited, and found that “the exceeding cleanliness,
elegance, simplicity and beauty of its interior corresponded with the fascinat-
ing symmetry of its many domes and minarets peeping out from the trees.”[552]
In 1849 Chenavard thought this mosque rivalled Hagia Sophia, and dubbed
it “sans contredit, le plus bel édifice que les Turcs aient élevé,” rhapsodis-
ing that “Rien n’est plus théâtral que le jeu pittoresque de ses dômes, de ses
minarets et de ses longues lignes interrompues par de hauts cyprès.”[553] In
the same year Lynch again took the western view of the interior, criticis-
ing the “four enormous columns supporting the dome, their height scarce
twice exceeding their diameter.” These were to the detriment of the interior

because “their disproportioned bulk, with the numerous chains and small
parti-coloured lamps, very much impair the effect of an otherwise magnificent
interior.”[554] Vere described the structure in 1850, but with no indication that
he got any further than the courtyard.[555] The majority of reports were highly
complimentary. In 1852 Gautier found that “style of the whole of the building
is noble, pure, and recalls the finest time of Arab art.”[556] In the same year
Smith examined the interior, and “when the four pillars sustaining the dome
are examined, the spectator is constrained to admit that the Turks are suscep-
tible of grandeur in architecture.”[557] Savigny de Moncorps in 1873 disagreed.
He called this mosque “la métropole de l’islamisme à Constantinople” but, like
so many others, thought the four enormous supporting columns too large for
their height.[558]
We must assume that Bunel did enter in 1854; he found the interior heavy, on
account of the pillars: “Elle manque même de grâce par son défaut de légèreté.
C’est d’abord une coupole imitation de celle de Sainte-Sophie, soutenue par
des piliers horriblement lourds et écrasés.”[559] The following year Perthes
entered with his dragoman and a bribe, stood still and was whispered at, but
gave no opinion on the architecture.[560] In 1856 Colton agreed with Bunel on
the inferiority of the interior to that of Hagia Sophia.
There is, indeed, the dim solemnity of space, the undefined charm of
colossal proportions, and the grandeur of the “vaulted dome;” but there
is not that relieving beauty and richness which gleam from the pillared
walls of St. Sophia.[561]
Senior concurred,
the arrangement of the roof is exceedingly beautiful. But the four enor-
mous pillars, thirty-six feet [10.972m] in diameter, which support the cen-
tral dome, are heavy, and the white walls and domes looked cold to us
who came fresh from the gold and mosaics of Sancta Sophia.[562]
For Arnold in 1868, however, the Turks were compared with the Moors of
Spain, and found lacking, because “the Turks appear to have no distinct archi-
tecture.” In a spirit of reckless adventure, he then compared the Sultan Achmet
(“the finest specimen of a purely Turkish building in Stamboul”) to the vast
sheds in which British men-of-war were built.[563] Like others before him,
he condemned the massive pillars, found the windows let in too much light,
and was distracted by the cables suspending the myriad lamps.[564] In 1869
Buckham went from Hagia Sophia to the Sultan Achmet, where he admired the

162 Chapter 4
“magnificent” courtyard, saw “that these four enormous columns do not inter-
rupt the view of the entire area any more than do the pillars in our churches,”
and suggested that “its six tall, tapering, beautiful and graceful minarets relieve
the temple from its otherwise heavy and ponderous appearance.”[565]
For some reason Brassey in 1890 was content to admire only the exterior.[566]
This was the first mosque Mrs Max Müller entered in 1894, and “we were very
much impressed by its vast size.” She noted the windows and the lamps, as well
as the central dome and the four huge columns, and
it is the vast size of the central hall that impresses one in the Ahmediyeh
rather than any beauty of detail, but the forecourt is beautiful. It is sur-
rounded by cloisters; the tall narrow arches of black and white marble
supported on slender pillars; in the centre is a large fountain. The unique
feature of the Ahmediyeh is the six minarets.[567]
10.3 Süleymaniye (1550–57)
Les plus habiles dans l’Architecture luy [Hagia Sophia] preferent la

Mosquée de Soliman. Il est vray que la premiere a vn pauiment plus
riche, est plus superbe en marbre, & en jaspe … Toutefois l’ouvrage de la
Solimanie est plus achevé, & aussi grand que l’autre.[568] [1668]
10.4 Early Accounts

This mosque was consistently mentioned and sometimes praised by Europeans,
as by Poullet (above). Removing his shoes and admiring the carpets, Fresne-
Canaye entered in 1573, and then visited Bajazet, “car elles sont parmi les plus
belles de Constantinople et le Grand Seigneur y va ordinairement.”[569] With
its elevated location, immense cost and fine marbles (some of which were said
to come from a dismantled palace in Scutari),[570] “Bien qu’elle ne soit pas aussi
grande, ni soutenue de tant de colonnes, ni travaillée à la mosaïque comme
Sainte-Sophie, elle est pourtant très belle.”[571] Did Beauvau get inside in 1608?
He wrote that “le dedans est blanchy, auec quelques Colomnes, de marbre,”
which is not very convincing, and writes much more about the courtyard and
exterior.[572] Des Hayes called it “superb” in 1624,[573] Stochove[574] noted it in
1650, and in 1654 Du Loir placed it above the other mosques because “elle est
plus semblable a saincte Sophie.”[575] Thévenot continued the comparison in
1655, and “ie diray que la Solymanie luy est fort semblable.”[576] Galland was in
Constantinople in 1672–1673 and, like Thévenot, visited the interior, admiring
the great size of “six belles colonnes de granit.”[577] There are four, not six, so

perhaps he only glimpsed the interior through an open door. This squares with
the experience of the assiduous Grelot, in the city at the same time: he praised
the mosque, but clearly could not get inside, for his suspect comment was only
that “il n’est pas moins beau par dedans qu’il l’est au dehors.”[578]
Evliya Çelebi, a Muslim, praised this mosque as “beyond all description
beautiful,” giving details of the deep foundations, the huge numbers of work-
men, the source of the marbles, and of how they were transported.[579] Çelebi
was often fixated on foundations, and reported that Sinan vouchsafed for the
work’s solidity
and indeed, standing on a lofty hill surrounded and strengthened below

by various walls and bulwarks, its foundations are peculiarly solid.[580]
He also noted the four “porphyry” (in fact granite) columns inside, “each of
which is worth ten times the amount of the tribute … from Misr.”[581] Çelebi
also told a competitive tall story of how ten Europeans “with expert knowledge
of geometry and architecture” were admitted; “their eyes were dazzled from
the splendour” and, inevitably asked to compare it with Hagia Sophia, found
it not only more expensive, but also “finer construction in terms of grace, ele-
gance, and beauty.”[582] A decided win for Ottoman architecture!
Le Brun described the interior of the Süleymaniye in 1698,[583] although we
do not know whether any of his group got inside. Like Chishull, travelling at
the same time, he admired the beauty and grandeur of various mosques, and
named them, suggesting that his readers would find “that of Solyman more
regular, and artificial in the outward frame; that of Achmet more magnificent
in the whole, and on the outside more beautiful in the work of the pillars.”[584]
Pococke, travelling 1737–1741, admired the two porphyry pillars in the portico of
this mosque, claiming they were “of the same size as those in saint Sophia.”[585]
10.5 The Ninteenth Century

Christians were not always welcome in this mosque. Far from agreeable to visi-
tors was the imam in 1802 who interrupted his sermon to preach against the
Christians who had just entered:
Nous fûmes très-étonnés, quand nous entendîmes notre interprète nous

dire, que ce prédicateur avoit tout-à-coup fait tomber le sujet de son dis-
cours sur les curieux ou étrangers qui venoient d’entrer. Il lui avoit plu de
nous exclure sans miséricorde du séjour éternel, dans la peinture qu’il en
faisoit à ses auditeurs, et qui paroissoit captiver toute leur attention.[586]

164 Chapter 4
The locals could certainly be rebellious. In 1806 Pouqueville described how

the students inside actually spat on the imperial firman the group presented
(including envoys from Naples and Sweden), and traded blows, injuring sev-
eral ladies. The Sultan (“afflicted at this catastrophe, for in his situation every
thing is a cause of uneasiness”) took extreme vengeance.
He wrote to the drogmans of the offended ambassadors; and in their

presence caused four of the principal mutineers to be strangled; while
upwards of thirty others were severely bastinadoed, and sent into exile.
In short, this prince, who is really a lover of peace and justice, exerted
every means in his power to appease the persons who had received
the insult.[587]
Might we conclude that spitting on the firman was the main offence?
In part because of the conspicuous placing of the complex, the dome
caught most travellers’ eyes. For Lamartine it was “une des plus magnifiques
de Constantinople;”[588] and for De Kay in 1833: “we give the preference to this
mosque for general effect over every other mosque that we have as yet seen
in the Turkish empire; and, although constructed after the plan of St. Sophia,
it far excels its model.”[589] In 1835 Stuart visited not only the mosque, but
also the mausolea, and described them.[590] In 1836 Temple focussed on the
mosaic work, “like those seen at Salerno, and Ravenna, and in other parts of
the Neapolitan territories, and which are called Saracenic.”[591] Travellers
and guidebooks were also complimentary. Murray in 1840 averred that it was
“built under the greatest of the Ottoman Sultans, in a style of grandeur worthy
of the splendour of his reign,”[592] and Darner in 1841 called it “the finest in
Constantinople, though not so interesting as that of St. Sophia.”[593] In 1844
it was described by Ricketts as “the most glorious monument of Ottoman
architecture,”[594] (which simply copied Murray’s account).
After the mid-nineteenth century, the descriptions of this mosque became
longer and more detailed. Thus Méry in 1855, although he thought the dome
inferior to Hagia Sophia, (which “ne l’égale pas dans son élégance aérienne”),
noted the mihrab, candles and window glass, as well as the architecture;[595]
for this was a “chef-d’œuvre de grandeur et d’élégance,”[596] In 1859 Senior gave
several measurements, and relayed that the dome was 6.09m higher (“to my
eye, the difference was not perceptible.”) But preaching was in progress, so
detailed examination of some elements was not possible.[597] In 1863 Schickler
was sure the dome was indeed slightly higher than that of Hagia Sophia, and
proceeded to describe the grandiose interior.[598] Four years later, Benjamin

declared, “it is doubtful whether there exists in architecture a more perfect

combination of symmetry, beauty, and sublimity than the view under the dome
of Sulymanie.”[599] A commentator in 1859 wrote that it “is deemed by many
the most elegant edifice in the city, with splendid windows of stained glass …
and its exterior is formed of the finest stones that could be found among the
ruins of Chalcedon on the Asian shore.”[600] In sum, it “is universally admired
for the regularity of its plan, the careful execution of the individual parts, and
the harmony of the whole.”[601] In 1887 Colbeck noted the excellence of the
site, naming its dome “splendid” and its minarets “graceful.”[602]
The Süleymaniye was also admired by travellers who had been further
afield. In 1838 Elliott, in oneupmanship, wrote of measuring a porphyry col-
umn in the courtyard,
but thought back to “the great mosque of Delhi, incomparably more

splendid than any building existing at Constantinople, while the imam
chanted in slow and solemn accents, and in the sonorous language of the
Koran.”[603]
10.6 Hagia Sophia as the Model for the Süleymaniye
During a considerable stay at Constantinople, I visited the mosques fre-

quently when a firman was out, but really I never found any thing new;
all was the one monotonous-told tale, and the only change was in the
company.[604] [1840]
Reid’s tedium vitae, as expressed above, was common and perhaps it was the
stance echoing European superiority. In similar vein, Savigny de Moncorps
wrote in 1873, “Nous visitons encore la mosquée de Soliman le Magnifique, dont
les proportions sont belles et harmonieuses. Mais elle ressemble aux autres, à
peu de chose près.”[605] As here, it was natural to compare the Süleymaniye
with Hagia Sophia, because the general European opinion was that nearly all of
Constantinople’s mosques imitated Justinian’s creation and, in any case, Hagia
Sophia’s exterior was far from being a considered architectural ensemble.
Sometimes such accounts were a straight assessment of the architecture;
and occasionally echoed the barely stated triumph of Christianity over Islam.
Thus, as Laurent wrote in 1821, “heaven grant that the period be not distant
in which the Moslems shall once more strike their tents to return, with their
superstitious despotism, into their native Asia.”[606] The occasional prodigy
was helpful to such wishes. In 1817 Chandler related that “a cross of shining

166 Chapter 4
light” had been seen over Hagia Sophia, as a result of which “the Turks were
in consternation at the prodigy, and had endeavoured in vain to dissipate the
vapour.” Their conclusion was obvious: “the sign was interpreted to portend the
exaltation of the Christians above the Mahometans.”[607]
Both dome and minarets were studied. In 1680 Grelot had written of the “fort
grand dôme qui ne cède guère pour la beauté & pour la forme à celuy de sainte
Sophie.”[608] Griffiths echoed this in 1805: its dome being “scarcely inferior to
that of Sancta Sophia.”[609] Indeed the “competition” with Hagia Sophia was
continuing. For Tournefort in 1701, “there’s none comes near to St. Sophia in the
Beauty of its Dome, but the Solymania.”[610] In 1698 Chishull got permission to
ascend one of the minarets, and then spent two hours in Hagia Sophia, where
he praised “the reliques of its rich mosaic work; the variety of pretious marble,
which adorns it, consisting of serpentine, alabaster, and porphyry.”[611] In 1829
Bussières named it “celle dont l’architecture m’a paru la plus originale.”[612] For
Slade in 1833, the structure was “after the style of St. Sophia, but surpassing it
in architecture, in site, in decoration; in all save veneration and antiquity.”[613]
The mosque’s location was certainly important. Writing in 1802, Struve
thought that, compared with Hagia Sophia, “Elle est infiniment plus belle, et
dans une situation beaucoup plus agréable.” As Tietz wrote in 1836, “according to
external appearance, [it] is the most beautiful building in Constantinople.”[614]
Not so for the Duc de Raguse in 1837: this mosque was “fort grande et très-belle,
mais inférieure de toutes les manières à Sainte-Sophie,”[615] although he does
not explain why.
In 1851 Monk thought it was certainly patterned after Hagia Sophia, “but with
the desire, on the part of its founder, of surpassing it in splendour and beauty.
In every point of view it is the most striking building in Constantinople.”[616]
But he warned visitors (spot the bias) that the interior was likely to disappoint
if they were “assimilating it in character to the gorgeous temples of the Roman
Catholic Church.”[617] Smith noted in 1852 that it bore “a strong resemblance to
Sancta Sophia.”[618] For Cornille in 1836, Hagia Sophia was indeed the model
for this mosque.[619] Two years later Addison named it “the handsomest of all
the mosques in Constantinople, excepting the dome, which does not equal
that of Sancta Sophia.” He went further, “I was disappointed with the dome,
which is low and far from striking; none of them are worth looking at after
Saint Paul’s.”[620] For Elliott in 1838, this was “incomparably more splendid than
any building existing at Constantinople,”[621] not excepting Hagia Sophia –
and he thought the great pillars were of porphyry.[622] Rather more subtly that
Monk, in 1850 De Vere considered the interior stately, “though not divested
of that characteristic coldness and blankness which belongs to mosques,” and
then, damning with faint and deliberately misdirected praise, “the effect is
brilliant, of course, but theatrical rather than ecclesiastic.”[623] In 1854 Berton

was apparently so impressed by the architecture, modelled on Hagia Sophia,

materially less rich but much lighter, and incorrectly adjudged the dome 7m
higher than the model[624] (in fact it measures 55m against 53m). For Freese,
however, in 1869, the Süleymaniye was the better structure, for Hagia Sophia
“lacks the finely polished columns which give to the latter so grand and impos-
ing an appearance.”[625]
The interior of the Süleymaniye was not always open to Europeans,[626]
although in 1835 Auldjo marked it out as “the only religious edifice in Constan-
tinople, that can be seen by a Christian without a firman.”[627] Matters were
confused, for the following year Walsh repeated the old credo that “a Euro-
pean Ambassador has the privilege, before his departure, of taking with him
a certain number of his suite, and visiting the interior of all the mosques he
wishes to see” – although he and his colleague did not join, “as we had this
in perspective, we were now indifferent about entering it,”[628] by which he
presumably means he had acquired drawings or prints which satisfied him.
However, the spacious courtyard was usually accessible, and Muslims could
be seen there washing: these “ablutions or purifications” charmingly asserted
by Arvieux in 1735, “leur tiennent lieu de confession.”[629] As for the exterior,
Pococke noted in the late 1730s that “elle surpasse sainte Sophie par les dehors
car ses arcboutans lui servent d’ornement; ses fenêtres sont plus grandes &
mieux disposées; les galeries qui régnent d’un arcboutant à l’autre plus régu-
lières & plus superbes.”[630] In 1859 Senior and his party, admiring “the beauty
of the proportions, and the richness and harmony of the colouring,” wished to
linger, but were thrown out by the guardians after perhaps half an hour.[631]
10.7 Marble and Porphyry Spolia

As we have learned, many travellers were interested in classical architecture,
and hence tried to identify the source of the stones reused in the monuments
of Constantinople. However, because the Romans sourced their marble from
all around the Mediterranean and Asia Minor, they usually did not know in
detail the many and various marble types they encountered, and they regu-
larly misidentified red granite as porphyry. Attributions were by hearsay, for in
no case did any traveller name the particular building (in whatever location)
which provided the stones (on which see below). Today much is known about
the building of the Süleymaniye, because documents survive about materials
and workmen, allowing “a detailed reconstruction of the processes involved,
including the transportation of materials from distant provinces such as Egypt
and Syria.”29
29 Faroqhi 2006, 60, 71.

168 Chapter 4
As for Sinan, he states, “how many thousands of master architects, build-

ers, labourers [including 3,000 galley slaves], stonecutters and marble cutters
from all the Ottoman dominions had he gathered!”[632] Rochefort had already
noted the materials in 1676: “la plus superbe en marbre qui paroist à son por-
tail, soutenu de colonnes de porphyre si grosses, que deux hommes n’en peu-
vent embrasser une.”[633] And as Tournefort wrote in 1717, “ses arcs-boutans
lui servent d’ornement; les fenêtres sont plus grandes & mieux disposées, les
galleries qui régnent d’un arc-boutant à l’autre, plus régulières & plus super-
bes: tout l’édifice est bâti des plus belles pierres que l’on ait trouvées dans les
ruines de Chalcedoine.”[634] Sapienza in 1622 highlighted the mosque’s “re-
use of sumptuous spolia,”[635] as did Leslie in 1672, hailing it as “le monument
de ses triomphes.”[636] Taking a broader view, wrote Benjamin in 1867 of this
mosque and Hagia Sophia, “on each edifice were lavished the treasures of the
Orient,”.[637]
Granite was the identification of most travellers for the mosque’s four great
pillars. In 1802 Riedesel had searched more widely, noting the two bruised and
much-patched porphry columns flanking the entrance to the mosque cor-
rectly as “plus grosses que toutes celles que j’ai vus de cette pierre à Rome.”[638]
Andréossy, Napoleon’s ambassador to the Porte in 1812–14, noted “quatre
superbes colonnes de granit égyptien.”[639] Ali Bey, a few years earlier, called
the interior “a little Aya Sophia,” and remarked on the red granite in the court-
yard and also in the mosque itself.[640] Some of the marble was apparently
from the theatre seats at Heraclea.[641] One of the most detailed listings of the
spolia was by Caroline in 1821, who named granite, cipollino and porphyry, and
then counted them in Sultan Bajazet as well.[642]
Travellers were often at variance (and confused) in relating the source of
the marbles reused, as well as their materials. Çelebi, writing c.1684, contra-
dicted himself: the four “porphyry” columns came now from Luxor, now from
Ephesus.[643] In 1744 Thompson thought the materials came from Chalcedon,
near present-day Scutari, visible on the Asia shore.[644] And in 1797 Dallaway
made the columns yet more extraordinary, reckoning they were of porphyry.[645]
According to Freely, the four great monolithic columns were of Theban and
Syenitic granite; two came from the city itself, and the other two from Baalbek
and Alexandria.30 For Pertusier in 1815, the monoliths were of “granit orien-
tal,” “qui, dit-on, sont des dépouilles de la ville d’Ephèse.”[646] For Hobhouse in
1817, who echoed Thompson citing Chalcedon as a source, the four splendid
sixty-footers were of “Thebaic granite.”[647] Melling, writing in 1819,[648] and
Colton, in 1836, agreed.[649] Ferté-Meun affirmed in 1821 that the spolia for this
mosque came from just across the Bosphorus, namely Chalcedon, and wrote
30 Freely 2011, 253.

no more;[650] although in fact most came from much further afield. Burford
also wrote that the materials “were principally from the Christian church of
Saint Euphonia, at Calcedon, destroyed for the purpose,” but named no other
sources.[651] In 1833 De Kay gave Ephesus and Alexandria Troas as the marble
sources, perhaps because these sites were often visited by travellers, but agreed
the four monsters were of red granite.[652]
In 1820 Turner and the Temple named the marble types accurately. Turner
asserted that there were red granite columns in the Süleymaniye, but porphry
and verde antico columns at ground level in Hagia Sophia, forty and thirty-five-
footers respectively.[653] Temple in 1836 was clear that the sixty-footers were
indeed “four Egyptian columns of red granite,” which came as a present from
Egypt.[654] However, for Lacroix in 1839, they were indeed of granite, and came
from Ephesus.[655] His was not the only mis-identification, for in 1853 Willis
referred to “those splendid and gigantic columns of porphyry and jasper, the
spoils of the churches of Asia Minor,” demonstrating how little he knew about
earlier church architecture. But then this is the man who compared the pro-
file of the Turkish minaret to “exactly the shape and proportions of an ever-
pointed pencil case.”[656]
Pardoe in 1837 was fixated on spolia, reckoning the mosque’s stained glass
windows were such, and imported in triumph after a victory over the Persians.
As for the four massive (“porphyry”) columns, which “are the boast of the edi-
fice; they originally served as pedestals to as many antique statues.” In all, Hagia
Sophia possessed nothing so fine.[657] For Addison in 1838, again the spolia came
from across the Bosphorus, from S. Euphemia at Chalcedon. He said the great
porphyry columns came from Ephesus, but “I was disappointed with the dome,
which is low and far from striking, none of them are worth looking at after
St. Paul’s.”[658] Spencer provided another vote for Saint Euphemia the following
year.[659] In 1839 Marchebeus agreed the columns came from Ephesus, and the
rest was built “de l’or et des dépouilles enlevées à ses ennemis.”[660] Again, two
columns from Ephesus are said to have ended up in Pisa Cathedral[661] which,
if true, underlines the marble-hunting range of that maritime state.
Not all travellers were transfixed by the spolia. In 1830 a Mr Hartley told
Brewer his impressions.
The domes and minarets of the mosque of Sultan Süleyman, one of

the most magnificent structures in Turkey, were towering above my
head: I had passed through spacious halls and passages, all exhibiting
specimens of Turkish taste: I was encircled by numerous guards and
attendants, arrayed in the splendid diversity of costume observable in
eastern countries; and I was surrounded with all the pomp of oriental
manners.[662]

170 Chapter 4
Visitors continued to note the richness of this mosque, Müller noting red
granite, walls of coloured marbles, and the coloured glass windows.[663]
10.8 Yeni Cami, the New Mosque of the Valide Sultan (1597ff, Completed
Only in 1665)
This mosque appears here because it was relatively modern, was admired for
its flashy interior decoration, and was conveniently located for visiting. In 1672
Galland described the tiles, fine carpets, and “infinte number” of ostrich eggs
and glass lamps.”[664] A few years later Wheler, who also admired the tiles
(“semblable à nôtre fayence, de même que le Trianon de Versailles”), thought it
superior to the Sultan Achmet, completed a half-century earlier.
C’est un des plus beaux édifices qui se puissent voir, soit par le dehors,
soit par le dedans. L’Architecture, bien qu’un peu éloignée de nos regles,
ne le cède point à celle des plus belles Eglises d’Italie. Elle a même à notre
égard quelque chose de plus surprenant par sa nouveauté.[665]
If the interior was splendid, so too was the courtyard; Wheler knew the col-
umns were spolia, and particularly admired “les deux qui sont à l’entrée sont
d’un marbre jaspé parfaitement beau.” Again, he was unfazed by their differ-
ence from European convention: “Leurs chapiteaux ne se rapportent à aucun
de nos ordres, & ne laissent pas d’être assez bien proportionnez au fuste des
colonnes.”[666]
In 1701 Tournefort was evidently misdirected to this mosque, which he
identified as “another fine Edifice placed on the Port near the Seraglio.” There
he admired the interior, where “its Lamps, branch’d Candlesticks, ivory Balls,
chrystal Globes, are very ornamental.” He thought the architecture more deli-
cate than that of other mosques, “and has nothing Gothick, tho much in the
Turkish Taste.” He evidently knew nothing of Sinan, remarking that “tis surpriz-
ing that the Turks, who don’t often raise such Fabricks, should find Architects
skilful enough to build ‘em.”[667] Pococke, travelling 1737–41, copied elements
of Tournefort’s account, or of the latter’s source,[668] which named the wrong
Valide but correctly identified the mosque.
Access appears to have varied. In 1838 Pardoe wrote a longish description of
the interior, praising its design and elegance,[669] but not Lacroix the following
year, so he exacted the usual revenge, noting that
à part la splendeur des ornements d’architecture qu’on regrette de ne

pas voir, l’uniformité des temples musulmans, dans lesquels l’usage règle

invariablement le choix et l’arrangement des objets, nous console de la

prohibition qui nous en interdit l’entrée.[670]
Colbeck liked the mosque in 1887, without indicating whether he got inside.
A really beautiful structure when close to, with its many fountains for the
ablutions of the faithful, its wide marble steps, its ample dome, its triple
galleried minarets, and, beneath a quaint postern, and beyond a cool cor-
ridor, in a courtyard at the back …[671]
The Yeni Cami might be compared with a much more important one, namely
the Atik Valide complex, by Sinan, (1570–1583), built for another Valide Sultan,
Nurbanu, mother of Murat III (d.1583). It was his last imperial mosque, but
was not much visited by travellers because it was across the water in Scutari/
Üsküdar and up a steep hill. (Again, Sinan’s mosque is not to be confused with
the Yeni Valide Cami, also at Üsküdar, across the Bosphorus and, although
much smaller, rivalled only by the Süleymaniye.)
The contrast between these two Valide mosques provides a fleeting com-
mentary on travellers’ preferences. In Constantinople as at Cairo and Jerusalem,
they often stuck to agreed itineraries, managed by a dragoman or other guides.
Whereas today one might visit Constantinople to view the mosques built by
Sinan, in earlier centuries his name was less known and not much mentioned
by westerners until the later nineteenth century. By focussing on the bijou
mosque near the Seraglio, our travellers missed visiting this gem, and thereby
demonstrated their lack of knowledge of (or interest in) Sinan. After all, to visit
it one had to cross to Üsküdar, and climb up a steep hill, whereas the Valide
they visited was close by the Galata Bridge and the (very attractive) bazaar.
10.9 Scutari: Mosque of Sultan Sélim III
La superbe mosquée du sultan Sélim III … Située au milieu d’une cour

spacieuse, régulière et entourée d’un mur à hauteur d’appui, par con-
séquent qui permet à l’œil de jouir de tous les avantages de la position,
cette mosquée offre un carré couronné d’une coupole élégante, et dont
les pans se terminent par des portions circulaires servant de point d’appui
au dôme. [1815]
This mosque was built by Selim III in 1803–4 for the troops of the barracks he
also built in Üsküdar, the ancient Chrysopolis, across the water from mainland

172 Chapter 4
Constantinople. This was once much richer in monuments, which were dis-
mantled and reused for later palaces and mosques. In 1665 Monconys had
described the Chrysopolis seraglio with its rich marbles,[672] (“most entirely in
ruins” by 1788)[673] and in 1772 Pococke praised an unnamed mosque as “bâtie
de très-bon goût, & richement ornée.”[674] Perhaps this was the Atik Valide
Mosque, built by Sinan, and surely visited also by Bussières in 1829, although
he does not name it. He had no difficulty obtaining admission, and retaliated
against this “principale mosquée de Scutari, c’est une assez faible imitation de
Sainte-Sophie.”[675]
The Selim III Mosque (“small but graceful”[676]) could be admired (see
Pertusier in the opening quote) without climbing the hills, and he admired the
planned streets as well as the mosque, whence a vista was uncovered.[677] In
1802 Struve had found the streets narrow, but complained how the Turks had
destroyed ancient monuments to decorate their (mostly marble[678]) tombs:
“De ce grand nombre de beaux mausolées que l’on voit à Scutari, revêtus de
colonnes de marbre qui sont des ouvrages des Grecs …”[679] In 1833 De Kay did
climb the hill for the view, passing the Selim III, “a superb edifice in the centre
of a spacious court.”[680]
Rapelje entered the Selim III in 1822, boots off, after bribing the imam.
It was a very handsome building, with much white marble; and the pulpit
and reading desk, were all hung with immense numbers of lamps. Over
head there was a very large chandelier, of twenty or thirty feet diameter,
suspended from the dome. The lamps in it were all glass. The whole floor
was covered with Turkey carpets, and the interior was very clean.[681]
In 1837 Pardoe called this mosque “magnificent,” but it was the mosque of
the Sultana Valide that she visited.[682] Two years later Lacroix admired the
view from its position, without saying whether he went inside; and he praised
Selim’s restoration of the local printing works, which now produced newspa-
pers as well as books.[683]
10.10 Eyup Too Sacred for Christians

In this suburb of Constantinople stands the mosque of Abu Ayyub, said to be
a Companion of the Prophet, dead during the first Muslim siege of the city in
668 AD. At the beginning of the nineteenth century Ali Bey, who “travelled as a
complete Mahometan, and was every where received and treated as such,”[684]
remarked that Eyup, “being absolutely forbidden to the infidels, there does
not exist any description of it.” He therefore provided one, with details of the
courtyard, mosque and chapel with the tomb. He noted that “these three parts

of the edifice are incrusted from top to bottom with the richest marbles on the
walls, as well as on the pavements.” The richness was repeated in the mosque.
The walls are incrusted with the rarest marbles; the pavement is covered
with the richest carpets; there is a great number of bars forming concen-
tric circles suspended horizontally from the roof, at the height of seven or
eight feet, which support an infinity of small lamps, girandoles in crystal,
in silver, ostrich eggs, cocoa-nut shells, and other ornaments; the whole
garnished with gold and silver, and enamelled with the richest colours,
which form an admirable spectacle.[685]
Ferté-Meun glimpsed the mosque in 1816/19, but only the exterior.[686] Brewer
in 1830 referred his readers to Ali Bey for details,[687] and De Kay paraphrased
him three years later.[688] Displaying his ignorance, Hervé pleaded ignorance
in 1837.
The most extraordinary variety of buildings, and, in fact, such as I find

very difficult to describe, and have never met with any author amongst
the multitude who have written on Constantinople, who has ever noticed
this interesting suburb, except in the briefest manner.[689]
Bravely, in 1846 White, accompanied by the Belgian envoy and a cavass, tried
to peep inside,
but our unholy presence soon attracted attention. In a few seconds, a

troop of boys and elderly women, a most vicious set, surrounded and
assailed us with many disagreeable and calumnious reflections upon the
virtue of our mothers, sisters, and female relatives.[690]
In 1850 Vere could note only that this mosque “Eyoub is one of the largest in
Constantinople, and, probably, is the richest.” He called it correctly “the great
sanctuary of Stamboul – a sort of domestic Mecca,”[691] and Crowe warned in
1853 that
if you dare approach that mosque, you will be stoned. You must sneak
through the byelanes around, and steal a furtive peep. Curiosity more
indiscreet might cost you your life.[692]
Blowitz in 1884 claimed that Christians had indeed entered the mosque
(“Prenez un fez; mettez des babouches, et allons-y, si vous voulez. Seulement

174 Chapter 4
cela n’en vaut pas la peine”), but the funerary chapel was more interesting.[693]
Was this pure bravura? For as late as 1894 Müller claimed no Christian had ever
entered,[694] and in 1916 Pears was “turned out even of the mosque yard, for
every portion of it and of the building is holy ground.”[695]
11 Topkapi / Seraglio
Ledict sérail est merveilleusement beau et y ont esté portées de grosses

pierres de marbre de toutes couleurs, porphyre, colonnes et autres choses
singulières tant de la ville de Constantinople, Calcydoine, que des envi-
rons de toute la Grèce et de l’Asie pour le bastir.[696] [1547–1553]
As the above quote demonstrates, the Ottoman palace of Topkapi (often

called the Seraglio) founded by Mehmet the Conqueror,[697] was admired
by Chesneau (evidently a connoisseur of marbles), who visited in the suite
of the French ambassador, Aramon. Westerners could sometimes dismiss
Constantinople’s mosques as pale imitations of Hagia Sophia, but this could
not be the case with Topkapi, which was the centre of Ottoman power, and
necessarily had to be assessed in various ways by important visitors. Entered by
the Sublime Porte; it was the residence of the Sultan, and there was no surviv-
ing earlier equivalent to view any more: the Byzantine Great Palace was appar-
ently in a bad state at the Conquest, and many of its remains eventually went
into building the Sultan Achmet, which sat more or less on top of the same site,
facing the Hippodrome. Topkapi was, therefore, much visited by ambassadors,
but its first two courts were often open to other visitors as well, prompting
many descriptions. The Dolmabache, commissioned in 1843, with its European
imports, was also visited,[698] and was to be the replacement for Topkapi.
Topkapi was not one unitary palace, but a series of courts flanked by build-
ings, and extensive gardens dotted with kiosks. In the mid-eighteenth century
Thompson suggested Topkapi be looked on as “a Collection of Palaces and
Apartments added one to another, according to the Taste and Caprice of the
several Emperors.” Furnishing it with rich materials was not enough, and “the
Architecture is not answerable, for the Turks have no just Notion of Magnifi-
cence.” Admittedly, their mosques were noble, but only because of Hagia Sophia
as the model, “which indeed is of no Service in the Erection of Palaces.”[699]
In 1609 Beauvau visited Topkapi, and described it in detail over several
pages;[700] he then visited the adjacent Hagia Sophia, noted the marble, por-
phyry and mosaic, but declared that the Turks had ruined it, “n’en laissant rien

debout que le choeur, dont ils se servent pour temple.”[701] Stochove, travel-
ling in 1631, gave a long description of the palace and its functions, including
the reception of ambassadors.[702] Sandys’ 1673 description was brief,[703] but
Grelot’s in 1670–72 was longer, and included a keyed plate.[704] Benaglia entered
in 1684 in the suite of Count Alberto Caprara, representing the Holy Roman
Emperor, and was impressed by the “altri partimentì fabricati nel di fuori con
pietre preciose, e guernito il pauimento di tapeti persian d’oro, e di ricami tes-
suti con altri fornimenti di gemme.”[705] Chishull examined the architecture in
1698, and was particularly interested in the reuse of antique marbles,
rich and splendid, adorned with various gilding of flower work, and sup-
ported with beautiful serpentine pillars. In the sides of one of the kiosks
are three orbicular stones of fine portphyry, the middle-most of which is
curiously polished.[706]
Pouqueville, a diplomat with medical knowledge, and in Constantinople

until 1801, was well armed to gain access to Topkapi, even more so because
he befriended the complex’s head gardener.[707] He gained access to the Yeni
Kiosk in the third court, and described it in detail.[708] Tancoigne, also on
an embassy a few years later, managed only the first and second courts, and
referred his reader to Pouqueville,
who was lucky enough to penetrate into the interior of the Harem, in the
absence of the Sultanas and odaliques. You will find in his work details
both curious and interesting, oa those scenes till then unknown, and of
which the truth cannot be doubted.[709]
Perhaps once again with the traveller’s revenge for access problems, Tancoigne
did not think much of the Seraglio’s entrance, the Sublime Porte itself.
It might be supposed the gate of an hospital or a prison, rather than that

of the palace of a sovereign. The gate presents a heavy mass of stone,
whose whole ornament consists in two columns of verd antique; but the
Turks have changed their capitals and bases, to substitute others corre-
sponding with their own barbarous architecture.[710]
Also in the third court, Temple in 1836 was much attracted by the Baghdad
Pavilion and its fellows.

176 Chapter 4
The Baghdad palace, erected by Murad IV pleased me much: it is richly

decorated- with marbles of every variety, with soft Persian carpets,
divans of silk and velvet, porcelain tiles, gilding, inscriptions, arms, &c.
The number of ancient marble columns and pillars in the different pal-
aces, and kioshks is very great; and in a yard adjoining the winter-harem,
I observed a very fine altar of porphyry, at present used as the pedestal
of a sun-dial. Nothing can equal the richness and beauty of design of the
arabesque ornaments which adorn the ceilings of the rooms, the gates,
the porticos, and the under part of the far-projecting eaves of the differ-
ent buildings.[711]
Miss Pardoe entered Topkapi in 1837, with the advantage of being a female. She
had been thirsting for months for access to Hagia Sophia, “and it was not until
months afterwards that it was satisfied, when the arrival of Count Bathiany, an
Hungarian nobleman, brother to the Princess Metternich, gave an opportunity
to the curious of indulging their lion-hunting propensities.”[712] The men were
then separated from the women
while my companion and myself were consigned to the guidance of a

third attendant, who beat upon the door of the harem, and we entered
a large hall paved with marble, and were immediately surrounded by
half a dozen female slaves, who took our shoes, shawls, and bonnets, and
led us over the fine Indian matting of the centre saloon, to the richly-
furnished apartment of the lady of the house.[713]
We learn plenty from her about the women in the harem, but nothing on the
architecture.
For the American Ricketts in 1844, a firman was necessary for his group to
visit the Seraglio and some mosques, “and this could be obtained only through
one of the Ambassadors or Consuls.” An application from an Englishman in
the party went nowhere (just blame the British: “on account of some improper
use having been made of a firman obtained for some of his countrymen”), but
the offices of the American representative were successful.[714] He described
the various courts, but with little on the architecture.
From the first court, we entered the … about three hundred paces square;
much handsomer than the first; the pathways are paved, and the alleys
well kept; the rest of the area is very pretty turf, interspersed with foun-
tains … The third court … is formed by several small palaces in the form of
kiosks, with very low roofs, which project seven or eight feet beyond the

walls, being supported by small columns, or Moorish pillars, of painted

wood. The courts and gardens, which stretch in the intervals between the
kiosks, are planted with trees of great beauty and age.[715]
For Lynch in 1849, mosques and seraglio were appreciated, with reservations
about the city itself.
We reached our quarters wearied in body, but exceedingly gratified. How

beautiful is the seraglio! What magnificent structures are the mosques!
How light and graceful the minarets! yet how mean and filthy the streets!
what smells! What numbers of mangy dogs![716]
Bunel described the Throne Room in 1854 as follows:
Tout ce qui frappe mes yeux est tellement étrange que mes yeux même ne
peuvent en revenir. Tant de marbres, tant de peintures, tant d’or sont jetés
à profusion dans cette enceinte que le regard en est ébloui … Dire tout ce
qu’il y a de sculptures et de couleurs serait difficile, car l’imagination ne
saurait peindre ce qui dépasse l’imagination elle-même … au milieu des
nombreuses peintures dont quelques-unes sont de mauvais goût; elles
sont l’oeuvre de peintres italiens qui, par moments, ont laissé divaguer
leur pinceau.[717]
12 Greece: Athens
Some of the metopes and a beautiful portion of the frieze remain to show
what the Parthenon once was. A Turkish mosque, placed diagonally in
the interior, is an eyesore. [1835–6]
Stuart (above) follows the classical line on the acropolis, yet footnoting that
“some years hence it will be interesting as a relic of one of the dominations
to which Athens has been compelled to submit.”[718] Yet it was not to survive.
Indeed, Greece deserves a footnote, because what happened to the mosques
after the Greek takeover echoes the fate of mosques in Iberia. For, as Howe
wrote in 1854:
the Greeks have effaced from their soil, as far as possible, every vestige
that would recall to their thoughts the remembrance of the hated sway
of the Turk … The crescent, the minaret and the mosque, have forever

178 Chapter 4
departed: the blighting influence of their rule on the soil and character of
Greece, will long remain unredressed.[719]
In 1660 the Turks started to destroy the Theseion and replace it with a mosque
made from its materials; but the Greeks obtained a firman from Constantinople
to stop the vandalism.[720] Bucke, writing in 1842, relayed that in the early
1670s one of the columns of the Temple of Jupiter was used to build a new
mosque.[721] In 1674 Babin had counted eight or nine minarets in Athens,
explaining that the cries of the muezzin “servent aussi d’horloges vivans en
ces pays, où il n’y en a point d’autres, si ce n’est chez quelques particuliers.”[722]
Babin entered the mosque on the acropolis, set inside the Parthenon, but did
not describe it, except for noting that an image of the Virgin had its face a little
ruined by musket fire (from “quelque Turc”), then being covered in plaster.[723]
In 1675 Guilletière, in his book on Athens, wrote enthusiastically of the classi-
cal Parthenon as a masterpiece; and commented without any description only
that “Les Turcs l’ont réduit en Mosquée.”[724] When Francesco Morosini held
Athens for a short time in 1687, he confiscated all the city’s mosques and made
them into churches;31 but such conversions were soon reversed, and the struc-
tures became churches again only after Greek independence in 1829.
Sandwich, travelling 1738–9, remarked of the Parthenon mosque that it
was “built out of the ruins; but, like all the Mahometan architecture, is very
mean and despicable.”[725] The minaret was adjacent to the portico, and in 1821
Caroline’s group “ascended by the half destroyed stair-case of this minaret;
we seated ourselves on a broken part of the frieze of the temple, and looked
around us.”[726] Williams in 1820 saw the “wretched Turkish mosque,”[727] and
then climbed up “a narrow winding stair … to the pinnacle of the temple” with-
out mentioning that it was the remains of the minaret.[728]
Greece came into tight western focus with the Greek War of Independence
(1821ff), which concluded when Britain, France and Russia following the naval
battle of Navarino forced the Ottoman Empire to sign the Treaty of Adrianople
in 1829. The West’s emotional commitment to Greece, nurtured by admiration
for its architecture, was then displayed in a painting by Delacroix and others
of the cruel Turk. (A similar emotional commitment to that seat of democracy
would lead to the disastrous British invasion in WWII, on 7 March 1941.)
Waddington recorded in 1825 how the Greeks persecuted the storks on
the city’s chimneys and columns, with the result that “the sight of this bar-
barity is believed to have enraged the Turks even more than the destruction
of their houses, and the violation of their mosques.”[729] What was worse,
the Areopagus cemetery was “now scattered over with the fragments of its
31 Frazee 1983, 125.

monuments, and profaned by the insults of the conqueror.”[730] The violation

of the Parthenon itself was of no account: in 1819 Dodwell wrote of becoming
the owner of a head from the western pediment, “which is said to have been
knocked off by a Turk.”[731] He then defended the Turks against any nonchalant
use of spolia.
they have always been impelled by some purpose of utility or necessity,

and not incited by the mere ardor spoliandi, the instinctive desire of mis-
chief and devastation, which has falsely been laid to their charge, finish-
ing with a list of what they “barbarously levelled to the ground.”[732]
After the fighting, this “once proud city of marble was literally a mass of
ruins, the inglorious ruins of mud houses and wretched mosques.”[733] The
Independence of Greece was recognised in 1829, but this meant death or
downgrading for the mosques, and westerners did not forget to sully Islam
via its mosques when the opportunity arose. Thus, in 1843 Faber wrote of how
the “the squalid Turkish mosque” marred the magnificence of that divine
temple, the Parthenon.[734] Both the Parthenon mosque and its minaret were
destroyed;[735] the British government kindly sent plaster casts of the temple’s
sculptures and reliefs, which were housed in a small mosque;[736] and the
“Grande Mosquée” near the Portico of Hadrian[737] was “transformée en gym-
nase musical pour l’armée.”[738] Corinth provided Faber with another gratu-
itous comment, for “an old mosque is still standing in the centre, like the scar
of the chain of slavery which is not readily effaced from the flesh.”[739]
Murray’s 1872 guidebook noted that Turkish mosques, houses and cemeter-
ies had been destroyed by the Greeks, and by default made it clear that only
the antiquities counted.
In 1834, Athens was declared the capital of the Kingdom of Greece; all
the Turkish houses which formerly encumbered the Acropolis have been
removed, and measures have been taken to preserve the existing remains
of antiquity. The present town has sprung up since 1834.[740]
13 Tripolitza
The mosques of Tripolitza contain many beautiful columns: and inscrip-

tions profaned by the stupid use which is now made of the marble. As to
bas-reliefs, the Turks take great care to conceal them in their building.[741]
[1806]

180 Chapter 4
Tripolitza appears here because of the richness of its mosques, thanks to its
nearness to classical sites. In his Journal Sibthorpe, travelling 1794, recounted
visiting nearby Tegea, where excavations were in progress to uncover materi-
als for Tripolitza, but where a famous work had disappeared: “nothing, how-
ever, remained of that temple described by Pausanias as the most beautiful
in the Peloponnesus.”[742] Thanks surely to that site, Pouqueville (see opening
quote) counted four grand mosques here. Some of them had porches contain-
ing ancient marbles, one providing “a good specimen of the miserable mag-
nificence of Turkey.”[743] Gell and his colleagues were welcome inside the
mosques because “though Franks, we should not spit on the carpets.”[744] For
once, visitors knew the source of the marbles at Tripolitza, because materials
from the same site were to be seen in churches at Piali. As Leake related, they
had come a decade previously from nearby Tegea via Piali, and he was hopeful
of more treasures to be unearthed.
The deep alluvial soil of its site, on the other hand, is favourable to the
concealment of such treasures, and may still contain some of the works of
Grecian art, which remained there at the end of the second century.[745]
For his optimism, he was relying in part on what Pausanias had written,[746]
but this was rewarded by finding in a Tripolitza mosque an inscription with
“the name of Lucius Mummius, the celebrated conqueror of Corinth,” prob-
ably also from Tegea, just like the child’s sarcophagus he found in the town.[747]
This marble prosperity was not to last, because in 1821 Tripolitza was sacked,
the people massacred by the Greeks, and then “what the Greeks had spared,
Ibrahim, when he evacuated the town, literally demolished the fortifications,
that they might not be of service to the Greeks; the mosques, to prevent their
being defiled by the infidels.”[748] In 1830 Trant explored the ruins of the Pekul
Pasha Mosque, and found more relics of Tegea, probably from the Temple of
Minerva, including “part of a marble column, fourteen feet [4.267m] in cir-
cumference, hollowed out as a reservoir for water.”[749] However, churches
might still be plundered. Leake recorded that at Arta (ceded to Greece only in
1881) the Turk who built the mosque (no date is given) “adorned it with several
columns from the church of Parigorítissa, where the loss has been very clum-
sily repaired.”[750]

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128–129. [76] Salaberry_1799_145. [110] Conder_1830B_101.

182 Chapter 4
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184 Chapter 4
[348] S alaberry_1799_180. [385] R

aguse_1837_I_69. [424] F erté-Meun_1821_
[349] D
allaway_1797_51. [386] A ddison_1838_I_138. 133–134.
[350] Alcock_1831_136. [387] Perthes_1855_II_202. [425] Hobhouse_1817_II_346.
[351] B
ussières_1829_I_. [388] Elliott_1838_I_363. [426] Wittman_1804_53.
[352] Riedesel_1802_307. [389] L acroix_1839_40. [427] Martin_1821_112–115.
[353] B
aruffi_1847_203. [390] Warburton_1848_189. [428] Elliott_1838_364.
[354] G
riffiths_1805_69–70. [391] Reid_1840_238–239. [429] Spencer_1839_167–168.
[355] Wittman_1804_39. [392] D
e_Kay_1833_347. [430] Reid_1840_232.
[356] S andwich_1807_129. [393] Smith_1851_135–136. [431] Quin_1835_II_80–81.
[357] Pouqueville_1806_128. [394] C
henevard_1849_ [432] Lacroix_1839_41.
[358] A
ndreossy_1841_118–119. 107–108. [433] Pardoe_1838_61–62.
[359] P ertusier_1815_I_ [395] Damer_1841_I_115. [434] Reid_1840_235.
215–216. [396] De_Vere_1850_II_ [435] Formby_1843_43.
[360] Ali_Bey_1816_II_378. 183–184. [436] Lynch_1849_81.
[361] Ali_Bey_1816_II_ [397] Walpole_1851_II_270. [437] L ynch_1849_82.
399–400. [398] G autier_1912_207. [438] M islin_1876_I_100.
[362] Leslie_1672_115–116. [399] Oldmixon_1854_310. [439] Oldmixon_1854_311.
[363] Michaud_&_Poujoulat_ [400] Harborne_1810_289. [440] S enior_1859_63–65.
1833_II_155. [401] S lade_1833_II_117–118. [441] Arnold_1868_II_63.
[364] P
ost_1830_327. [402] Pigeory_1854_76–77. [442] Y oung_1854_48–49.
[365] S pencer_1839_168. [403] Spencer_1839_163–165. [443] Young_1854_160.
[366] T
ietz_1836_I_55. [404] White_1845_I_28–29. [444] Wratislaw_1862_67.
[367] Pardoe_1838_60. [405] Pardoe_1837_I_390–391. [445] Wratislaw_1862_69.
[368] Schroeder_1846_I_ [406] G alt_1812_258–259. [446] Phelps_1863_387.
134–135. [407] Marchebeus_1839_144. [447] Black_1865_491.
[369] A
rnold_1868_II_56–57. [408] Addison_1838_I_138. [448] N ewton_1865_I_42.
[370] C
larke_1818_166. [409] A ddison_1838_I_217. [449] Buckham_1890_
[371] C
larke_1818_167. [410] A ddison_1838_I_139. 376–378.
[372] Clarke_VIII_1818_ [411] Slade_1833_II_116. [450] Amicis_1878_174–184.
165–167. [412] Slade_1833_II_116B. [451] Townsend_1876_81.
[373] L aurent_1821_64. [413] P ardoe_1837_I_376–377. [452] Brassey_1890_58.
[374] Frankland_1829_I_ [414] Taylor_1855_345–346. [453] Townsend_1876_130.
217–218. [415] M orier_1818_60. [454] Townsend_1876_131.
[375] Hunter_1803_274–275. [416] Elwood_1830_II_183. [455] C ochran_1888_282–283.
[376] Lamartine_1845_213. [417] Knox_1879_161. [456] Cochran_1888_282.
[377] Lamartine_1845_227. [418] Müller_1897_105–106. [457] Moncaut_1859_48.
[378] Lamartine_1845_228. [419] Pococke_V_1772_327. [458] Moncaut_1859_56.
[379] Claridge_1837_146–147. [420] Pococke_V_1772_ [459] Egmont_&_Heyman_
[380] V
ernet_1843_I_195. 328–329. 1759_I_197–198.
[381] Hobhouse_1817_II_ [421] Egmont_&_Heyman_ [460] Pfeiffer_1851_53–54.
345–346. 1759_I_20B4. [461] Beaugrand_1889_153.
[382] P ardoe_1837_I_388. [422] S truve_1802_210–211. [462] Clarke_2.3_1816_507.
[383] D
e_Kay_1833_347. [423] S andwich_1807_130. [463] Wren_1750_297.
[384] De_Kay_1833_347B. [464] Wren_1750_306.

[465] ren_1750_307.
W [504] Deshayes_de_ [541] Addison_1838_I_137.
[466] Wren_1750_292. Courmenin_1624_104. [542] Allom_1839_19.
[467] H
unter_1803_252. [505] Stochove_1650_50–51. [543] H
ervé_1837_II_93.
[468] Clarke_VIII_1818_ [506] Pacifique_1631_22–23. [544] Pardoe_1837_I_380.
167–168. [507] Du_Loir_1654_52. [545] P ardoe_1837_I_396.
[469] Andréossy_1828_119–121. [508] Thévenot_1687_22. [546] Marchebeus_1839_145B.
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[471] Ç
elebi_I_1834_73. 436–437. [548] Damer_1841_I_99–100.
[472] Joanne_&_Isambert_ [510] Fermanel_1670_47–48. [549] L eveson-Gower_1842_
1861_435. [511] Spon_&_Wheler_1678_ I_295.
[473] Keene_1878_113. I_235. [550] Hamilton_1842_II_8.
[474] Caroline_1821_563. [512] W heler_1678_I_235–236. [551] M
orris_1842_I_53–55.
[475] Senior_1859_104. [513] Grelot_1680_269. [552] Formby_1843_44–45.
[476] D
e_Vere_1850_II_ [514] Grelot_1680_265. [553] Chenavard_1849_108.
180–181. [515] Tournefort_1717_II_194. [554] L ynch_1849_82.
[477] Curtis_1903_128–129. [516] Arvieux_1735_IV_ [555] Vere_1850_II_188–190.
[478] G
ingras_1847_II_440. 462–463. [556] Gautier_1912_214–215.
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olbeck_1887_158. [517] Le_Brun_1725_I_130. [557] Smith_1852_41.
[480] T
ownsend_1876_81. [518] Salmon_1739_172–173. [558] Savigny_de_Moncorps_
[481] Townsend_1876_134–135. [519] Dallaway_1797_60–61. 1873_207–208.
[482] Egmont_&_Heyman_ [520] L echevalier_1802_II_ [559] Bunel_1854_427–428.
1759_I_204. 299. [560] Perthes_1855_II_174.
[483] Salaberry_1799_181. [521] A li_Bey_1816_II_382. [561] Colton_1856_58–59.
[484] Colton_1836_51–52. [522] Tancoigne_1820_377. [562] Senior_1859_65.
[485] Spencer_1836_165. [523] Pertusier_1815_I_255. [563] Arnold_1868_II_71–72.
[486] Claridge_1837_146–147. [524] Castellan_1820_II_ [564] A rnold_1868_II_72–73.
[487] P
arnauvel_1855_40. 30–31. [565] Buckham_1890_378.
[488] Hunter_1803_276–277. [525] Lacroix_1839_47–48. [566] B rassey_1890_58–59.
[489] Burford_1841_14. [526] S pencer_1839_160–162. [567] Müller_1897_78.
[490] C
ochran_1888_282. [527] R iedesel_1802_309. [568] Poullet_1668_252.
[491] Tietz_1836_II_43–44. [528] Bussières_1829_I_54. [569] F resne-Canaye_1897_
[492] T
ietz_1836_I_48–49. [529] T hornton_1807_25. 105.
[493] Andreossy_1841_119–120. [530] S tuart_1854_57. [570] T
exier_1862_74.
[494] T
ietz_1836_I_44–54. [531] Sandwich_1807_128–129. [571] F resne-Canaye_1897_
[495] Tietz_1836_I_48–49. [532] Hobhouse_1817_II_348. 103.
[496] Gingras_1847_II_440B. [533] Ferté-Meun_1821_137. [572] B
eauvau_1608_47.
[497] G
yllius_1729_119. [534] Colton_1836_53. [573] M
undy_I_1914_211.
[498] Egmont_&_Heyman_ [535] Carne_1826_I_21. [574] Stochove_1650_51–52.
1759_I_206. [536] D e_Kay_1833_219. [575] Du_Loir_1654_59.
[499] Hobhouse_1817_II_349. [537] Tietz_1836_I_88. [576] T hevenot_1664_40.
[500] L acroix_1839_132. [538] Brayer_1836_I_69. [577] Galland_1881_I_78.
[501] Müller_1897_76–77. [539] C ornille_1836_100–101. [578] G
relot_1680_271–280.
[502] Sandys_1673_57. [540] Poujoulat_1841_I_ [579] Ç elebi_I_1834_74–75.
[503] Çelebi_I_1834_112. 151–152. [580] Çelebi_I_1834_80.

186 Chapter 4
[581] elebi_I_1834_75.
Ç [622] E lliott_1838_I_361–362. [661] Falkener_1862_96.
[582] Ç elebi 2011, 14–15. [623] De_Vere_1850_II_ [662] Brewer_1830_298.
[583] L e_Brun_1714_41. 192–193. [663] Müller_1897_79.
[584] Chishull_1747_40. [624] Berton_1854_96. [664] Galland_1881_I_79.
[585] P
ococke_1745_II_2_128. [625] F reese_1869_428–429. [665] W
heler_1678_I_
[586] S truve_1802_211–213. [626] S almon_1739_171. 236–237.
[587] Pouqueville_1806_149. [627] Auldjo_1835_77–78. [666] W
heler_1678_I_238.
[588] Lamartine_1845_212. [628] Walsh_1836_I_252. [667] T ournefort_1718_I_362.
[589] D e_Kay_1833_346. [629] A rvieux_1735_IV_461. [668] P ococke_V_1772_
[590] Stuart_1854_351. [630] P ococke_V_1772_ 332–333.
[591] Temple_1836_II_111 l. 331–332. [669] P
ardoe_1838_28.
[592] M
urray_1840_175. [631] S enior_1859_105. [670] L acroix_1839_35.
[593] D
amer_1841_I_98. [632] Çelebi 2011, 8. [671] C
olbeck_1887_175.
[594] Ricketts_1844_191. [633] R ochefort_1676_210–211. [672] M
onconys_1665_II_
[595] Méry_1855_324–325. [634] Tournefort_1717_II_195. 460–464.
[596] Méry_1855_192. [635] S apienza_1622_9. [673] L usignan_I_1788_60–61.
[597] Senior_1859_104. [636] Leslie_1672_115. [674] Pococke_V_1772_236.
[598] S chickler_1863_56. [637] Benjamin_1867_5–6. [675] B
ussières_1829_I_104.
[599] B enjamin_1867_7–8. [638] Riedesel_1802_310. [676] W hite_1845_I_242.
[600] Ottoman_Empire_ [639] Andreossy_1841_126. [677] Pertusier_1815_II_
1859_125. [640] A li_Bey_1816_II_ 355–356.
[601] Ottoman_Empire_ 381–382. [678] D
rouville_1825_II_168.
1859_247. [641] Pears_1916_211. [679] S truve_1802_204–205.
[602] C olbeck_1887_159. [642] Caroline_1821_563. [680] De_Kay_1833_382.
[603] Elliott_1838_262–263. [643] Çelebi_2011_8. [681] Rapelje_1834_259.
[604] R eid_1840_233. [644] Thompson_1744_I_57. [682] P
ardoe_1837_I_281.
[605] Savigny_de_Moncorps_ [645] D allaway_1797_61. [683] L acroix_1839_123.
1873_208. [646] Pertusier_1815_II_ [684] Ali_Bey_1816_xi.
[606] L aurent_1821_40–41. 102–103. [685] Ali_Bey_1816_II_
[607] Chandler_1817_I_155. [647] H obhouse_1817_II_353. 383–384.
[608] Grelot_1680_272. [648] Melling_1819_I_Plate. [686] F erté-Meun_1821_
[609] G riffiths_1805_75. [649] Colton_1836_53–54. 60–61.
[610] Tournefort_1718_I_361. [650] Ferté-Meun_1821_138. [687] B
rewer_1830_86.
[611] C
hishull_1747_47. [651] Burford_1841_8. [688] De_Kay_1833_222.
[612] Bussières_1829_I_95. [652] D e_Kay_1833_346. [689] H ervé_1837_II_128.
[613] Slade_1833_II_126. [653] T urner_1820_III_433. [690] W
hite_1845_II_186.
[614] Tietz_1836_I_89. [654] T emple_1836_II_110–111. [691] Vere_1850_II_196.
[615] Raguse_1837_I_70. [655] Lacroix_1839_50. [692] Crowe_1853_189.
[616] Monk_1851_I_17–18. [656] Willis_1853_297. [693] B lowitz_1884_130.
[617] Monk_1851_I_18–19. [657] Pardoe_1837_I_398–399. [694] Müller_1897_9.
[618] Smith_1852_40. [658] A ddison_1838_I_218–22. [695] P
ears_1916_175.
[619] Cornille_1836_38–39. [659] Spencer_1839_161. [696] C
hesneau_1887_26.
[620] Addison_1838_I_135–136. [660] Marchebeus_1839_ [697] N icolai_1580_52.
[621] Elliott_1838_I_363. 147–148. [698] B lowitz_1884_113.

[699] Thompson_1744_I_5. [714] R

icketts_1844_179. [732] D
odwell_1819_I_326.
[700] B
eauvau_1609_49–58. [715] Ricketts_1844_180–182. [733] Quin_1835_II_196.
[701] Beauvau_1609_41–42. [716] Lynch_1849_98. [734] F aber_1842_576.
[702] S tochove_1650_67–85. [717] B
unel_1854_369. [735] Breton_1862_86.
[703] S andys_1673_24B. [718] Stuart_1854_16. [736] B reton_1862_104.
[704] Grelot_1680_90–95. [719] Howe_1854_67. [737] Marchebeus_1839_103.
[705] B
enaglia_1684_78–82. [720] B
reton_1862_192. [738] Breton_1862_235.
[706] Chishull_1747_45–46. [721] Bucke_I_1842_118. [739] F aber_1842_500.
[707] Pouqueville_1806_ [722] Babin_1674_25. [740] M
urray_1872_142.
162–163. [723] Babin_1674_32. [741] P
ouqueville_1806_26.
[708] P ouqueville_1806_ [724] Guilletière_1675_193. [742] W
alpole_1820_84.
161–162. [725] S andwich_1807_64. [743] L eake_1830_I_85–86.
[709] Tancoigne_1820_ [726] Caroline_1821_440. [744] Gell_1823_134.
374–375. [727] W
illiams_1820_II_ [745] L eake_1830_I_91–92.
[710] Tancoigne_1820_ 303–304. [746] L eake_1830_I_98.
375–376. [728] Williams_1820_II_302. [747] Leake_1830_II_47–48.
[711] Temple_1836_II_222–223. [729] Waddington_1825_58. [748] T
rant_1830_172–173.
[712] Pardoe_1837_I_382–383. [730] Waddington_1825_89. [749] T rant_1830_174–175.
[713] P ardoe_1837_I_109–123. [731] Dodwell_1819_I_325. [750] Leake_1835_I_218.

Chapter 5
Asia Minor
1 On and Off the Beaten Track
At Konia, Kaiseri, Divrigi, Nigdeh, Karaman, Sivas, and even as far east
as Erzerum, there are innumerable mosques, caravanserais, and tombs,
which would repay the closest study, and might yield the most valuable
historical information.[1] [1901]
Relations between Christians and local Muslims throughout the immense

area of Asia Minor (sometimes understood to include Syria and the Fertile
Crescent) were often much more collegial off the beaten track than in capi-
tal cities, and for this reason a short account appears before dealing with the
main towns. Asia Minor was a popular destination for scholarly travellers with
a classical education, as Percy (above) noted. This vast territory was known
to harbour complete ancient cities and many standing monuments from the
Greek and Roman periods. In 1845 Vivien de Saint Martin wrote a survey of
such scholars, naming all the important nineteenth century visitors.[2] He fol-
lowed this with dated lists of travellers from the late seventeenth century to
1815, and then from 1815 to 1844.[3] Many of his subjects were adventurous, and
had indeed strayed off what was to become a well beaten track only by the end
of the nineteenth century, when the roads had improved and railways were in
existence. Aleppo, Smyrna and Bursa were centres of trade, and Ephesus was
easily reached from Smyrna, by road and then by rail. But the area was vast,
so that Earl Percy as late as 1901 (opening quote) could call for extended study
even of main centres.
The Islamic takeover had included land, revenues and buildings seized from
Christians, so that
mosques, medresses, tekkes, hospitals, and the like spread across Anatolia,
often in the very buildings and on the same lands formerly belonging to
the Greek church.1
1 Vryonis 1971, 402.

Asia Minor 189
Churches turned into mosques still attracted Christian worshippers.2 And

conversely, legends swarmed around the potency of Christian saints who pre-
vented the erection of mosques, hence leading some Muslims to worship in
churches,3 a practice which would continue. In 1432 Broquière met a Christian
in Turkey, near Eregli.
He told me also that the natives offer up public prayers in their mosques,
like as we do in our churches on Sundays, in behalf of Christian princes,
and for other objects which we ask from God. Now one of the things they
pray to God for is, to deliver them from the coming of such a man as
Godfrey de Bouillon [d.1100].[4]
Proselytising Christians also slept in mosques, Jessup reporting in 1910 that a

colleague had converted many Muslims by sleeping in mosques and then win-
ning them over.[5] Such access would not be so easy in many towns, to which
we shall soon turn.
Off the beaten track, sleeping in mosques was often easy. If Fabri’s account
(c.1480–3) is not just a tall story which might indicate a pilgrim knight sleep-
ing in a mosque for a dare,[6] we find similar openness in later years. In 1698
Chishull had no difficulty in sleeping in a mosque near Lampsacus,[7] nor
George Forster (1750–91), at Akorah on the Kabul river in the later eighteenth
century.[8] As for Elliott in the Holy Land in 1838, he found that the mosque
served as such and as a community centre, with meals prepared and sleeping
arrangements.[9] Further afield, at Girnus on the Euphrates, Percy was told he
could sleep in the mosque, but found it “cold, damp, and uninviting” and con-
tinued his journey.[10]
Sleeping in mosques was often possible elsewhere in the Empire, and fur-
ther afield as well. Figueroa in the village of Zargan (Persia) in 1667 went with
his ambassador “en vne Mosquée où nous fusmes asez bien logez,”[11] and the
ambassador did likewise in the village of Cencem, the mosque there being too
small to house the whole party.[12] And at the end of the following century, in
Rajastan, Forster slept well in Marcore (“in an adjacent mosque with a light
heart”[13]), and likewise at Akorah, although disturbed by the mullah, who
suspected him of skipping prayers.[14] Along the Euphrates in 1901, during a
storm Percy was offered the mosque to sleep in, but declined, “as it looked cold,
damp, and uninviting.”[15]
2 Vryonis 1971, 197–198, 211–212 and passim, conversion of churches into mosques (and some-
times vice versa); Doumanis 2013, 123.
3 Vryonis 1971, 486; Doumanis 2013, 104, 124.

190 Chapter 5
Friendly natives also helped with town and mosque tours. Arundell in
Segiclar in 1834 looked around the town with the villagers in train, finding
many classical inscriptions.[16] In Yarislee, accompanied by both aga and vil-
lagers, he repeated his good fortune in the mosque,[17] while at Eyerdir he
admired the mosques.
All these buildings – the gate, the fountain, and the mosques – are of
richly ornamented Saracenic architecture; the mosque on the left espe-
cially has a gate of extreme beauty, covered with ornaments, and an
inscription in Cufic running all around it.[18]
Access to mosques in some towns was also easy. In 1842 Hamilton visited
Amasia, in Cappadocia, and commented on the “Saracenic buildings, either
in ruins or used as mosques which, combined with its picturesque situation,
gives the town an air of great superiority over most others in Turkey.”[19] In 1870
Van-Lennep called his book Travels in little-known parts of Asia Minor. He was
more interested in classical remains, which he found in houses and mosques,
but also mummies in one mosque (“adorned with portions of fine pillars of
very ancient date”), shown after giving a tip.[20] On the edge of town he found
another early mosque, and the fine gateway of a madrassa, both of which he
believed were unknown further west.[21] In 1879 Davis described the Great
Mosque at Adana as “probably the most beautiful building in the province,”[22]
while two years later Scott-Stevenson was convinced it was a rebuilt church,
and described its handsome marble, wooden pulpit, and the inner walls,
which were
inlaid to a height of six feet with beautiful encaustic tiles of blue-green

colour, and most elaborate design. Some are much older than the rest,
but all are very rare and curious. Marble pillars support the centre of
the building, and the floor is of the same material; at least I understood
so, but it was hid from view by priceless carpets, some more than a cen-
tury old.[23]
2 Aleppo
In a word, this city is one of the most famous marts of the east: The cus-
toms that are paid by our English nation, the French, the Venetians, the
huge caravans, which come from Balsara, Persia, Mecha, are exceed-
ing great, and therefore may well obtain the third place of the Turkish
empire.[24] [1745]

Asia Minor 191
As Osborne’s above quote suggests, Aleppo was the most westernised city in
Asia Minor because it was a centre for trade between Europe and points fur-
ther east, and therefore housed consuls and European “factories,” in the sense
of collection points, or khans. (It has been suggested that Venice arranged her
markets in imitation of cities such as this.4) Already in the mid-sixteenth cen-
tury Chesneau had admired the city’s houses built of stone, whereas most in
Asia Minor (and indeed Constantinople) were of wood. What is more, as he
noted, several of the mosques were very beautiful.[25]
Nor was Chesneau alone in his praise. Teixeira, in Aleppo in 1604, wrote of
streets paved with marble, 300 mosques (“of which seven are very splendid”)
and many khans, most with fountains just like the mosques.[26] Rochefort,
writing in 1676, agreed, writing also of mausolea, such as the Madenay, and the
Khosrosié, of 1630, “tres-belle … à cause de son marbre de porphire, de jaspe
& de sa tour tres-haute.”[27] And in the late 1730s Pococke described Aleppo as
“one of the best built cities throughout all the Turkish dominions; the houses
being of hewn free stone and there are some mosques and kanes especially,
which are very magnificent.”[28]
Thévenot (1633, dying in Persia in 1667) had made the journey from Damascus
to Aleppo, with descriptions of the khans the caravan stopped at along the
way.[29] Nor, apparently, was there any difficulty in visiting them.[30] He was
particularly impressed by “the great Khan, where the Consuls of England and
France, and many Merchants lodge,”[31] and described the Great Mosque with
its “lovely black and white Marble,” although he probably did not get into the
prayer hall.[32] For Tavernier in the late seventeenth century, this was “now the
Capital City of Syria … next to Constantinople and Cayro, the most consider-
able City in all the Turkish Empire.”[33] Tavernier continued:
the Edifices, neither publick nor private, are very handsom, but only
within-side; the Walls are of Marble of several colours, and the Cieling of
Foliage Fret-work, with Inscriptions in Gold’n Letters. Without and within
the City there are six and twenty Mosquees, six or seven whereof are very
magnificent, with stately Duomo’s, three being cover’d with Lead.[34]
In 1738 Ray, reproducing Leonhart Rauwolff’s travels, noted some fine mosques
with “steeples,”[35] meaning minarets. Pococke in the late 1730s particularly
liked the mausolea to the south-east of the city.
The buildings generally consist of a portico built on three sides of a

court with pillars, in a very costly and magnificent manner, with a grand
4 Brotton 2002, 40.

192 Chapter 5
gateway in front; opposite to this is the mosque, which is generally cov-

ered; with a dome; and the mirab or niche, that directs them which way
to pray, is very often made of the finest marbles, something in the manner
of mosaic work.[36]
Parsons, travelling 1772–8, was struck by the square minarets, which enabled
him both to display his ignorance and to offer a dig at the Turks: “the great
mosque has a very large square tower, which denotes it to have been built by
the Greeks, when they were masters of this city, as the Turks never build them
in that form.”[37] “Seven or eight of them are reckoned magnificent,” wrote
Russell in 1794,[38] but then that “none but Moslems are permitted to enter the
mosques; and, at Aleppo, it is only of one that Christians and Jews are even suf-
fered to enter the court yard.”[39] Ali Bey was here in 1807, but ill, and remarked
only that “it contains several fine edifices, with a great abundance of marbles
of all kinds; that the great mosque is handsome though not magnificent.”[40]
The region suffered from frequent earthquakes (e.g. in 637, 713, 1086–7,
1138, 1156, 1170, 1181 etc. etc.), many of which were felt in Aleppo and destroyed
buildings, as well as killing inhabitants. Perhaps parts of the city were com-
pletely deserted, for in 1790 Ferrières-Sauveboeuf who, like many Europeans,
emphasised the Muslims’ cleanliness, recounted how a wild boar had recently
entered the Great Mosque. This made the Christians laugh, but scandalised the
Turks, who had it repaved, and sprinkled with rose-water.[41]
The devastating earthquake in 1822 “was the largest to occur at the junction
of the Dead Sea fault zone with the East Anatolian fault during the last five
centuries,”5 and was one cause of the city’s decline as a commercial hub, for
it reduced the population to one-third of its previous level of 300,000, leaving
many mosques derelict.[42] In 1837 Robinson still found several of the mosques
in ruins,[43] as did Guys in 1855,[44] who also noted how the authorities were
trying to get a grip, and restore them.
Il est donc permis d’espérer que, par ces sages mesures, les établissements
religieux cesseront de ressembler à des ruines, et qu’ils deviendront nou-
vellement dignes de leur destination.[45]
5 Ambraseys 2009, 632, 633 for details of its devastating impact on Aleppo. 634: “it is not pos-
sible to determine the total number of people killed in this earthquake. Contemporary esti-
mates vary between thirty-thousand and sixty-thousand, while more sober estimates put the
total at twenty-thousand and as many injured.”

Asia Minor 193
Apparently little happened, for in 1866 Lycklama a Nijeholt climbed up the

citadel, and viewed the still considerable damage to the town.
les ruines de ses anciens et beaux quartiers, ses parties conservées, ses
quelques quartiers nouveaux … Cette partie de la ville n’est qu’un mon-
ceau de décombres formés par les ruines d’anciennes églises et de plus-
ieurs bains, ainsi que par celles de l’ancien séraï, vaste édifice dont il ne
reste pas un seul pan de mur debout.[46]
Another scourge was plague, perhaps frequent in this hub of commercial inter-
course. Since 1770 plague had supposedly reduced the population from an esti-
mated two hundred and thirty-thousand to something like fifty-thousand. As
Eton wrote in 1801, “whole streets are uninhabited and bazars abandoned. Fifty
or sixty years ago were counted forty large villages in the neighbourhood, all
built of stone; their ruins remain, but not a single peasant dwells in them.”[47]
The villages are a reference to what are now called the Dead Cities, which
never recovered their population, and today house only a few farmers and
flocks among the spectacular ruins of houses, churches and some mosques.
Fortunately, as several travellers remarked, the well built mosques did not
collapse from earthquake damage, so survived for enthusiastic descriptions.
Hence in 1825, and dressed as a Turk (and as a Bedouin when he travelled to
the Hauran etc[48]), Buckingham paid a small tip and entered Aleppo’s Great
Mosque during prayers.
It has not the fine Corinthian columns of the great mosque at Damascus,
but its spacious court of mosaic pavement in marble, its long avenues
richly carpeted within, and the general effect of all combined, is as beau-
tifully impressive as any religious building could be made to be.
But he did not have time to describe it, being occupied in returning the
Mohammedan salutes.[49] His Greek Christian guide remained outside, “as
unwilling to defile himself by entering a mosque as the keepers of it would be
to suffer the mosque to be defiled by letting him enter it.”[50]
Praise for the quantity of Aleppo’s architecture continued in 1834 from
Aucher-Éloy (“mosquées bien bâties, très-beaux khans”[51]), and in the follow-
ing year Edward Hogg, a doctor in the campaigns of Ibrahim Pasha, visited the
citadel. Here he described at length what was “originally the viceregal habita-
tion,” namely the remnants of a part-surviving Islamic palace.

194 Chapter 5
Some portions of a richly-carved ceiling, with brackets and pendants

finely executed, still attested its former magnificence. Fragments of an
inlaid pavement were visible, and a dismembered fountain still poured
forth a limpid stream.[52]
In 1870 Burton explored the city, having been told that Christians were forbid-
den the mosques. But “I thought that it would be worth while to examine them,
as something interesting might be found.” He got into the once-cathedral, now
the Jamia Al Halawiyah, and then into the Great Mosque.
During the two visits I made to this mosque, I was followed by a gaping,
staring, but perfectly respectful crowd; and the Shaykhs were only anx-
ious to give me all the information they could, and gratefully received the
modest backshish I offered them on leaving.[53]
Scott-Stevenson “did the antiquities” in 1881, and declared that “some of them,
especially those of a few of the mosques and palaces near the old Castle are
fine specimens of Saracenic architecture.”[54]
3 Alexandria Troas
From its vicinity to Constantinople, the sultans were induced to search

for marble, and the largest and most sumptuous columns, which adorn
the superb mosques of Selim and Süleyman, were transported from
hence.[55] [1797]
The remains of this ancient town, and its own small harbour, front the
Dardanelles, with the Troad to the rear. It was a popular stop-off before sailing
up the straits to Constantinople, the more so since literary-minded Europeans
were so keen to find and visit Troy, said to lie nearby. At Alexandria Troas
itself, the locals were still ploughing up marbles in the 1670s,[56] and in the
same period Wheler noted that a quantity of columns had been removed for
mosque-building in Constantinople.[57] Such translation was easy because of
the harbour; it is surrounded today by several scattered columns too damaged
or broken to be embarked.
Dallaway (see the opening quote) wrote further of the Constantinople
Mosque of Sultan Selim II (completed 1556), and of the “twenty columns of
remarkable size and value, ten of verd antique, four of jasper, and six of Egyptian
granite,” all of which he thought came from this site.[58] Choiseul-Gouffier,
writing in the late 1770s, thought that perhaps not one mosque in Asia

Asia Minor 195
Minor lacked some marble from this site; and yet was amazed by how much
remained.[59] Like many travellers, he searched for classical inscriptions, and
details of one he discovered at the nearby village of Tchiblak were published
in a later volume of his work.[60] Madden had explored the area in 1829, and
decided Bournarbashi was the site of Troy.
I discovered, near the Mosque, a marble seat, with a plain surface; and
on closely examining it, I saw a long inscription in Greek, on the lower
surface: I was in the act of copying it, when I was prevented by the Imam
of the Mosque, who thought I had no business so near his sanctuary.[61]
Several villages around this ruined city were decorated with its marbles. Nearby
Kemali, for example, was visited by Chenevard in 1849, where he examined the
mosque and its reused marbles:
Dans la cour qui la précède, nous trouvâmes un chapiteau dorique et

deux fragments d’inscriptions latines, qui ne présentent plus aucun sens,
mais qui se rapportent à Claude.[62]
Texier (travelling 1834–5) asserted that Mahomet IV (1693) took a large number
of columns from this site to build the courtyard of his mother’s mosque, as well
as two splendid shafts for the entrance. He was equally fascinated by the two
ten-metre granite columns, perhaps for the same mosque, one broken and one
intact, which presumably defied attempts to load them.[63]
4 Ankara
Now the capital of Turkey, in earlier centuries the decrepit city of Ankara was
little visited by westerners, except for those on their way further east, for it
was neither a centre for government nor for trade, although it was classically
important. The only mosque to attract attention was the ruined and converted
Temple of Augustus and Rome, which housed the long inscription of his Res
Gestae in Latin and Greek. In 1712 Lucas pretended to be a doctor, made friends
with the servant of the now mosque, and
ainsi un jour en me promenant avec lui auprès de l’Inscription.je lui dis

que j’en avois lu les premiers mots; qu’elle contenoit quelques remarques
sur l’ancienne Médecine, que j’y pourrois trouver quelque bons remèdes
pour sa santé.

196 Chapter 5
As a result, he was allowed to copy what he could see of the inscription by

climbing on the structure’s roof.[64] Pococke, in Ankara in the late 1730s, (“On
compte près de cent mosquées à Angora dont douze ont des minarets”[65]),
described the structure at length, but included nothing on its mosque
fitments.[66] Kinneir visited in 1818, noting that the mosque concealed much
of the temple on one side;[67] and gained entrance by bribing the imam.[68]
As with most visitors, his interest was the classical, and he also examined and
drew reliefs and inscriptions on the gate of the Citadel.[69]
Poujoulat was here in 1840, characterising the town as the very picture of
misery, with the wooden houses all threatening collapse. Even the views were
non-picturesque, for
ses minarets sont lourds, peu élevés et ne se mêlent à aucun arbre; pas un
brin d’herbe, pas une touffe de verdure ne se montre dans les cimetières
musulmans et chrétiens qui avoisinent la cité.[70]
Texier, in 1844–5, was appalled by the number of antiquities (many in the

Citadel walls) so damaged they could not adequately be copied. He repeated
Tournefort’s description of a minaret the stairs of which were all formed of
column bases: “Cette construction, aussi barbare qu’incommode, existe
encore,” and all the good material had, as in Italy, gone into the lime kilns.[71]
Van-Lennep in 1870 followed the same classicising trend, with no interest in
the mosques except for their spolia.
We saw several mosques made of fragments taken from ancient build-

ings. There are many old stones, several altars, some sculpture, and
inscription, in the walls of the fortifications and the houses.[72]
Such close classical focus on the teeming antiquities of the city (many in the
walls of, and in the monuments of the citadel) meant that westerners ignored
several interesting mosques, which survive today.
5 Ayasoluk – Selçuk – Ephesus
5.1 Identifying the Sites
The Turks of the village … boasted to me of the past magnificence of

Ayislouk, which they said once contained 360 mosques.[73] [1820]

Asia Minor 197
Ephesus was an important classical site for western visitors. It was easily
visited from Smyrna, although before the railway, this involved a horseback
ride of at least fifteen hours, a firman and a guide.[74] Le Brun camped there in
1714, but with sentries, for it was dangerous. We are not concerned here with
the site of the ancient city, but with the village of Ayasoluk, about 1km distant.
In the fortress there was to be found the Justinianic (sixth century) Basilica of
Saint John, but not correctly identified as such (and its ground plan cleared)
until the twentieth century. Close outside the fortress were both the Temple of
Diana and the Isa Bey Mosque (1375).
Identifying buildings at Ayasoluk was difficult, and confusion was rife for
centuries. The famous church was the crux of the problem because travel-
lers were more interested in Christian and in classical monuments than in
mosques. The exact location of the Basilica of Saint John the Evangelist was
unknown to any of our travellers, anxious though they were to identify and
visit biblical sites – hence the concentration on the Isa Bey Mosque, thought
by many to be the famous church, standing just outside the fortress. Similarly,
the Temple of Diana was not correctly located until the 1860s, when its excava-
tor, John Turtle Wood, also thought the mosque might well contain some of its
marbles.
The state today of both Ephesus and Ayasoluk demonstrates how com-
prehensively they had been looted for their marbles.[75] The decay of the
village, wrote Wood in 1877, was due to “malaria from the marshes near the
River Cayster.”[76] Ephesus was by our period inhospitable for the same reason.
Nevertheless, like Alexandria Troas, both sites were close to water and there-
fore their marbles were easy to strip and transport. This fact is underlined by
how little remains on site of the enormous Temple of Diana. Cyzicus, another
enormous temple (see below), retains little visible today (except for the unre-
usable basement) for the same reason.
5.2 Isa Bey Mosque and Church of Saint John

As for the fortress itself, in 1818 Chandler, after describing the various classical
spolia at the entrance and in the walls, noted that “within the castle are a few
huts, an old mosque, and a great deal of rubbish. If you move a stone here, it is a
chance but you find a scorpion under it.”[77] Was there “an old mosque” located
in the remains of the church? In 1834 Arundell had done better in trying to sort
out any relationships between temple, church and mosque, reckoning that the
church stood near the mosque, for “I saw several very large Corinthian capitals,
one within the court of the mosque, and others on the hill just behind it, hav-
ing a cross in high relief upon them, evidently from the church of Justinian”.

198 Chapter 5
Not only that, but “a French traveller, De Loir, about one hundred and fifty years
ago, saw tombs in or near the mosque with crosses upon them.”[78] Indeed the
church of Saint John, now visitable and just within the lower fortifications, is
very near the mosque. Perhaps this is why Lynch in 1849 said the mosque was
a church conversion, and called the Bishop’s Palace.[79] Perhaps, as Falkener
suggested, it was simply enthusiastic Christians who appropriated the mosque
at Ayasoluk as the Church of Saint John, just as at Ephesus
a tazza forming part of one of the fountains of ancient Ephesus, has been
christened by these zealous antiquaries as the font used by St. John for
baptizing the heathen, and each considers it right to break off a small
piece, in order to fulfil “les petits devoirs d’un voyageur.”[80]
In blissful ignorance of what a sixth century Byzantine basilica would look

like, equally unversed in the vocabulary of Islamic architecture, and mis-
led by its use of classical spolia, most visitors took the Isa Bey Mosque to
be the church of Saint John. The same converted church idea survived into
the mid-nineteenth century, when Chenavard wrote that “transformée en
mosquée, elle offre aujourd’hui un mélange d’architecture du Bas-Empire et
d’architecture arabe.”[81] This was surely an indication that visitors got con-
fused by the mélange of classical columns and Islamic features in that mosque.
An exception was Monconys in 1665, who recognised the Isa Bey Mosque as
such, comparing the column shafts inside to what he saw at Constantinople,
in the Süleymaniye, Shezade and Bajazet mosques, and noting that Süleyman
brought thither marbles from Ephesus.[82] Down the centuries few travellers
attempted to date the mosque. Melchior de Vogüé demonstrated the narrow
focus of his knowledge by writing of “une belle mosquée du dix-huitième siè-
cle, sœurs des élégantes et nobles constructions de Nicée et de Brousse.”[83]
Joanne and Isambert did a little better in 1861, dating it at the end of the fif-
teenth century, a mere century too late.[84]
Monconys with his correct identification was in the minority, and the
mosque was to feature frequently in travel accounts as the converted church, in
spite of its relatively small size. Indeed, so great was the confusion that Texier,
travelling 1834–5, and reviewing previous accounts, had to assert that Saint
John was gone [until its recent resurrection] and that
l’inspection seule des plans de la mosquée prouve que c’est un monu-

ment musulman bâti e fond en comble sous le régne du sultan Sélim:
l’inscription du mirhab que nous avons rapportée plus haut le prouve
suffisamment.[85]

Asia Minor 199
And as he observed, had such authors read Ibn Battuta, they would have
appreciated differences in size, and that the large church, still visible in the
fourteenth century but no longer, was not the mosque:
une vaste église, construite en pierres énormes; la longueur de chacune

est de dix coudées et au-dessus … La mosquée de cette ville est une
des plus merveilleuses mosquées du monde: elle n’a pas sa pareille en
beauté.[86]
In 1698 Le Brun wrote about the architecture of the mosque, named it as Saint
John and provided a plate, regretting that
l’on verroit de bien plus beaux restes, si Sultan Soliman n’en avoit pas
tiré & fait porter à Constantinople tout ce qu’il crut qui pouvoit servir à
embellir la Mosquée qu’il y a fait bâtir.[87]
In 1699 Chishull identified it as a church conversion: “tho still entire, is how-

ever miserably transformed, and converted into the profane use of a Turkish
mosque.”[88] Thompson, travelling from 1733, identified the mosque as Saint
John, and described its columns and capitals.[89] In the late 1730s Pococke got
comprehensively mixed up, noting that the various churches
prouve que ancienne Ephese étoit habitée avant que les Sarasins con-
quissent le pays, bien que l’on prétende que la mosquée de S. Jean étoit
une Eglise. Sa façade est de marbre blanc poli, & le comble est couvert de
plomb.[90]
He went even further and, forgetting or ignoring the manifold disparities in

dimensions, suggested that the Temple of Diana could be linked with the
Ayasoluk mosque through its tall granite columns, and one capital and
Une des colonnes de Ia mosquée a un fort beau chapiteau composite.

Il reste encore quantité de colonnes du temple; elles sont de pierres de
taille, mais il y a apparence qu’elles étoient revêtues de marbre.[91]
By the seventeenth century, the mosque was already beginning to fall down,
“laquelle n’estant ny frequentée ny entretenuë, commence à se ruiner,” wrote
Fermanel in 1670.[92] A little later Tavernier provided a description of court-
yard and interior, concentrating on the beauty of the various marbles, includ-
ing what he though was a porphyry column.[93] At the end of the eighteenth

200 Chapter 5
century Dallaway was in no doubt that the mosque had never been a church:
“as Aiasoluk owed its foundation to Mantakkiah and the Carian princes at the
commencement of the fourteenth century, it is probable that they built the
mosque and citadel.”[94]
When Hobhouse visited Ayasoluk in 1817 the mosque, although whole in
the previous century, was unused, partly unroofed, and partook “now of the
general decay and wretchedness of Aiasaluk.” He assumed the marble came
from the ruins of Ephesus. In 1831 Hartley mentioned without further com-
ment that the mosque as supposed to be the Church of Saint John; its façade
“building is reckoned one of the finest specimens of Saracenic Architecture;
and in the interior are some stupendous columns, which, there is no reason
to doubt, once graced the celebrated Temple of Diana.”[95] There was, how-
ever, plenty of reason for doubt. In 1820 Turner had visited, misnamed the
Justinianic church to Saint Paul, and observed inside “two columns of black
marble.” They were granite, presumably dirty, and the third survival surely hid-
den under debris, as the structure was “fast falling to ruin.”[96] In 1830 Conder,
probably paraphrasing Maundrell, noted that the minaret was fallen and the
mosque “entirely deserted, being without doors, windows, roof, or floor; and
rank weeds are growing undisturbed in the once sacred inclosure,” abound-
ing in snakes, chameleons and lizards.[97] Some clearence had evidently been
done in the mosque by 1835, when Burgess noted “four fine columns of granite
supporting the roof.”[98]
In 1833 Michaud and Poujoulat, like Turner, noted only two columns, stating
that they were of porphyry; the third must still have been under rubble.[99] A
few years later the Duc de Raguse thought that, although much material had
been removed for the mosques of Constantinople, “Je remarquai des tronçons
de colonnes d’un granit rouge superbe. Elles n’ont sûrement pas été transpor-
tées en ce lieu depuis la destruction du temple; c’est donc à cette même place
qu’elles avaient été élevées.”[100] In other words, the city was marble rich with-
out taking the Temple of Diana into consideration. In 1842 Bucke was equally
measured: he suggested that the columns and marble decoration were indeed
from Ephesus, but did not mention the Temple.[101]
In 1842 Hamilton was in no doubt that the mosque had always been a
mosque, “enriched with the appropriate ornaments of the wild and fanciful
architecture of the East.” As for the interior, it was “supported by four gigantic
granite pillars supposed to have been derived from the Temple of Diana.”[102]
Visiting was easy because, as Durbin reported in 1845, this “large and once
beautiful mosque” was now in ruins, “and its beautiful minaret, gayly painted in
waving lines of white and red, was crowned by storks’ nests.”[103] Eyriès, in 1859,

Asia Minor 201
recognised the same columns as African granite, similar to those he saw lying
about Ephesus.[104] Falkener was more specific in 1862, praising the mosque’s
beauty, including the “pulpit,” which “has been exceedingly beautiful. It is cov-
ered with the richest geometric arabesques, the sinkings [intaglio carvings]
being probably filled in with mosaic. The whole is now lying in ruins on the
pavement.” The great columns, he wrote, came from the Great Gymnasium at
Ephesus,[105] for shafts of the same Egyptian syenite lay on the ground there.
For many later visitors the mosque was still believed to be the remains of an
important church. Wood reported in 1877 that fifty Roman Catholics attended
a mass inside it, where the Archbishop had sent up an altar, “done with the
belief that this building was originally a Christian church, which it certainly
never was, having been built originally by the Turks as a mosque.”[106] Wood
agreed that their fellows had furnished the mosque.[107] However, pursuing his
idée fixe, Wood was so impressed by the large blocks on the front wall of the
mosque that
I endeavoured to ascertain [without success] a fact I had long suspected,

viz., that the large marble blocks composing the front wall of the Great
Mosque at Ayasalouk were from the cella-walls of the Temple, and that a
great number of them were inscribed.[108]
Tischendorf in 1868 also plumped for the Temple of Diana as the source for the
great columns, perhaps already influenced by Wood, who was then searching
for its remains.[109]
Toward the end of the nineteenth century, when yet more travellers availed
themselves of the railway to visit from Smyrna, but before modern excavations,
amazement was rife about how little was left of ancient Ephesus. Azhderian
was struck that so little remained of the gigantic Temple of Diana, although
“perhaps some of the beautiful pillars to-day adorning St. Sophia, the admira-
tion of the world, are fugitives from the temple that Alexander in ecstacy gazed
upon.”[110] But such comprehensive abstraction of classical remains as spolia
continued to distress. In 1888 Cochran’s outrage said it all.
In a word, Ayasouluk and its buildings are a jumble of barbarisms and

splendid remains, the sight of which makes one’s blood boil with indig-
nation to know that such treasures of art should have been filched from
their original position to furnish this and other wretched patchworks
with mere building materials, regardless of the inscriptions or carvings
they bore.[111]

202 Chapter 5
6 Bursa
Si Rome est célèbre pour ses basiliques & ses catacombes, Brousse est
renommée pour ses mosquées et les mausolées encore existans des pre-
miers empereurs de la maison Ottomane.[112] [1779]
Sestini (above) was one of many who enjoyed the monuments of Bursa,
whose citizens had to contend with some serious earthquakes (for example
in 1143, 1400, 1419, 1509, 1556, 1766, 1794, 1804, 1835 and, especially destructive,
in 1850, 1855, and 1857),6 and who surely constructed their buildings to be as
shock-resistant as possible. For example, Sestini praised Ulu Camii because “Il
mérite d’être vu des étrangers pour son architecture & sa solidité,”[113] then the
Mosques of Emir-Khan, Bajazet,[114] and the Muradiye.[115] He also admired the
Mosque of Orcan, once a Greek church, “dont le pavé est orné d’un superbe
dessin en mosaïque.”[116]
Fermanel had visited the city in 1670, praising Ulu Camii as “une des plus
belles Mosquées de tout le Levant: elle est bastie en dôme, ayant des piliers
de porphyre qui la soutiennent,” and with a fountain in the middle.[117] In
1677 Vansleb listed the attractions of the city: “pour y voir les Bains chauds,
les Tombeaux, & les magnifiques Mosquées de ces Empereurs.”[118] In 1657
Thévenot was told the town had “above two hundred lovely Mosques.”[119]
(They were also famous among Muslims: see Çelebi.[120]) Careri, travelling
1694, wished to see the Seraglio because of Tavernier’s glowing description; but
“I found it an ordinary Palace very ill Built, and all going to Ruin; for they told
me the Sultans had not come to it for 35 years past.”[121]
Visiting in 1730, La Mottraye admired the “30 Mosques, which may pass for
handsome Buildings, most part of them being adorn’d with the Spoils of the
Edifices of the Ancients.” Ulu Camii he picked out as “the largest and most
magnificent. Its antique Columns are of the finest and best polish’d Marble,
and it has above 20 Cupolas cover’d with Lead.”[122] In the late 1730s Pococke
relayed that the city contained three-hundred mosques, “la plupart embellies
de dômes & couverte de plomb … le plus beau coup-d’œil qu’il soit possible
d’imaginer,”[123] but did not go into detail. Egmont and Heyman were told the
same number, and “here are also the sepulchres of the first Turkish Emperors,
and their Sultana’s, at which devotions are daily performed.”[124] In 1784
Habesci assured readers that Orchan “built a superb Mosque, at an immense
expence, which is still an object of admiration to travellers.”[125] At the end of
the century Dallaway focussed on Sultan Orchan’s Mausoleum.
6 Ambraseys 2009, passim.

Asia Minor 203
It exhibits a good specimen of the architecture of the lower Greek empire.

The pillars are of verd antique and porphery; and some of the pannels of
the side walls are but slightly mutilated; the floor of mosaic, or small tes-
sellated pieces, is alternately of squares and circles of jaune antique and
porphery.
Mosque numbers were still variable. Dallaway was told there were but sev-
enty mosques, and “the greater part are neglected, or absolutely in ruins.”[126]
In 1818 Kinneir was told there were 365 mosques, “of which number the most
magnificent are those of Sultan Ahmed, Sultan Osman and the Oolah, or great
mosque, in the centre of the city.”[127] Two years later Turner was pleasantly
surprised by how easily the mosques were accessible, including Ulu Camii
(“whereas in Constantinople they are excluded with as much caution as a pig
would be”), and concluded that this was “another proof how fast the fanaticism
of the Turks is yielding to their increased commerce with Europeans.”[128]
Fuller strolled around the town in 1830, viewing traces of its ancient splen-
dour; “but many of the mosques are dilapidated and deserted.”[129] In 1836
Walsh agreed, visiting the Mausoleum of Orchan (“this first barbarian who
passed the Hellespont”), being shown crosses which indicated the structure
had once been a church, but with noticeable signs of decay.
The walls were lined with different-coloured marble, placed in singular

angles; much of it, however, had fallen away, and its place was supplied
with painted mortar.[130]
Poujoulat in 1841 also admired the marble.
La voûte est soutenue par plusieurs piliers de vert antique et par quelques
colonnes de porphyre. On voit encore, sur les murs inférieurs, des croix
formées de mosaïques. Le pavé est eu beau marbre blanc et gris.
And he mentioned the monuments to Amurat and Bayazid, the latter “à côté
d’une grande mosquée en marbre blanc, dont il fut le fondateur.”[131]
Texier, travelling in the mid 1830s, pointed to the Green Mosque and the
Mosque of Bayazid as the gems in the city,[132] but he also praised their location.
Entourées l’une et l’autre par des bosquets de cyprès et de platanes, elles

restent encore aujourd’hui comme le lieu de pèlerinage et de promenade
le plus fréquenté par les habitants.[133]

204 Chapter 5
He described the unfinished Mosque of Sultan Bayazid,[134] and then went

to town on a long and detailed description of the Green Mosque, assuredly one
of the greatest creations of Islamic architecture. His description of the interior
concentrated on the glazed tiles, and of the exterior on the porch.
La marbres les plus variés, refouîllés avec une délicatesse sans égale,
ornent la murailles extérieures. La porte est entourèe par une longue ins-
cription mélée d’entresses et de feuillages qui contient le premier sura
du Koran. Trois années entières ont été employées à la sculpture de cette
porte; chaque lettre est en haut relief et la plupart des caractères et des
rinceaux sont entièrement détachées du fond.[135]
Nor did he forget the erstwhile luxuries of Ulu Camii, which had disappeared
in favour of plaster.
Les mollahs parlent avec admiration de la décoration première de l’in-

térieur de ce temple; tous les piliers étaient disent-ils, dorés jusqu’à l’im-
poste, et sur cette dorure serpentaient des arabesques entrelaçant les
sura (chapitres) les plus renommés du Koran.
He also described Ulu Camii’s two minarets, and the no longer functioning
syphon one contained:
On voit encore sur la balustrade du minaret de droite le syphon qui, par-

tant du penchant de l’Olympe, amenait les eaux jusqu’à cette plate-forme
pour l’épancher ensuite en gerbes dans l’intérieur du temple.[136]
In 1850 Mac Farlane remarked on the “once splendid medressehs,” now deserted
or nearly so.[137] Ida Pfeiffer was in Bursa in 1851, was impressed by Ulu Camii,
disappointed by some of the monuments, and captivated only by the view.
In the mosque of Murad I. visitors are still shewn weapons and garments
which once belonged to that sultan. I saw none of the magnificent regal
buildings mentioned by some writers. The imperial kiosk is so simple in its
appearance, that if we had not climbed the hill on which it stands for the
sake of the view, it would not have been worth the trouble of the walk.[138]
In 1855 Ubicini spent thirteen pages describing the various mosques.[139]

Vivanti visited in 1865 and was enchanted by the “lovely situation” of the

Asia Minor 205
Mosque of Sultan Mahomet (“one of the most lovely spots I saw”) although he
does not describe any architecture, noting simply that the houses in the town
were of wood, “the streets narrow, but they are cleaner than those of any other
Turkish town I saw.”[140]
7 Cyzicus
Hadrian’s great temple at Cyzicus (today just a mass of bramble covered sub-
structures) deserves a brief mention here because it was a source for mosque
materials and, given the few pathetic remnants now to be seen on the site, proof
positive of later centuries’ thirst for marble. The temple was enormous, sug-
gesting that a large number of mosques and other buildings were constructed
from its remains (and indicating, we must presume, that sawing marble into
planks presented no problems). Much of the dismantling perhaps happened in
the eighteenth century, for whereas in 1680 Grelot saw “des monceaux prodi-
gieux de superbes bâtimens renversez les uns sur les autres,”[141] Sestini in 1789
could only report on the ruins of a temple “qu’on appelle besestein.” He could
then describe only the substructures,[142] which we can see today, precisely
because the glories of the superstructure had already been carted down to the
nearby water, surely for Constantinople. According to Olivier in 1801 Marmara
marble was also called Cyzicus marble, perhaps suggesting that the temple’s
ruins were still being exploited.[143]
For Durbin in 1845 the spoliation of Cyzicus had started very early indeed,
for he listed the marbles in Hagia Sophia coming from Athens, Ephesus, Delos
and Egypt as well as Cyzicus,[144] perhaps copying Çelebi’s account.[145] Texier,
travelling in the mid-1830s, thought Cyzicus had also supplied columns for
the Süleymaniye at Constantinople,[146] but he also knew that spolia char-
ity also operated nearer to home, at the village of Edinjik, where “On y voit
encore six mosquées et des bains publics. Dans presque tous ces édifices on a
employé comme matériaux bruts des fragments d’architecture tirés des ruines
de Cyzique.”[147] In 1850 MacFarlane elaborated on what he thought had once
been a much larger settlement.
What is now the principal mosque is a large, square, but paltry building of
wood, with a very shabby colonnade in front, where wooden pillars rest
upon ancient marble capitals turned upside down in the usual fashion of
the Turks. Some joints of ancient columns served as stepping-stones to
cross the filth in the middle of the main street.[148]

206 Chapter 5
8 The Dardanelles and Its Cannon
The Dardanelles, the straits south of the Sea of Marmara, was abundantly
equipped with forts protecting access to the capital. Visitors often stopped off
at Alexandria Troas and explored the site of “Troy” before sailing north. All
foreign ships had to pause before Canakkale, and salute the Empire with their
guns, these salutes forming for many their first introduction to the Empire’s
marble. This is because the Canakkale guns, and those on the opposite side
of the straits at Kilitbahir (another fortress), were huge, firing projectiles of
marble or granite, all cut from spolia, and each weighing up to 750kg. They
were fired as multi-gun salutes to foreign ships, who returned the compliment.
The marble probably came from Roman Troy as well as from Alexandria Troas.
On the plain of Troy, as Colton wrote in 1836, “I stopped complacently beside
a cannon ball, of astounding dimensions, shaped from a portion of the marble
column that lay near, and now only waiting the gaping gun to go on its errand
of ruin.”[149]
This brief note appears here for two reasons: firstly, the guns introduced
travellers to another inventive way of using classical monuments; and sec-
ondly, they provided a warning of the destructive strength of the Empire. For,
even assuming the foreign ships somehow escaped up the straits, there were
plenty of other fortresses – and of course Canakkale would be waiting when
an offending ship later tried to sail out into the Aegean. Huge guns were also to
be seen in Constantinople itself, again with stone balls. Madden recalled that
the English attempt at invasion of 1807 through the straits faced no fewer than
917 guns. In short, the guns were one part of Ottoman culture that could not
be avoided.
Writing in 1680, Grelot did not record whether the salutes from either side
were shotted,[150] but this was blissful ignorance, for Galland in the ambas-
sadorial part in 1672 recorded six shotted salutes on either side;[151] indeed, it
may well have been the French who started the practice. Many travellers men-
tioned the experience, from Chishull in 1747[152] to Pouqueville (whose vessel
was attacked[153]), Ferté-Meun,[154] Rapelje[155] and beyond.
As for Constantinople itself, “near the point of the Saraglio some enormous
guns, for projecting stone balls, are placed on a level with the water; and, if well
served, might do great damage to shipping.”[156] Amicis admired the Imperial
cortège in 1878, remarking on the “cannons that vomit blocks of marble and
lead.”[157] Such marble and granite balls took skill and time to produce, and
were also carried by Ottoman armies in enormous quantities. (When Suleiman

Asia Minor 207
attacked Valpovo, he fired 3,137 balls, material not stated, leading to a 1547
treaty co-signed by Charles V, and including tribute to Suleiman.7)
9 Erzerum
At Konia, Kaisariyeh, Divrigi, Nigdeh, Karaman, Sivas, and even as far east
as Erzerum, there are innumerable mosques, caravanserais, and tombs,
which would repay the closest study, and might yield the most valuable
historical information.[158] [1901]
Erzerum is over 1200km to the east of Constantinople, in a region the monu-

ments of which often looked further east for their style, with many charac-
teristics such adventurous travellers had not seen before, and which they
were eager to report upon. Morier, travelling 1807–9, saw the mosques as early
in date.
Many of the older fabrics appear, by the true Moresque arch, to be cer-
tainly of Saracenic origin; and many of the remains of mosques resemble
those buildings in Persia, with curious bricks, and lacquered tiles, which
were raised in the first ages of Mahomedanism.
He was also impressed by several minarets.
Near the eastern gate of the castle are two of brick and tile, and a gate
(with a Saracenic arch and a Cufic inscription), and many strong stone
buildings around, the remains of the fine portico of a mosque.[159]
Aucher-Éloy, here in 1834, and saw only the “beautiful remains” of mosques,[160]
which may be why more was not written on other outstanding monuments.
Stuart examined them in 1835–36, and was especially attracted by the thir-
teenth century Çifte Minareli Medrese. He talked to the locals, and reported
that its architecture looked further east.
All the arches are ornamented with beautiful Arabesque carving and
inscriptions … The Mahommedans attribute it to a Persian king, and the
7 Clot 2005, 157–8.

208 Chapter 5
glazed tiles of the minarets are very Persian; the Armenians maintain
that it was a Christian Church. Some old shields, head-pieces, bows and
arrows, are still lying about the gallery, but the Russians [who briefly cap-
tured the city in 1829] carried away the best of these antiquities.[161]
Fraser in 1838 remarked on several buildings, including the Great Mosque

(“beautifully decorated, somewhat in the Saracenic style”) but turned into
an arsenal by the Russians, the gateway of which they had carried off.[162] In
1842 Hamilton also assessed the Çifte Minareli Medrese, a remarkable building
flanked by two ruined minarets, which were
of a totally different style from the building itself, and are formed of small
coloured bricks and glazed tiles, and deeply fluted, so as to bear a strong
resemblance, I am told, to those which are often seen in Persia.
He found the architecture of the main building “a modification of Byzantine

and Saracenic,” and noted that it was still in use as an armoury, from which the
Russians had looted a large collection of ancient armour.[163]
Texier in 1843 concentrated on the Great Mosque, noting that the Russians
(who occupied the city for only one year, in 1829) had carried off an alabaster
doorway (already noted) to Erivan. He then went into detail of the geometry
of the arcaded façade.
Le tympan, en forme de niche, qui surmonte la porte, est orné d’un ajus-
tement de polygones … C’est donc à la géométrie seule que les Arabes ont
demandé les premières idées de leurs ornements. Dédaignant d’imiter les
exemples que leur avaient légués les artistes anciens et qu’ils trouvaient à
chaque pas sur ce sol de l’Asie si fécond en ruines, ils ont fait plus que nous
n’avons fait nous-mêmes, qui les traitons dedaigneusement de barbares.
Ils ont inventé des formes, non pas de ces produits d’une imagination
désordonnée et sans guide, mais des formes dans lesquelles la plus inex-
tricable complication se joue de l’oeil et de l’intelligence de l’observateur,
qui s’étonne, apres avoir recherché les principes de ces ornements, de les
trouver soumis aux régles invariables de la géométrie élémentaire.[164]
But the complex was not in good condition, as Eyriès recorded in 1859.
La façade se compose d’une grande arcade qui encadre la porte formée

d’un arceau surbaissé. Cette portion de l’édifice est décorée d’ornements
et de fleurs fantastiques exécutées avec une rare habileté de ciseau.
Aujourd’hui, le vieil imaret tombe en ruines et est dédaigné de la foule.[165]

Asia Minor 209
By the end of the century, visiting and recording the ruins was easy, as Percy
(see the opening quote) recorded: “owing to the perceptible decrease of igno-
rant fanaticism among the population, and their growing familiarity with the
strange tastes and oddities of Europeans.”[166]
10 Karaman, Mut and Nigde
In south-central Turkey, far to the west of Erzerum, the emirate of Karaman

succeeded the Seljukids, controlling Konya, and flourished until overpowered
by the Ottomans, signalling the start of a long decline. The eponymous town
was endowed with splendid buildings, many built in marble from the local
quarries. So rich in marble was it that Çelebi believed it was scoured for mate-
rials for building the Imperial Mosques of Constantinople.[167] Leake encapsu-
lated its condition in 1820.
The houses, in number about 1000, are separated from one another by
gardens, and occupy a large space of ground. There are now only three or
four mosques, but the ruins of several others; and the remains of a castle
show that the place was formerly of much greater importance.[168]
The town survives, but many of the monuments have gone. In 1842 Hamilton
spent most of one day walking around it, including the castle and bazaars. He
noted classical inscriptions in the castle walls, the result, he thought, of some
refurbishment. And spolia were in evidence in one mosque.
In the town were several ruined mosques of graceful Saracenic style,

one of which was particularly striking. The entrance is of marble, hand-
somely ornamented with arabesques; the interior supported by several
columns, four on each side, some of which appear to have been derived
from ancient buildings.[169]
The French architect Anger was here in 1849, and reckoned its mosques to be
of remarkable type, and which “il serait intéressant de comparer avec d’autres
mosquées anciennes, telles que celles de Yalavatch, Afioum, Karahissar,
Brousse et Nicée.”[170] Saint-Martin in 1852 found the town “dans le plus triste
état de délabrement,” with castle and mosques in ruins, and nothing classical
to be seen: “On ne voit à Karaman aucun monument ancien; on n’y découvre
rien qui annonce que ce soit là le site d’une grande cité.”[171]
Saint-Martin was evidently overgloomy, for Davis visited in 1879, and was
struck both by the number and beauty of the mosques (“and I entered all that

210 Chapter 5
are now forsaken”), and friendliness of the people.[172] He reckoned he could

also have entered those still in use; and, indeed, was to spend the night in the
mosque porch of a nearby village: “it was the best, the cleanest, the most com-
fortable lodging I had occupied for many a day.”[173] In the town itself, he was
especially impressed by the mosque and tomb of Karaman Oglou, admiring
the porcelain tiles in the interior, but especially the great door,
of exquisite design and workmanship, and of this I took a careful paper

impression. It is a double door made of walnut wood … I was much
pleased with this beautiful mosque, and with the courtesy of the dervish
who was in charge of it.[174]
Mrs Scott-Stevenson was similarly impressed in 1881, and described the doorway.
The gem of the mosque is the doorway. It is made of walnut-wood, and

is double. Each door is divided into separate pieces, and each piece filled
with a different design. The patterns are so extraordinarily minute, and
of so delicate a design, that the most patiently-carved Indian ivory can
alone be compared with it.
She and her husband also visited the Khatouniat-Jami, then in use as a school,
where she found another gem of a doorway.
Several fine antique columns support the side arches. One of the door-
ways is a perfect gem of art. It is constructed partly of marble and partly
of limestone, with the most delicate carving and arabesques engraved all
over it.[175]
Most reasonably, she compared what she saw here with styles at Nigde.[176]
Davis had also delighted in the same doorway and its neighbour.
There are two fine doorways in the interior, and the outer gateway is a
perfect gem of art, so beautiful are its arabesques and intricate carvings!
About half of it is of the finest white marble, the rest of hard limestone,
but the upper part is imperfect.[177]
Nigde is 191km from Karaman, and there Texier noted the ruins of a mosque,
and a madrassa he compared with what he had seen at Kayseri.

Asia Minor 211
La façade est ornée, au premier étage, d’une loge ou portique, avec des
colonnes de marbre blanc et des chapiteaux arabes, supportant des
arcades mauresques. La porte, disposée comme celle de la mosquée
de Césarée, est surmontée d’une niche en pendentif, couronnée d’en-
corbellements ornés de coques … La décoration intérieure se compose
de méandres ou bâtons rompus, comme le couronnement du tombeau
de Houen. Une frise d’ornements très-élégants règne sous le portique, au
rez-de-chaussée et au premier étage.[178]
Mut (the ancient Claudiopolis), eleven hours from Karaman on horseback,

exhibited the same contrast between former glory and present wretchedness,
as Walpole noted in 1820, in a communication from Leake. The streets of the
ancient city were still visible, along with its temples and public buildings, and
“Pillars of verd-antique, breccia, and other marble, lie half-buried in different
parts, or support the remains of ruined mosques and houses.” Why were its
inhabitants half-naked and half-starved in such a fertile valley?[179] Davis in
1879 recorded that only one mosque and two mausolea survived, and nothing
stood erect in the ruins of the ancient town.[180]
11 Konya
The modern city has an imposing appearance from the number and size
of its mosques, colleges and other public buildings; but these stately edi-
fices are crumbling into ruins.[181]
Konya remains one of the most religious cities in Turkey, with prestigious
mosques, and in 1818 Kinneir, author of the above quotation, admired the exte-
rior of some of them:
Those of Sultan Selim and Sheck Ibrahim, the former built in imitation
of St. Sophia, at Constantinople, are large and magnificent structures,
much admired for the beauty of their interior; but I was not permitted
to enter them.
Ali Bey had the same problem two years earlier: “I remarked also the outside
of three mosques, which have an equally magnificent appearance, with large
cupolas, and tail slender minarets.”[182] Browne, travelling 1802, saw “a bath,

212 Chapter 5
formerly a magnificent Saracenic structure, with an octagon chapel, or mosque

adjoining it: these are now in ruins.”[183]
The city’s walls have now gone; unfortunately modernisation saw their
destruction at the end of the nineteenth century. They were spectacular
because, in an excursion rare in Islamic constructions and perhaps confined to
the ruling Seljuqs, they contained not only Islamic inscriptions and plain clas-
sical marbles, but figured statues and reliefs as well. Ali Bey recognised their
unusual character, as did Kinneir and Browne, who pointed out pedestals,
bas-reliefs, and a damaged statue of Hercules set in them, this last repaired by
the Turks.[184] Other scholars, such as Leake,[185] described these walls further;
Such classically-inclined westerners were excited by them, because they pre-
sented many more antiquities than could be seen even in accessible mosques
and, as we have already learned, those at Konya were closed to Christians.
Leake correctly noted the Mevlana (“surmounted by a dome, standing upon
a cylindrical tower of a bright green colour”) as the most remarkable building
in the city, but he could not get inside.[186] As for the rest, “there are now only
three or four mosques, but I observed the ruins of several others.”[187]
How to get into the mosques? Aucher-Éloy arrived in Konya in 1835, dressed
as a nizam (with a military frock coat) and coiffed by a fez, but was laughed
at by a soldier in the main square; he hit him, and described the encounter at
length, even though he was chased away.[188] But he did not get into any of the
mosques, and described Konya as a
grande et vilaine ville dont la moitié, mosquées, khans, médressées,

tombe en ruine. Les tombeaux autrefois très-beaux sont en partie aban-
donnés; tout s’en va.[189]
Layard fared better over access in 1839. His party “found ourselves amidst a
heap of ruins, crumbling houses, wretched hovels, deserted mosques, and
falling minarets … The ruins of extensive buildings and of splendid mosques
prove its ancient prosperity and magnificence.”[190] He then described how
“built into the mosques I found many ancient remains, and the columns used
in them appeared to be of Greek or Roman origin,” which suggests he was able
to enter them.[191]
Based on earlier accounts, Murray’s 1840 handbook described the walls, but
gave no details about the mosques or the Mevlana, except to call it “the most
remarkable building in Konia.”[192] In 1842 Hamilton probably did not get into
any buildings, although he mentions the Alaeddin, and the Utch Kaléh, “fast
crumbling to pieces.” But he consoled himself by drawing the exteriors that he
could see, those less ruinous mosques and minarets.

Asia Minor 213
Amongst the many beautiful specimens of Saracenic architecture, none

struck me so much as the Injemi Minareh Djami (the Mosque with the
Minaret reaching to the stars), of which I attempted to make a sketch,
but found it impossible to give a correct representation of the exquisite
delicacy of the tracery, fretwork, and mouldings. Indeed, these remains
of Arabic architecture are the chief objects of interest at Koniyeh in
the present day. The minarets, like many in Persia, are chiefly of glazed
tiles and bricks of various colours, amongst which red and blue are
predominant.[193]
He was saddened by the ruins, having expected a town full of bustle and traffic,
instead of which it was one scene of destruction and decay, with heaps of
ruins and dilapidated mosques, increasing as we advanced towards the
castle. We passed by the remains of at least twenty mosques, with and
without minarets, some of which were already out of the perpendicular;
one of them, covered with variegated tiles and beautiful arabesque carv-
ings, was of singular beauty, and its entrance very richly ornamented.[194]
Taylor visited Konya in 1850 and was attracted by its buildings and roman-
tic ruins. He and a companion got into the Mevlana, but were discovered
when (this was during Ramadan) his companion drank from the fountain,
and shocked the dervishes.[195] Near the Pasha’s Palace he found “a large and
ancient mosque [Sahip Ata], with a minaret of singular elegance. It is about
120 feet [36.576m] high, with two hanging galleries; the whole built of blue and
red bricks, the latter projecting so as to form quaint patterns or designs.” He
also described the walls.[196]
But then Taylor visited the southern part of the city, climbing up to the
Alaeddin Mosque where, claiming to speak poor Arabic, he told a local group
that “I was not a Turk, but an Arab, which they believed at once, and requested
me to enter the mosque.”
The interior had a remarkable fine effect. It was a maze of arches, sup-
ported by columns of polished black marble, forty in number. In form it
was nearly square, and covered with a flat, wooden roof. The floor was
covered with a carpet, whereon several persons were lying at full length,
while an old man, seated in one of the most remote corners, was reading
in a loud, solemn voice. It is a peculiar structure, which I should be glad
to examine more in detail.

214 Chapter 5
Nearby was a remarkable leaning minaret,
more than a hundred feet [30.40m] in height, while in diameter it cannot

be more than fifteen feet [4.572m]. In design it is light and elegant, and
the effect is not injured by its deviation from the perpendicular, which
I should judge to be about six feet [1.828m].
This was the minaret of the Ince Minare Medrese, now a museum. Struck by
lightning in 1901, it has been partly rebuilt, but not to its original height. Taylor’s
party then looked at another mosque near the eastern wall,
wholly in ruin, but which must have once been more splendid than any
now standing. The portal is the richest specimen of Saracenic sculpture
I have ever seen: a very labyrinth of intricate ornaments. The artist must
have seen the great portal of the Temple of the Sun at Baalbek. The mina-
rets have tumbled down, the roof has fallen in, but the walls are still cov-
ered with white and blue tiles, of the finest workmanship, resembling a
mosaic of ivory and lapis lazuli.[197]
Mme Belgiojoso was in Konya in 1858, describing the Mevlana as “une des plus
belles de l’Asie,” but she did not get inside, and was reconciled to this, leaving
exploration to the archaeologists:
Il y a encore d’autres monuments de l’islamisme à Koniah; mais les murs

et les verrous du harem pesaient un peu sur moi … Je me résignai donc
sans trop de peine à ne voir ni le tombeau de je ne sais quel saint, ni le
monastère de je ne sais quelle confrérie. Je remarquai seulement que l’ar-
chéologue qui s’arrêterait pendant quelques jours à Koniah y trouverait
de quoi bien employer son temps.[198]
11.1 Tiles and Travellers

In the mid-nineteenth century glazed tiles became more and more popular
in Europe. Some of these were made at home, but they were also copied or
imported from Muslim Spain as well as from the East, for Turkey and Persia, as
well as Syria, frequently used tiles to decorate buildings religious and secular,
both outside and inside. As we have seen, travellers could not take monuments
home, but books and tiles, as well as mosaic tesserae, were another matter. This
unfortunately affected some of Konya’s ruins. Scott-Stevenson described sev-
eral ruins in Konya in 1881 without identifying them, but their tiles caught her
attention: “if we had had time or means of transport at hand, we might have
brought back enough to have made several fireplaces.”[199] (Perhaps we should

Asia Minor 215
assume that many visitors picked up tiles from such ruins and took them back
to Europe.) She entered the Mevlana with her husband, giving a description
of the architecture, glassware, textiles, treasures and lamps by the tombs, and
the aisle is covered with carpets which put into the shade any I have ever
seen. I have ransacked, now, the bazaars of the principal cities of Turkey
in Asia, but never have I seen such beautiful carpets as here. The design
and colouring of some are so beautiful that it seemed treason to use them
as a covering for the floor. One that I particularly admired was over two
hundred years old.[200]
In 1895 Wilson, after a summary of Konya’s monuments,[201] told his readers

that such monuments erected by the Seljuk Sultanate looked further East.
Strong Persian influence is apparent in the freedom with which repre-

sentations of animals, and of the human form, are used in the decorative
details; and in the employment of glazed bricks of various colours in the
palaces and in the minarets of the mosques.
They certainly deserved study.
At no period was Moslem art more brilliant. The medresses, with their
quiet quads, overlooked by the windows of the students’ apartments,
their small mosques, and their fine gateways, are not unlike, in plan,
the colleges at our Universities; the fortifications, the bridges, and the
great khâns, are built with a care and solidity that are almost Roman; and
the mosques and tombs, though Persian in character, have a beauty of
their own…. The beautiful buildings at Konia, Nigdeh, Kaisariyeh, Sivas,
Amasia, Divrik, and other places well deserve the careful study of a
trained architect, and the commemorative inscriptions which many of
them bear would, if copied, probably throw light on the obscure history
of the period.[202]
Wilson was the editor of Murray’s guidebook, and naturally mentioned

the “blue tiles of the minarets.” With such a hint, already expressed in the
Introduction,[203] Konya’s monuments continued to be hunted for souve-
nirs. Percy (who visited the city by train from Constantinople) wrote in 1901
describing the dilapidated town, including the wreck of the palace.[204] He
then noted that the mosques “have preserved much of their original beauty
intact” but then wrote of the Alaeddin Mosque, with its oblong interior and
marble columns.

216 Chapter 5
The mimber, or pulpit, is of wood, exquisitely carved, and the fine Mihrab
is adorned with Persian tiles, or with paintings ingeniously designed to
conceal the fact that many of the plaques have been picked out and sold,
a fate which has also befallen some of the carpets, of which there was
formerly a large and valuable collection in the mosque. The same arti-
fice, instances of which may also be seen at Constantinople, has been
employed on the walls, and at a little distance it is difficult to detect the
fraud.[205]
He also visited the Mevlana, and described it briefly,[206] then the Azizieh,[207]
turned to the Azizieh Mosque, “a roomy hall, roofed with a tiled dome, and
containing a large bath in the centre, while in a smaller room beyond it stands
a single catafalque like those in the Alaeddin mosque, similarly covered with
green cloth, and a head-dress of coiled linen.”[208]
Chapter 6 on Persia offers a section on “Collecting Persian tiles,” demon-
strating how widespread was the thirst for colourful, glistening and portable
souvenirs.
12 Lampsacus
Lampsacus deserves a mention because, like Alexandria Troas and Gallipoli,[209]

it was a convenient stop-off on the Asian shore while navigating the Dardanelles.
In 1817 Hobhouse declared the town with its handsome mosque as “a present
worthy of a king.”[210] This was a converted church, as Conder noted, with “the
crosses that yet remain carved on the capitals of the pillars.”[211] Lampsacus
was an ancient settlement, hence the western interest in its marbles, and espe-
cially its mosque, which the locals were obliged to protect against the treasure
seekers. Michaud and Poujoulat in 1833 took their part, asking
Que dirait, répondez-moi, le plus éclairé, le plus civilisé des peuples, que
diraient nos spirituels Parisiens, s’ils voyaient des savans en costume
oriental et le turban en tête, rôder autour de leurs demeures, en examiner
toutes les pierres, en dessiner jusqu’aux fondations?[212]
13 Magnesia / Manisa
Magnésie contient deux mosquées impériales qui pourraient soutenir la

comparaison avec ce que Stambool a de plus magnifique. [1829]

Asia Minor 217
Magnesia-ad-Sipylum8 is now Manisa, taken over by the Turks in 1313, under

a bey. The town was noted by western travellers for its two Royal mosques,
built by Murad II (1403–1451, r.1421–1444; 1446–51), and loved by antiquarian
westerners for its many relics of antiquity.
Chishull visited in 1699, removed his shoes “to comply with the zeal of the
Turks,” and admired both mosques (“we found them both much resembling
one another, excepting that one was richer than the other.”)
We had now the liberty to view several copies of their Alcoran, and other
books of Mahometan prayers, all curiously written and adorned with
golden figures. The windows are furnished with excellent painted glass,
full of flower Work and religious inscriptions; and from the roof hangs
a multitude of lamps together with bright balls contrived to reflect the
light, all of them well ranged in a beautiful and artificial manner. In each
of the royal mosques we further observed a splendid kiblé, which is a
part separate from the body of the mosque, and answering to the altar
of our Christian churches; it is adorned with a rich floor and gilded roof,
together with carving and mosaic work on each side, but more particu-
larly in the front which is contrived to face Mecca. Immediately to the
right hand of the kiblé stands a lofty pulpit, being fourteen steps high,
and consisting of a portal, rails, and canopy, all of wrought marble.[213]
He stated on the title page of his book that his interest was mainly in Greek
and Latin monuments, but although “there now scarce occur any reliques of
antiquity in Magnesia … we observed several Ionic and Corinthian pillars in
the court of an old mosque.”[214]
Egmont and Heyman arrived in the mid-eighteenth century, and admired
the town, for it boasted some stately houses and khans; and had streets which
were “decorated with several beautiful mosques, among which are two of royal
foundation, each having two minarets.” They thought the two were originally
churches, spied many antique marble spolia, but could only peep through the
mosque windows because it was Friday.[215] Dallaway arrived in 1797, by which
time Murad II’s palace was in ruins. Nor did he see the mosque of marble,
built by that prince and his empress, to which all the remaining speci-
mens of ancient art were sacrificed, and wrought into new forms. It is
inferior in size only to some of the principal at Constantinople.
8 It is not to be confused with Magnesia-ad-Maeandrum, which is famous in antiquity for the

Temple of Artemis Leukophryene by Hermogenes; elements of which are now in the Louvre.

218 Chapter 5
He was not in the least happy about what had happened to the ancient city.
We were, in fact, several centuries too late for antiquities at Magnesia; for
when any public work was erected by the Turks, all the external blocks
of marble of great edifices were rehewn, and modelled to their taste. The
shafts of columns only, not their heterogeneous capitals, have escaped
such barbarism.[216]
Chandler entered one of the two mosques in 1817:
The inside was as neat as possible; and the floor covered with rich car-
pets. The ornamental painting pleased by an odd novelty of design, and
a lovely variety of colour. The dome is lofty and of great dimensions. The
lamps, which were innumerable, many pendant from the ceiling, with
balls of polished ivory intermixed, must, when lighted, amaze equally by
their artful disposition, their splendor, and their multitude.[217]
Macfarlane (whose estimation is the quote at the start of this section) was
in Magnesia in 1829, as was Beaujour, with an equally glowing appraisal.[218]
Macfarlane admired the architecture in spite of its strangeness (“loin d’être
sans charmes, quoiqu’il soit en contradiction avec les idées de nos artistes et
nos modèles européens”). Enchanted by the genius of the place, he preferred
the minarets of Turkey to European bell towers (“Les clochers élégants de nos
villes anglaises sont bien mesquins et bien vulgaires, comparés avec, les mina-
rets de la Turquie”), and was especially attracted to the marble fountains.
Dans les places au milieu desquelles s’élèvent chacun des minarets

impériaux à Magnésie, je remarquai une magnifique fontaine de marbre
construite avec d’antiques matériaux, débris d’ouvrages sans doute plus
magnifiques encore.[219]
Nor did he stop at the one comparison, for he then related the khan at
Magnesia, “construit avec une magnificence remarquable,” to Italian monas-
teries, and with a fountain: “C’est un édifice de forme quadrangulaire, construit
en pierres de taille; au milieu est une fontaine de marbre d’où s’échappe une
eau pure.”[220] His final observation was the coloured glass in the mosques,
which he had also seen in Greek and Turkish houses at Pergamum.[221]
As Elliott remarked in 1838, “a modern mosque is supported by the trun-
cated shafts of antique columns; and sacred sarcophagi are desecrated by
conversion into common water-troughs: fountains in the dirtiest streets and
the very pavement on which one treads teem with vestiges of antiquity.”[222]

Asia Minor 219
Fellows in 1839 was also impressed by the “public khan” here, which he thought
“as extensive as any Italian palace, and built entirely of stone and iron.” It was
clean, with mats, and he was given an excellent dinner.[223] The destruction of
the town in the 1880 earthquake deprived us of mosques, palace and tombs,
such as Addison had described in 1838.
The mosques were large and handsome. There are two which were con-
structed by Sultan Amurath the Second and his sultana, of white mar-
ble, hung with innumerable lamps, and ornamented with painting and
gilding. Here, too, are the ruins of the palace of Amurath the Second, in
which he lived during his retirement, and the tombs of his wives and chil-
dren, twenty-two in number, of different sizes, under a cupola of white
marble.[224]
Elliott had visited in the same year and declared it “the cleanest and neatest
town in Asia Minor: in the width of its streets and in many other respects it is
far superior to Smyrna.” As for the two mosque interiors, “each is adorned with
paintings of the only kind admitted by Moslims, and with numerous lamps,
ivory balls, and ostriches’ eggs, such as are to be seen in all the mosques of
Constantinople.”[225]
14 Miletus
We overlooked the site of the proud Miletus, the mother of Asiatic cit-
ies, which is now very thickly strewn with the remains of more modern
buildings, of churches and baths, all wearing the same face of demolition,
and equally overthrown. [1797]
The famous antique city of Miletus (later Ballat = Palatium, and the site of a
small Muslim village) was replete with the remains of antique monuments in
frequently marshy land, inundated by the river Meander. Overlooked by a tow-
ering theatre converted into a fort, it was a favourite attraction for westerners
visiting Ephesus, and on their way to nearby Didyma. The author of the above
quote, Dallaway, was so impressed by a “small but beautiful mosque of marble”
[Ilyas Bey, 1404] that he relayed the opinion of local Greeks that it was built
by Isidore of Miletus, architecture of Hagia Sophia. Not so, he thought, “it is
certainly of high antiquity, but it may be thought of an era less remote.”[226]
The village of Miletus was in clear decline when Chandler visited in 1817:
there were plenty of traces of Islam, but these were “mean buildings” except for
“a noble and beautiful structure of marble” which was still in use.[227] Fellows

220 Chapter 5
was on the site in 1838 looking for antiquities, and found a church “formed out
of a Greek temple, of the Corinthian order, whose fine arched vaults have sup-
ported the structure of each age, of which the ancient Greek has proved the
most durable.” He pitched his tent in front of the marble mosque, “built,” or so
he thought, “of the ruins of Christian churches; but its doom was also sealed;
the stork alone occupied its ruined walls.”[228] In 1862 Falkener, the excavator
of the Temple of Diana at Ephesus, very sensibly struggled with the idea that
the marble mosque was originally a church.[229]
15 Mylasa
It contains a large and very handsome mosque, built (chiefly of marble

taken from ruins in the neighbourhood) sixty or seventy years ago by a
Musselim of the place.[230] [1820]
Turner’s mosque in the above quote was also mentioned by Pococke in the late
1730s as modern, and “de tres-bon goût.”[231] The town also housed the Temple
of Rome and Augustus, but it was precisely this monument that suffered in
favour of modernity, for it was “destroyed about the middle of the last [eigh-
teenth] century by the Turks, who built a new mosque with the materials.”[232]
Today the podium and one column survive. But there was a compensation, for
as Newton set down in 1865 (travelling 1855–7), “on the north side of the town
is a very beautiful mosque, with a portal composed of three doorways with
pointed arches.”[233]
16 Nicaea
I saw at a mosque two most beautiful pillars in such large spots as are
commonly seen in verd antique, some of a light brown, and of a grey,
others of a whitish colour, being the only pillars I ever saw of that sort of
marble, and would be of very great value to those who are curious.[234]
[1745]
Nicaea, a city walled with many antique spolia near the south shore of the
Sea of Marmara, was on the route south for travellers, and fascinated those of
a classical bent, not only for a church and mosques, but because of the large
quantities of marble used in her late antique walls. In 1680 Grelot drew antiqui-
ties (“il y a d’assez belles ruës, & quantité de restes précieux de l’Antiquité tant

Asia Minor 221
Chrétienne que Payenne”[235]) but did not mention the mosques. Pococke in
the quotation above did so, but Sestini in 1789 also stuck to the antiquities.[236]
It was Yesil Camii (1378–87) with its spolia columns which had attracted
Pococke. In 1809 Gardane curiously mentioned only one mosque,[237] as well
as the church (see below). Tancoigne, travelling in 1807–9, noted that antique
medals and cameos were on sale in the town very cheaply, “the venders being
usually contented with the first price you offer them.”[238] He bought some,
and also admired at Yesil Camii the “two beautiful columns of porphyry at
the door of a mosque, of which the minaret is covered with tiles of various
colours.”[239] As Leake remarked in 1824, the current town “seems to have
been almost entirely constructed of the remains of that city; the walls of the
ruined mosques and baths being full of the fragments of Greek temples and
churches.”[240]
Prime explained the romantic ruin of the town in 1832:
Here we saw mosques and baths that were built from the ruins of pagan
and Christian temples, themselves crumbled to ruins; and shafts and cap-
itals of marble columns strewed upon the ground, and literally turning to
dust by natural decay. Indeed, the tooth of time has left here more signal
marks of his ravages than I have ever seen in any place before.
Everything was buried, indeed, and “here even the burying-grounds are them-
selves buried; the sepulchres are literally sepulchred.”[241]
Texier visited Yesil Camii in the mid-1830s and described the interior.[242]
Already known for the tiled minaret, as we have seen, it was noted by Poujoulat
in 1840 (“Les ruines des édifices musulmans à Nicaea sont plus nombreuses que
les ruines des monuments chrétiens”). The mosque itself was in marble, but
l’architecture arabe n’a rien enfanté peut-être de plus bizarre, de plus

gracieux, de plus élégant que la mosquée de Nicée, aujourd’hui livrée à
l’abandon. La porte de cet édifice est ornée de quatre colonnes de front
et de quatre sur les deux côtés. Le portique est précédé d’un grillage en
marbre où l’art arabe se montre dans toute son originalité.[243]
Nicaea also boasted the church of Hagia Sophia (seat of the First Ecumenical
Council, where the Nicene Creed was adopted in 325 AD). It was still in the
hands of a Greek priest in 1839, in spite of Turkish attempts to turn it into a
mosque. Marcellus relays a story relating to events similar to “miracles” seen
elsewhere and proving that monuments can have a life and sometimes a
malevolence of their own.

222 Chapter 5
Les Turcs, nous dit-il, ont à plusieurs reprises, essayé d’en faire une mos-
quée; mais chaque fois, le minaret élevé à peine aux deux tiers de sa hau-
teur a été miraculeusement renversé.[244]
In 1860 Hommaire de Hell had a better anti-Muslim tale.
Les Grecs prétendent qu’un jour le muezim, en appelant à la prière, se

précipita sur le sol et se tua, et que Dieu fit ainsi voir qu’une église aussi
sainte ne pouvait appartenir aux musulmans; depuis lors, dit-on, la mos-
quée fut abandonnée, privée même de sa toiture.[245]
(Muslims had their own tales about what happened following evil deeds. In
Karbala, in the year 236 (850) the Caliph Mutawakkil ordered the destruction
of Husayn’s shrine – after which no building he began at Samarra could be
completed.[246] And Mustawfi in the fourteenth century told of a minaret at
Basra which shook or remained still according as an oath sworn to before it
was true or false – “a perpetual miracle established by the Caliph ʿAli who had
built it.”[247])
By mid century Nicaea was mostly in ruins. In 1850 MacFarlane remarked
that the town must once have been large, with good khans, baths and mosques
except for one fountain: “the Osmanlees had let all things go to entire ruin,
except one bath and two mosques … they were all abandoned, broken, or
stopped up.”[248] Again, with Constantinople just across the water, we may
assume that several antique monuments were dissembled to reuse for new
building; the walls, in spite of their marble content, were left alone as too dif-
ficult to deal with, or because the blocks were too small.
17 Pergamum
Pergamum would feature in any survey of classical antiquities for its spec-
tacular acropolis, but travellers took little notice of the mosques down in the
town, unless they displayed spolia. In 1820 Turner walked around to look at
remains of antiquity, of which he found plenty reused, and yet more on the
acropolis, where he found a spolia wall “built with large fluted columns laid
lengthways; of these the Turks have taken away several of marble to adorn their
mosque.”[249] Durbin was unable to enter the Mosque of Sancta Sophia in 1845,
“and I was obliged to be contented with a survey of its antique walls of stone,
and the three low grass-covered domes that seemed to press heavily upon it, as

Asia Minor 223
the foot of the Moslem has long pressed heavily upon the neck of the Christian
in Asia Minor.”[250] Fellows had viewed this interesting structure in 1839 (“from
its style doubtless a church of the early Christians”), but did not say where he
entered it.[251] As for the ruins of the erstwhile church of Saint John, where
cattle now occupied the nave, he relayed with delight another legend (similar
to happenings at Nicaea, above) that “the Crescent was miraculously hurled at
midnight, when the Moslem had converted the Cathedral into a mosque.”[252]
18 Smyrna
In 1654 Arvieux noted that in Smyrna only churches, mosques and khans were
stonebuilt, because of the earthquake risk.[253] In 1802 Riedesel reckoned the
mosques here were far inferior to Constantinople,[254] and Brewer agreed
this was the case with churches and synagogues as well.[255] So did Texier in
1834, disdaining the mediocre mosques, and asserting dismissively that “il
n’y a pas une petite ville de l’intérieur qui ne renferme des monuments plus
intéressants.”[256]
Smyrna was a trading town, and used to foreigners. In 1805 Griffiths reported
freedom of worship here for all.[257] The locals were not usually fanatical, free-
ing a naïve passing sailor who had entered their “church door” and knelt down
to pray.[258] Post thought the mosques “large and handsome,” but sensed that
the political situation was so adverse he did not dare enter any.[259] Addison
entered Ulu Camii in 1838, shoes off, and while Muslims were praying;[260]
and two years later Murray affirmed they were all open to infidels,[261] even a
recently built spolia mosque in a nearby village.[262] Faber also entered during
prayers in 1842, and admired the carpets.[263] Fowler was not so lucky during
prayers in 1854, being “pelted and hooted from the door by the rabble.”[264] In
the same year Howe reported on the shrill voice of the muezzin, “from the high
balcony near the top of the Minaret, in chimney-sweep-like notes.”[265]
In 1850 “uninspiring” was De Vere’s verdict on all Smyrna’s mosques, and their
interior just “a vast saloon, for the most part square, and always a rectangle,
the roof of which is commonly supported on large and shapeless pillars.”[266]
But then a pseudo-architectural dig at Islam, and confidently hitting two birds
with one stone, because
the baldness of these mosques corresponds aptly enough with the flat
and dreary rationalism of a religion which differs but little from the
Unitarianism of the West.[267]

224 Chapter 5
The previous year Lynch had baulked at removing his shoes: “the pavement
was damp and dirty, we deferred the gratification of our curiosity until we had
visited Constantinople.”[268] Fellows also claimed “annoyances to which a Frank
is subject,” so also waited for Constantinople before entering mosques.[269]
Lycklama a Nijeholt, travelling 1866–1868, was likewise uninspired by
Smyrna’s mosque and churches, which had nothing really grand about them.
But he made grudging exceptions.
On peut néanmoins citer, parmi les temples musulmans, la Bézestein-

Djami ou Mosquée du Grand bazar, qui n’a de remarquable que son bas-
sin des ablutions recouvert d’une coupole supportée par des colonnes à
chapiteaux corinthiens, d’un beau travail; mais surtout, à l’extrémité de
la ville, la Grande Mosquée (en turc Essar-Djami), que couronnent d’in-
nombrables petits dômes surmontés par d’élégants minarets, autour des-
quels s’enroulent, en spirale, de larges rubans peints en rouge d’un effet
fort original.[270]
[1] P ercy_1901_53. [21] V

an-Lennep_1870_I_ [41] F errières-Sauveboeuf_
[2] V ivien_de_Saint-Martin_ 104–105. 1790_II_1190–191.
II_1845_130–132. [22] Davis_1879_63. [42] E llis_1881_I_39.
[3] V ivien_de_Saint-Martin_ [23] Scott-Stevenson_1881_ [43] R obinson_1837_360.
II_1845_ 120–121. [44] Guys_1855_79.
XLI–XLVII. [24] O sborne_1745_I_714. [45] G uys_1855_101–103.
[4] Broquière_1848_327. [25] Chesneau_1887_251. [46] Lycklama_a_Nijeholt_I_
[5] J essup_1910_547. [26] Teixeira_1902_113–114. 1872_257–258.
[6] Fabri_1896_II_495. [27] Rochefort_1676_182. [47] E ton_1801_259–260.
[7] C hishull_1747_60 1701. [28] Pococke_1745_II_1_150. [48] Buckingham_1825_2.
[8] St_John_1831-II_227. [29] T hévenot_1687_II_25–30. [49] Buckingham_1825_584.
[9] Elliott_1838_II_362. [30] Thevenot_1727_106–108. [50] Buckingham_1825_12–13.
[10] P ercy_1901_125. [31] T
hévenot_1687_II_32. [51] Aucher-Éloy_1843_I_84.
[11] F igueroa_1667_140. [32] Thévenot_1687_II_31. [52] H ogg_1835_II_36–38.
[12] F igueroa_1667_217. [33] Phillips_I_Persia_ [53] B urton_&_Tyrwhitt_
[13] F orster_1798_I_37. 1684_57. Drake_1872_II_188–189.
[14] F orster_1798_I_48. [34] Phillips_I_Persia_ [54] S cott-Stevenson_1881_55.
[15] P ercy_1901_125. 1684_58. [55] D allaway_1797_328–329.
[16] A rundell_1834_I_133. [35] Ray_1738_II_45. [56] D eshayes_de_
[17] Arundell_1834_II_115. [36] Pococke_1745_II_1_152. Courmenin_1624_304.
[18] A rundell_1834_I_332. [37] P arsons_1808_63. [57] W heler_1678_I_199.
[19] H amilton_1842_I_356. [38] Russell_1794_I_15–16. [58] Dallaway_1797_59–60.
[20] V an-Lennep_1870_I_ [39] Russell_1794_I_17. [59] C hoiseul-Gouffier_II.2_
103–104. [40] Ali_Bey_1816_II_340. 1821_435.

Asia Minor 225
[60] C hoiseul-Gouffier_ [99] Michaud_&_Poujoulat_ [138] Pfeiffer_1851_72–73.

II.2_1821_424. 1833_I_300–301. [139] Ubicini_1855_17–30.
[61] M adden_1829_I_136. [100] R aguse_1837_I_174–175. [140] V
ivanti_1865_118–119.
[62] Chenevard_1849_128. [101] B ucke_I_1842_360–361. [141] G
relot_1680_36.
[63] T exier_1862_195. [102] Hamilton_1842_II_23. [142] Sestini_1789_49–52.
[64] L ucas_1712_I_137–138. [103] D urbin_1845_II_123. [143] Olivier_II_1801_20–21.
[65] Pococke_V_1772_185. [104] E yriès_1859_IV_ [144] Durbin_1845_II_
[66] Pococke_II_2_1745_88. 302–303. 208–209.
[67] K inneir_1818_71. [105] Falkener_1862_153–154. [145] Çelebi_I_1834_55.
[68] K inneir_1818_69–70. [106] Wood_1877_164. [146] Texier_1862_168.
[69] Kinneir_1818_72–73. [107] W ood_1877_28. [147] Texier_1862_163.
[70] Poujoulat_1840_273. [108] W ood_1877_251–252. [148] MacFarlane_1850_I_279.
[71] Texier_1862_485. [109] Tischendorf_1868_277. [149] Colton_1836_193.
[72] Van-Lennep_1870_II_ [110] A zhderian_1894_26. [150] Grelot_1680_25.
189–190. [111] C
ochran_1888_233. [151] Galland_1881_II_155.
[73] Turner_1820_III_134. [112] Sestini_1789_100. [152] Chishull_1747_36.
[74] Claridge_1837_182. [113] Sestini_1789_100–101. [153] P
ouqueville_1806_100.
[75] Hobhouse_1817_II_ [114] Sestini_1789_108–9. [154] Ferté-Meun_1821_31–32.
107–108. [115] S estini_1789_109–110. [155] R
apelje_1834_246.
[76] W ood_1877_14. [116] Sestini_1789_101–103. [156] Madden_1829_I_38–39.
[77] Chandler_1817_I_131–132. [117] F ermanel_1670_181. [157] A micis_1878_126.
[78] A rundell_1834_II_ [118] V ansleb_1677_422. [158] Percy_1901_53.
252–254. [119] Thévenot_1687_88. [159] Morier_1816_313–314.
[79] L ynch_1849_110. [120] Çelebi_II_1850_6–10. [160] A
ucher-Éloy_1843_I_97.
[80] Falkener_1862_18–19. [121] Careri_1704_89. [161] Stuart_1854_93–94.
[81] C henavard_1849_151. [122] La_Mottraye_1730_I_ [162] Fraser_1838_I_260–261.
[82] Monconys_1665_II_427. 216–217. [163] Hamilton_1842_I_
[83] Vogüé_1876_9. [123] Pococke_V_1772_ 178–179.
[84] J oanne_&_Isambert_ 298–299. [164] Texier_1843_219–220.
1861_470. [124] Egmont_&_Heyman_ [165] Eyriès_1859_291–292.
[85] Texier_1862_312. 1759_I_189–190. [166] Percy_1901_53–54.
[86] T exier_1862_312. [125] Habesci_1784_18. [167] Ç elebi_I_1834_55.
[87] L e_Brun_1714_29–30. [126] D allaway_1797_176–177. [168] W
alpole_1820_231–232.
[88] C hishull_1747_24–25. [127] Kinneir_1818_246. [169] Hamilton_1848_II_323.
[89] T hompson_1798_74. [128] Turner_1820_III_178. [170] A MSL_1850_236.
[90] Pococke_V_1772_68. [129] F uller_1830_17. [171] Saint-Martin_II_
[91] P ococke_V_1772_67. [130] W alsh_1836_II_208. 1852_562.
[92] Fermanel_1670_210. [131] Poujoulat_1841_I_119. [172] Davis_1879_294–295.
[93] Phillips_I_Persia_1684_34. [132] Texier_1862_126–129. [173] Davis_1879_421.
[94] D allaway_1797_226. [133] T exier_1862_120. [174] Davis_1879_298–299.
[95] Hartley_1831_253–254. [134] T exier_1862_126. [175] S cott-Stevenson_1881_
[96] Turner_1820_III_133. [135] Texier_1862_129. 349–351.
[97] C onder_1830D_125. [136] Texier_1862_126. [176] S cott-Stevenson_1881_
[98] B urgess_1835_II_54–55. [137] Mac_Farlane_1850_II_52. 261–262.

226 Chapter 5
[177] avis_1879_295–6.
D [206] Percy_1901_29. [239] Tancoigne_1820_13.
[178] T
exier_1862_569. [207] Percy_1901_30 Konya. [240] Leake_1824_11.
[179] Walpole_1820_237. [208] Percy_1901_30. [241] Prime_1876_141.
[180] Davis_1879_332–333. [209] Faber_1842_685. [242] Texier_1862_107.
[181] Kinneir_1818_218. [210] Hobhouse_1817_II_226. [243] Poujoulat_1840_184.
[182] Ali_Bey_1816_II_ [211] Conder_1830_251. [244] M
arcellus_1839_I_151.
357–358. [212] Michaud_&_Poujoulat_ [245] Hommaire_de_Hell_IV_
[183] Walpole_1820_123. 1833_II_74–75. 1860_383.
[184] K inneir_1818_219–220. [213] Chishull_1747_7–8. [246] Le_Strange_1905_78–79.
[185] Walpole_1820_224–225. [214] Chishull_1747_11. [247] Le_Strange_1905_46.
[186] Leake_1824_24. [215] Egmont_&_Heyman_ [248] MacFarlane_1850_I_217.
[187] L eake_1824_98. 1759_I_172. [249] Turner_1820_III_
[188] A ucher-Éloy_1843_I_ [216] D allaway_1797_195. 272–274.
154–155. [217] Chandler_1817_I_309. [250] D
urbin_II_1845_165.
[189] Aucher-Éloy_1843_I_153. [218] Beaujour_1829_II_168. [251] Fellows_1852_26.
[190] Layard_1903_I_181–183. [219] M acfarlane_1829_306. [252] Durbin_II_1845_166.
[191] L ayard_1903_I_183. [220] M acfarlane_1829_300. [253] A
rvieux_1735_I_42.
[192] Murray_1840_303. [221] Macfarlane_1829_ [254] Riedesel_1802_233.
[193] Hamilton_1842_II_205. 226–227. [255] Brewer_1830_49.
[194] Hamilton_1848_II_197. [222] Elliott_1838_II_89. [256] Texier_1862_307.
[195] Taylor_1860_263. [223] Fellows_1839_19–20. [257] G
riffiths_1805_44.
[196] Taylor_1855_260–261. [224] A ddison_1838_I_180. [258] T
urner_1820_III_373.
[197] Taylor_1855_262–263. [225] Elliott_1838_II_57. [259] Post_1830_281.
[198] Belgiojoso_1858_ [226] Dallaway_1797_244. [260] A
ddison_1838_I_102.
416–417. [227] Chandler_1817_I_170. [261] Murray_1840_263.
[199] Scott-Stevenson_1881_ [228] Fellows_1852_197. [262] M
archebeus_1839_127.
324. [229] Falkener_1862_155–156. [263] Faber_1842_602.
[200] Konya, Mevlana [230] Turner_1820_III_66–67. [264] Fowler_1854_471.
Scott-Stevenson_1881_ [231] Pococke_V_1772_ [265] Howe_1854_75.
328–331. 100–101. [266] De_Vere_1850_II_99.
[201] Wilson_1895_133–134 [232] Leake_1824_230. [267] De_Vere_1850_II_100.
Konya and its [233] Newton_1865_II_48. [268] L ynch_1849_40.
monuments. [234] P ococke_II_2_1745_122. [269] Fellows_1852_7.
[202] W ilson_1895_49. [235] Grelot_1680_38. [270] L ycklama_a_Nijeholt_I_
[203] Wilson_1895_62. [236] S estini_1789_213–219. 1872_666.
[204] P ercy_1901_27–28. [237] Gardane_1809_6.
[205] Percy_1901_28. [238] Tancoigne_1820_13.

Chapter 6
India and Persia
Given European trading with countries in the East, and the British occupation
of India, a full treatment of European engagement with this part of the world
would warrant a whole book, but is restricted here to a cherry-picked overview
of a few monuments in India and then Persia. Many travellers took the over-
land route via Constantinople and Asia Minor. India, important to the British
for trade (as it had been for the French) was too far away to worry the Ottomans.
Persia was another matter, and over the centuries exchanged ambassadors and
war as well as trade and architectural forms (especially tiles) with the Empire.
1 India
The East India Company, founded in December 1600, was formed to trade in
the Indian subcontinent, southeast Asia, and later China. With its own army
and entrepreneurial traders, it effectively ruled India from 1757 until taken over
by the British Crown in 1858. The British Raj then ruled India to independence
in 1947. Fortunes were made, scholarship on matters Indian was extensive, and
we might expect more detailed knowledge of Indian architectures and sectar-
ian differences from British long-term residents there than could be gleaned
by travellers further west, who usually made fleeting visits to monuments we
have already surveyed.
The various British governments in India dealt in different ways with the
waqfs for endowed buildings, and not just Muslim ones. For example, the
Madras Government in 1817 saw it as its duty to support such endowments,
which were vested in the Board of Revenue:
Granted for the support of Mosques, Hindoo Temples or Colleges, or for

other pious and beneficial purposes; and of all public buildings, such as
Bridges, Choultries, or Chuttrums, and other edifices.[1]
But British conduct in India sometimes needed defending, and not just
because of the range of attitudes to native monuments. Lieutenant colonel
Fitzclarence, writing in 1819, and blaming “the actions of a few adventurers,”
fought a rearguard campaign defending Hastings and the East India Company

228 Chapter 6
from malfeasance.[2] From his perspective, the benevolence of British occupa-

tion was
from the benignity of our character, which pervades all our institutions,
and which from our mode of education becomes, to a certain degree,
engrafted in almost every individual, an improvement of the legisla-
ture, and of the general welfare of the inhabitants, are the invariable
consequences.[3]
We shall see below whether such general welfare (which, avant la lettre, was
to be France’s mission civilatrice in Algeria) applied to the monuments under
their care.[4] We should also note that, because of the political balance of
power, visitors record few attempts by Muslims to prevent Christians enter-
ing mosques – far different from the attitudes seen in parts of the Ottoman
Empire, as detailed in previous chapters.
1.1 Agra
This Kinge [Shah Jahan] is now buildinge a Sepulchre for his late deceased
Queene Tage Moholl [Taj Mahal] (as much to say att the brightnes of the
Moholl), whome hee dearely affected, … He intends it shall excell all
other.[5] [1632]
Mundy (above) saw the Taj Mahal building and, when complete, Tavernier
gave it his architectural blessing, paying it the great compliment of equiva-
lence with Paris churches.
The Frontispiece seems to me very magnificent after their way, and as

high as that of St. Louys in the Street of St. Antony. It is true, you do not
there see Columns, Architraves, and Cornishes cut out after the propor-
tion of those Five Orders of Architecture so religiously observed in our
Palaces: it is a different and particular kind of structure, but such an one
as wants no agreeableness even in the unusualness of its contrivance,
and which in my opinion, would very well deserve a place in our Books of
Architecture … It is a great and vast Dome of white Marble, which is near
the height of that of our Val de Grace in Paris.[6]
Agra was home to such a jewel because the city was the capital of the Mughal
Empire under Akbar (r.1556–1605), Jahangir (r.1605–1627), and Shah Jahan
(r.1627–1658). As Maurice wrote in 1806, “determined to make it the wonder

India and Persia 229
and envy of the East,” Akbar was the first to beautify the city, and “in a line with
the palace, along the banks of the same river, were arranged the magnificent
palaces of the princes and great rajahs, who vied with each other in adorning
the new metropolis; the majestic edifices of which met the delighted eye.”[7]
Visitors were entranced by its mosques, tombs and beautiful gardens.[8] Today
the Taj seems to overshadow the city, but its many other glorious monuments
deserve a careful visit.
The English had sought trading privileges from the Great Moghul in Agra
since the later sixteenth century, although this did not betoken any interest
in Muslim architecture. Sir Thomas Roe, for example, on such an embassy in
the years 1615–1619, wrote little of buildings. In Agra in 1632, Peter Mundy, an
official of the East India Company, saw the Taj Mahal (completed 1643) being
built after the queen’s death the previous year, and also described the palaces
and gardens around the city.[9] In the early 1660s Bernier visited the Taj with
a French merchant, probably Tavernier, but was at first reticent about the
architecture,
fearing that my taste might have become corrupted by my long residence

in the Indies; and as my companion was come recently from France, it
was quite a relief to my mind to hear him say that he had seen nothing in
Europe so bold and majestic.[10]
Jean-Baptiste Tavernier, a French jeweller and gem merchant, already men-

tioned, spent much of his life travelling, and wrote an account of his six voy-
ages to the East between 1630 and 1668, boasting that he had covered more
than 300,000km. He was a frequent visitor to Agra, and saw the Taj begun and
completed (he says it took twenty-two years). Puzzlingly, however, he described
the dome’s marble as black.
On the top there is a Cupola, little less magnificent than that of Val de
Grace in Paris; it is cover’d within and without with black Marble, the
middle being of Brick.[11]
Osborne was still quoting Bernier on the Taj in 1745: its style “would very well
deserve a place in our books of architecture”[12] and, infected with Indianism,
“I believe it ought to be reckoned amongst the wonders of the world, rather
than those unshapen masses of the Egyptian pyramids.”[13]
In 1794 the artist William Hodges asserted that the basest material used in
the complex was white marble and, viewing it from across the river, observed,

230 Chapter 6
the effect is such as, I confess, I never experienced from any work of art.
The fine materials, the beautiful forms, and the symmetry of the whole,
with the judicious choice of situation, far surpasses any thing I ever
beheld.[14]
Such appreciations were common. In 1798 Henry gave an account of Akbar’s

tomb at Sikandra (1613–1614: see below), and the city of Agra. He wrote five
pages on the Taj,[15] marvelling at that tomb’s various marbles, at the excel-
lence of the workmanship and the structure’s magnificence, and concluding
that “Le tout, au loin, semble un bijou précieux, placé sur un fond d’azur.”[16]
Other splendid monuments graced the city. The fortress (said to have taken
1,000 labourers twelve years to build[17]) contained a palace which has “two
immense galleries, adorned with twenty-four double columns of white mar-
ble, with pedestals of blue granite and capitals of yellow mica.” Part of the
palace was auctioned off in 1830 by William Bentick, the governor general of
India,[18] who supposedly laid plans to treat the Taj Mahal likewise (see below).
The mosque in the fortress, the Moti Masjid, resembled “a casket of precious
pebble,”[19] judged by Fane in 1842 to be but one of the “numerous beautiful
temples with which Akbar filled his favourite city.”[20]
In 1839 Eyriès stated that the Taj Mahal monument was incomparable,
although some of the interior mosaic work had been mutilated, and then
restored by the English in 1800.[21] Sleeman, a Lieutenant-Colonel in the Bengal
Army, travelling 1835–6, (who provided several coloured images of Agra, Delhi
etc. in his book), said he had been waiting twenty-five years to see the Taj.
Of no building on earth had I heard so much as of this … I went over the

whole building before I entered my tent … I can truly say that everything
surpassed my expectations.[22]
Perhaps dazzled by the acres of marble, nothing would do for him but a com-
parison with Augustus, and his boast of turning Rome from brick to marble.
But how could such a monument have been designed by an Indian architect?
This magnificent building and the palaces at Agra and Delhi were,
I believe, designed by Austin de Bordeux, a Frenchman of great talent
and merit, in whose ability and integrity the Emperor placed much
reliance.[23]
Fane visited the Taj Mahal in 1842, and “no conception I had ever formed in
my mind, of beauty in architecture, ever came at all near the Taj.” He admired

the intricate use of “blood-stones, jasper, cornelian, and a hundred other

stones,” noting that the Government was now carefully watching for any
depradations.[24]
The Taj Mahal was set within extensive gardens, which attracted Europeans
for picnics. Sleeman in 1844 frowned at the introduction of such frivolities into
what was after all a sacred complex, declaring that the Taj was being misused,
as he footnoted:
I would, however, here enter my humble protest against the quadrille

and tiffin parties, which are sometimes given to the European ladies and
gentlemen of the station at this imperial tomb; drinking and dancing are,
no doubt, very good things in their season, even in a hot climate, but they
are sadly out of place in a sepulchre, and never fail to shock the good feel-
ings of sober-minded people when given there. Good church music gives
us great pleasure, without exciting us to dancing or drinking; the Taj does
the same, at least to the sober-minded.[25]
Such parties were well organised, as Curzon noted in his 1900 catalogue of
other vandalisms committed by the British:
It was not an uncommon thing for the revellers to arm themselves with
hammer and chisel, with which they whiled away the afternoon by chip-
ping out fragments of agate and cornelian from the cenotaphs of the
Emperor and his lamented Queen.[26]
The governor general, Lord Minto (1807–1813) had restoration work done at
the Taj; this must have been successful, for Pfeiffer in 1851 (before the Indian
Rebellion of 1857, when British soldiers supposedly defaced the Taj for souvenir
stones) noted that “it is as perfect as if it was only just finished,” and went on to
describe it. She dismissed the idea that it was built by an Italian, for “when it
is seen that there are so many other admirable works of Mahomedan architec-
ture, either the whole must be considered foreign or this must be admitted to
be native.” As was almost de rigeur for travellers viewing such monuments, she
saw it by moonlight, concluding that “the moon’s light gives a magical effect to
old ruins or Gothic buildings, but not to a monument which consists of white
brilliant marble. Moonlight makes the latter appear in indistinct masses, and
as if partly covered with snow.”[27] For Duff in 1876, nothing had been written
on the Taj to do it justice, and Mr. Ruskin should be persuaded “to come hither
and write of it as he has written of the Campanile at Florence.”[28] Curzon, the
British Viceroy, restored the complex again, completed in 1908.

232 Chapter 6
Who was the architect of the Taj? As already noted, some visitors saw it as
Italian (there are some strong parallels1), and Siddons, writing in 1844, after an
appreciation of its beauties, was positive that “the entire design and superin-
tendence were those of Italian artists.” This was no attempt (so common from
travellers in the Ottoman Empire) to demote the locals as incompetent, but
based on specific local knowledge.
Bishop Heber immediately recognized, in the fretwork especially, pure

Florentine art; and that there were Italians at Agra at the time, and even
long before, is evident from their tombs being still extant in the Roman
Catholic burying-ground: the dates of some still legible are within 1600
and 1650.[29]
The references to “fretwork” are to mosaic inlay, which many travellers would
know well from Florence. Ireland, for example, noted the use “in beautiful
Florentine style of mosaic” in the Durbar Hall in Delhi,[30] and also in the floor
of the tomb of Jahangir in Benares, “with agate, lapis lazuli, cornelian, and
jasper.”[31]
The architect is now known to have been Ahmad Lahori, and it is reasonable
to believe that those scenting Italian influence were making those connections
across space and time which would eventually develop into an integrated his-
tory of architecture. Much more needed to be learned, as Russell (“I have no
knowledge of architecture”) suggested in 1860. He weighed the Italian versus
native possibilities, and stayed on the fence: “if Italians created the thing of
beauty we thank our unknown benefactors. Should it be that it is of some east-
ern creation in conception and formation, we have much to ponder over.”[32]
There were many more monuments to be admired at Agra. Sleeman also
admired the Pearl Mosque in the fort, for
the design and execution of the flowers in bas-relief are exceedingly

beautiful. It is a chaste, simple, and majestic building; and is by some
people admired even more than the Taj, because they have heard less of
it; and their pleasure is heightened by surprise.[33]
Akbar’s Jumna Mosque near the fort was viewed by Pfeiffer in 1851, and the
British here received a mark of approval.
1 Joners 1987.

It is to be regretted that this mosque is in a rather dilapidated condition;

but it is hoped, however, that it will soon be completely restored, as the
English Government have already commenced repairing it.[34]
In 1859 Ireland recounted the destruction caused by Lord Lake while fighting
the occupying Mahrattas (hence the need for restoration just noted), and then
proclaimed that “this mosque must have ranked among the finest of the many
beautiful mosques in India.”[35] Buildings in the fort also suffered from neglect
and vandalism. Sleeman recorded details of how the Hall of Audience and
adjacent buildings in Agra fort had suffered at British hands, stating,
Lord W. Bentinck, sold [in the 1830s] by auction a quantity of inlaid mar-
ble from this part of the palace. Very different is the spirit shown by the
late Lord Mayo and the late Viceroy Lord Northbrook, who sanctioned a
considerable outlay for the repair of what is left. Having been consulted
as to these repairs, the present writer may be permitted to add that no
“restoration,” in the suspicious sense of that word, has been attempted.[36]
Bentinck was governor general of India from 1828 to 1835. He supposedly con-
templated dismantling the Taj Mahal and selling its materials, but was discour-
aged by the poor return achieved from his enterprise in the fort.
The Pearl Mosque in the fort was a popular target for visitors, and Siddons in
1844 was dazzled by its white marble, declaring it to be “one of the most unique
things of the kind ever witnessed.”[37] Ireland also admired and described it,
“by some considered the most beautiful building in Agra. It is of white marble,
massive and chaste, a building that at once impresses you with its beauty.”[38]
Matheson visited in 1870 and remarked on the “one homogeneous pile of pure
white marble,” but had little to say about the architecture.[39] In 1876 Duff saw
the mosque in the early morning (de rigeur for tourists!), when indeed it did
look as if constructed of pearl; and of the whole fort (“this Indian Windsor”)
remarked that the rumoured vandalism had recently been eradicated, and that
government has taken up in good earnest the protection of this glorious

building; has spent £10,000 most judiciously, and is determined to spend
whatever is necessary to remove all removable mischief, and prevent all
preventible decay.[40]
Tiffany in 1896 found this mosque (“surpassingly beautiful are its outlines”)
too white and glaring for the climate, condemning “the fatal monotony of the

234 Chapter 6
unrelieved whiteness of marble.” Again, as had become traditional for the Taj
as well, it should be visited in early dawn, or seen by moonlight.[41]
Bad news balanced such appreciations, hinting that the government gave
with one hand but took with the other. Sleeman reported on the remains of the
tomb of Akbar’s wife, and mother of Jahangir:
the tomb itself is in ruins, having only part of the dome standing, and
the walls and magnificent gateways that at one time surrounded it have
been all taken away and sold by a thrifty government, or appropriated to
purposes of more practical utility.[42]
Vandalism was apparently rife. Sleeman reported on the tomb of Jahangir’s

High Treasurer, Khwaja Aeeas, with its rich marbles (1626–1628). It was an
exceedingly beautiful building, but unfortunately
a great part of the most valuable stones of the mosaic work have been
picked out and stolen; and the whole is about to be sold by auction, by a
decree of the civil court, to pay the debt of the present proprietor, who
is entirely unconnected with the family whose members repose under it,
and especially indifferent as to what becomes of their bones. The build-
ing and garden in which it stands were, some sixty years ago, given away
[by the prime minister to one of his nephews.][43]
The first guide book to Agra and its monuments was published by Keene in
1854,[44] and by 1878 he printed a seventeen-page note on Hindustani [he
meant Muslim] architecture, which offered “a list of the principal buildings
of each of the three emperors under whom Hindustani architecture grew to
perfection.”[45]
1.2 Ahmadabad
This city in western India was founded by Ahmad Shah I in 1411, and rivals Agra
and Delhi in its architecture. It housed several foreign factors from the East
India Company, as we know from Sir Thomas Roe in 1616, who spent some of
his embassy there in attendance on Jahangir. Aurangzeb, a son of Shah Jahan
(1618–1707), made it his second capital 1681–1707 for his military campaigns. As
Tavernier noted, here was once “a Pagod, which the Mahometan’s have pull’d
down, and built a Mosquee in the place,” whereof “the inside of the Mosquee
is adorn’d with Mosaic-work, the greatest part whereof is of Agates of divers
colours.”[46] The conversion was by Aurangzeb, turning a temple with porti-
coes (“crowded with female figures, finely sculptured in marble”) into a Turkish

mosque by sacrificing a bull.[47] A Hindu temple therefore became the Jumna

Mesjid with minarets.
Twelve beautiful domes, of different dimensions meet the eye of the

spectator on his approach to the temple. In the middle of the front of it
are three great arches; at the sides are two large square gates that open
into it; and each gate is beautified with pilasters, but without any particu-
lar order of architecture.[48]
But by 1839, following an earthquake in 1819, and in a phrase frequently used for
several of the sites encountered in this book, “ses ruines nombreuses attestent
son ancienne splendeur.”[49]
1.3 Aurangabad
Some 200km from Poona, this city was founded in 1610, and was Aurangzeb’s
capital during his rule over the Deccan. Here he built a mausoleum for his wife
(Dilras Banu Begum) that bears comparison with the Taj Mahal, as Fitzclarence
noted in a long account in 1819. He praised the marble used, and especially the
trellis work surrounding the tomb and the windows. The marble was a pres-
ent from a Rajput ruler, but Aurangzeb was so careful with funding that the
finished result was outdistanced by the Taj.
Altogether it is so superior in every way to this tomb, that it forms as strong

a contrast as the abbey church of Westminster and St. Margaret’s.[50]
“His majesty’s parsimonious spirit” was confirmed by a visit to his palace,

where “the remains are fast mouldering to decay. They are even unsafe to pass
through, and are only fit haunts for jackalls, owls, and bats.”[51]
Mitford, travelling in 1842, formed much the same opinion of the tomb,
believing that like so many other Muslim monarchs the aim was vastness and
grandeur rather than refinement or durability.
Either their principles of architecture were incorrect, or their workman-

ship and materials very inferior, for unless they are kept in constant repair
and use, as are the mosques of Constantinople, Jerusalem, and others,
wherever you see a Mohammedan building you see a ruin.
Aurangzeb’s palace, less than 200 years old, was now heaps of rubble, apart
from a building in use as a mosque, “still in tolerable preservation; it has very
pretty Moorish pavilions and piazzas on colonnades, which are coated with

236 Chapter 6
white stucco highly polished.”[52] In 1864 Fergusson, who took a special inter-
est in the architecture of India, commented on a series of stereoscopic photos,
mostly of Ajanta and Ellora, but with some of Aurangabad. (He was broadmin-
ded, writing a book on prehistoric megaliths in 1872: Rude stone monuments in
all countries.)
Layard visited in 1869, commenting that
the tomb of Aurungzebe’s wife at Aurungabad is a bad imitation of the

celebrated Taj at Agra, and, although of great beauty and richness in the
materials, is of very poor architectural taste. Hyderabad is a ruinous city,
with no very fine monuments. The tombs of Golconda are interesting.
Aurungabad is also in ruins.[53]
This was going to decay by the 1880s, and one of its minarets had been struck
by lightning.
The tomb, supported on facades of pointed Moorish arches, and sur-

rounded by smaller domes and pinnacles forming a very elegant group;
at each corner of the square in which are the buildings is a graceful mina-
ret crowned like the centre ones with a pear-shaped dome: the domes
are composed of white marble, and the screens round the tomb in the
interior are of the same material, in an open-work octagonal pattern: the
minarets command a fine view of the surrounding country.[54]
1.4 Bijapur
The Encyclopaedia Britannica wrote in 1910 of Bijapur (south of Bombay, in the
Deccan) that “the city used to be the extensive, splendid and opulent capital of
an independent sovereignty of the same name, but now retains only the ves-
tiges of its former grandeur. It is still, however, the most picturesque collection
of ruins in India.”[55] It was first unsuccessfully besieged by Aurungzeb in 1656,
as the general of Shah Jahan, and eventually fell to him as Emperor in 1686,
then being annexed to the Delhi empire.
Its greatest buildings are a mosque and mausolea. Jumma Mosque, the larg-
est religious edifice in the Deccan, was founded by Ali Adil Shah, who suc-
ceeded his father Ibrahim in 1557, and reigned till 1579. The Ibrahim Rauza
Mausoleum (with its own mosque) dates from 1626, and the Gol Gumbad was
built in 1656 for Muhammad Adil Shah (1627–1656). This latter, with a dome of

44m external diameter, is exceeded only by Saint Peter’s in Rome.2 Tavernier

must have passed through quickly, for he declared, before mentioning the
badly built palace, that the town “has nothing remarkable about it, either as
regards public edifices or trade.”[56]
John Ireland (travelling in 1851–6) visited just before the Indian mutiny, and
admired the Tomb of Ibrahim Adil Shah II, which he sketched.[57] This was
built in 1626, was “said to have cost £1,700,000 and to have occupied thirty-six
years in its construction,” wrote the Britannica. Ireland sensed opposition at
the Great Mosque (of which Fergusson wrote an appreciation[58]), where “an
arcade encloses the three sides of the quadrangle in front. The portico is sup-
ported by fine columns, from every one of which rises a domed ceiling.”[59] So
“they took me to a snug little mosque, attached to the great tomb of Mohammed
Shah [the Gol Gumbaz],” reckoning the diameter of the dome to be the second
or third largest in the world. He climbed up the structure, presumably to the
podium whence sprang the dome, and
had a fine view of the country and the city, where reigned a most brilliant
dynasty for two hundred years, until destroyed by Aurungzebe, the Mogul
Emperor. It has now but a few mud huts for the living; but its monuments
of the dead surpass those of every city in India, except Delhi and Agra;
fortifications, palaces, tombs, mosques, with hundreds of wells, bowlies,
and tanks.[60]
The Gol Gumbaz dome is indeed higher than the Pantheon but of a smaller
diameter. The Pantheon dome is a sphere, as tall as it is broad, at 43.3m, and
therefore has the same height from floor to crown as its breadth. Fergusson
wrote in 1866 that it was “the most remarkable building in the city; in some
respects, one of the most remarkable tombs known to exist anywhere.”[61]
The Bijapur dome, sitting on the elevated podium that Ireland climbed, rises
60.35m above the ground, with a diameter of 36.57m. Ireland, intelligent, per-
ceptive, and very well travelled, sketched the structure, but the locals (“as per-
tinacious as obsequious and tedious”) kept bothering him for proof he had
permission to do so.[62] In all, he was mightily impressed by Bijapur, with good
reason, as he explained:
2 Michell & Zebrowski 2008, 92: a hemispherical dome, nearly 44m in external diameter, rest-
ing on a cubical volume measuring 47.5m on each side.

238 Chapter 6
Beejapore is certainly one of the most extraordinary places I’ve ever vis-
ited, and one of the most so, that probably ever existed. Springing from
nothing, in two hundred years rose, under the magic influence of eight
successive Mahommed sovereigns, to a point of magnificence probably
not surpassed in India, and then as suddenly sinking into obscurity after
its conquest by Aurungzebe, which put an end to this short-lived, though
most brilliant dynasty.[63]
Ireland was not alone in his admiration, for the Bombay government had
already allocated £840 for drawing the ruins of the city.[64]
Some commentators avoided the Gol Gumbaz as the largest dome query by
concentrating on the interior space it covered. Thus Cousens, writing in 1916,
gave measurements and concluded that “this is the largest space covered by a
single dome in the world, the next largest being that of the Pantheon at Rome
of 15,833 sq. ft.”[65] The Encyclopaedia of Islam (1986) agreed.[66] As a veritable
connoisseur of domes (and using the term “dome” a hundred times in his text),
Cousens dilated at length on the interior lighting of domed structures.
As a rule the interior was sacrificed to the exterior without any attempt
being made to correct the defect. Where the diameter of the domical
ceiling is great compared width its height, as in the best examples, light
enough is admitted to show the ceiling, but there are scores of examples
where the interior height is from two to three times the diameter of the
dome so that little light can reach them, and they are thus great hollow
cylinders.[67]
An obsession with size began at Bijapur well before the Gol Gumbaz, for the
enormous unfinished Mausoleum of Ali Adil Shah was, Fergusson surmised, to
have been covered by “by a dome, that could not have been less in size than the
Gol Goomuz itself, the largest of Mahomedan examples.”[68]
1.5 Delhi
Early Muslim structures in India are often predicated on the destruction of
earlier monuments and the reuse of their materials, in part as signals of vic-
tory and triumph, in part because their materials were to hand for convenient
reuse. (Such destruction was common: Hodges remarked on how Aurangzeb,
ruling 1658–1707, “that most intolerant and ambitious of human beings,” acted
similarly in Calcutta.[69])

In 1193 Qutabuddin had Hindus build the first mosque in India, in Delhi,
from Hindu spolia,3 partly from convenience, and surely partly as a declara-
tion of triumph. Tiffany in 1896 suggested that many other monuments here
were Hindu-built.[70] Outstanding was the Quwwat-ul-Islam complex, ordered
by Iltutmish (r.1210–1236), reusing materials from twenty-seven Hindu and
Jain temples, with a 7.2m iron column from a Vishnu shrine as one feature.
Adjacent is the great Qutub Minar minaret4 which could be seen from afar
(1199ff); it is frequently illustrated in travellers’ accounts. (The site also con-
tains Iltutmish’s tomb, but this is rarely described by visitors.)
Although the Quwwat-ul-Islam is far from the only one containing notable
structures in Delhi, here (just as in Cairo) few visitors got to grips with every-
thing which that particular city complex had to offer, let alone with that com-
plex’s mosque. Naturally, they concentrated on the minaret. In 1825 Malte-Brun
purveyed misinformation, clearly not realising that the Hindu-decorated tem-
ple was in fact now a mosque.[71] Eyriès in 1839 thought the Qutub Minar the
tallest column anywhere, at over 75m.[72] In 1835–6 Sleeman offered a long
description, and also dealt with the fellow minaret, which was never com-
pleted, “but this has been preserved and repaired by the liberality of the British
government.”[73] In 1842 Fane was so interested that he mounted twice to its
top, described the mysterious iron pillar, and watched some locals jump into a
tank.[74] At the end of the century Tiffany compared it with Giotto’s campanile
in Florence, averring that “to have built it seems greater than to have stormed
Delhi.”[75] And just as buildings in Constantinople were assessed against Sancta
Sophia, here the Taj Mahal was the measure. In 1842 Fane visited “the tomb of
the Emperor Humaioon – a large handsome building, very much on the same
model as the Taj, without the ornamental part of the inlaid marble.”[76]
In 1650–56 Shah Jahan built the enormous Jama Masjid in the city (one of
several called Delhi) called Shahjahanabad, and Bernier admired it when he
visited Delhi in 1661, describing the beauty of its construction, especially the
marble (and the red sandstone which looked like red marble) as well as the
domes over the prayer hall.
I grant that this building is not constructed according to those rules of

architecture which we seem to think ought to be implicitly followed;
yet I can perceive no fault that offends the taste; every part appears well
3 Javid & Javeed 2008, 14.

4 Javid & Javeed 2008, 105–107.

240 Chapter 6
contrived, properly executed, and correctly proportioned. I am satisfied

that even in Paris a church erected after the model of this temple would
be admired, were it only for its singular style of architecture, and its
extraordinary appearance.[77]
Phillips paraphrased this account in 1684 without attributing what he wrote

directly to Bernier.[78] And over eighty years later Osborne was still quoting
Bernier verbatim.[79]
Of course, Sleeman in 1835–6 knew the Jama Masjid which, like all buildings
raised by Shah Jahan, he declared to be “in the best taste and style.” He was
accompanied by three Hindus but, even though his group offered to leave their
shoes at the door, they were barred by the doorkeepers, for “the porters had,
they said, strict orders to admit no worshippers of idols.”[80] And for Russell in
1860 the Jama Masjid was
one of the grandest temples ever raised by man. There is a chaste rich-
ness, an elegance of proportion, and grandeur of design in all its parts,
which are in painful contrast to the mesquin and paltry architecture of
our Christian churches.
He thought little of the monuments erected by the (British) governments of

the country and berated their often vicious vengefulness.
It has been warmly urged that we should destroy the Jumma Musjid. This
advice was given under the excitement and blind rage produced by the
mutinies. But long before the mutinies an enlightened Governor-General
is said to have gravely proposed that we should pull down the Taj at Agra
and sell the blocks of marble.[81]
Ireland agreed.
It presents the finest appearance of any mosque I have seen in India …

this mosque, after the palace, is the grand feature of Delhi.[82]
The Red Fort (commissioned by Shah Jahan, built 1639–48) is mentioned by

Bernier in 1684, relaying Tavernier. He then turns to the nearby Jama Masjid,
with its large gates covered with copper plates, and its three great domes and
marble paving. He concedes that “this structure is not according to the rules
and orders of Architecture, which we esteem is indisputably to be followed”.

Yet I observe nothing in it that offends the eye; but rather had all to be well
contrived, and well proportioned: And I do even believe that if in Paris we
had a Church of this way of Architecture, it would not be disliked.[83]
There was a Muslim propensity to abandon “used” structures and build afresh.
Cities could also be abandoned, well seen in India, with not only Fatehpur Sikri
(see below), but also Delhi itself, where we count several cities of various dates
and sizes abandoned for various reasons. Few travellers mention the profusion
of cities (seven or perhaps even more of them) which make up Delhi. Tiffany
did so in 1896, comparing the many tombs with what was to be seen on the
Appian Way in Rome.
The tomb of Cecilia Metella would go unnoticed here. There are miles
of three-domed, mosque-like tombs in which it could be hidden away as
a toy. Then, too, the exquisite beauty of many of them, burial-shrines of
poets, saints, daughters of kings.[84]
1.6 Fatehpur Sikri
Une tres-superbe Mosquée, à laquelle on monte par un escalier de trente

degrés, orné d’une porte fort magnifique, & tout le reste du bâtiment est
si achevé, qu’à peine s’en trouve-il un semblable dans toutes les Indes. Le
dessus est tout orné de tourelles en forme de pyramides, & la court du
milieu est fix sois plus grande que celle du Change Royal de Londres, fort
bien pavée de pierres de taille.[85]
The new city of Fatehpur Sikri, some 35km from Agra, was founded by Akbar in
1569. It was given a large mosque (at that time the largest in India) with a great
entrance rising nearly 50m high (1568–74) and, within its courtyard, the mar-
ble tomb of the Muslim saint Selim Chisti (1580–1581). Herbert (see opening
quote) admired it in the next century. In 1794 Hodges was especially impressed
by the enormous mosque entrance arch, “a portal of great magnificence.”[86]
Sleeman, here in 1835–6, agreed. The mosque had a magnificent gateway at
the top of a noble flight of steps twenty-four feet high. The complex was “per-
haps one of the finest in the world … with a magnificent cloister all around
within.”[87] Most visitors did little more than mention the palace buildings, but
Ireland in 1859 is one of the few that described them in some detail.[88]
There was an adjacent palace complex, where Akbar resided until 1585,
when the site was part-abandoned because of problems with water supply.

242 Chapter 6
As for the state of the complex after its supposed abandonment, ambassador
Roe’s records stated that Jahangir was at Fatehpur in 1619, but did not specify
for how long.[89] However, mosque attendance continued, for Peter Mundy
was here in 1633, and called the mosque “the fairest I have yett seene in India,
standing verie high.” As for the tomb of Selim Chisti, Mundy wrote,
it is a very Curious [elaborately constructed] buildinge; a faire arched

entrance full of Copulaes round about on the walls, very large, paved with
Marble. It hath many Fackeers etts. to attend it, whoe att certaine tymes
in the day and night beat on great drumms and sound with Trumpetts,
which is usually done att all great mens Tombes according as they are of
abillitie.[90]
Keene in 1878 went into greater detail about the tomb of Selim Chisti, espe-
cially the fretwork screens, “so minutely pierced that they actually look like
lace at a little distance, and illuminate the mortuary chamber within with a
solemn half-light which resembles nothing else that I have seen.” And all the
work of local craftsmen: “I believe that no instance of such pure patient work-
manship, so dignified yet so various, is to be found in the world.”[91]
1.7 Golconda
About fifty years since, they began to build a magnificent Pagod in the
City; which would have been the fairest in all India, had it been finish’d.
The Stones are to be admir’d for their bigness … For had it been finish’d,
in all reason it had excell’d all the boldest Structures of Asia … Upon three
sides of the City stands a very fair Mosquee wherein are the Tombs of the
Kings of Golconda.[92] [1684]
The above quote is Phillips relaying one of Tavernier’s visits to Golconda, of

which he made several in the 1640s. He was surely drawn to the diamonds of
Golconda because that was his profession, and where he offered pearls for sale.
But he also admired the tombs of the Qutub Shahi dynasty, which ruled the
area 1512–1687. He added that
when you wish to see something really beautiful, you should go to see
these tombs on the day of a festival, for then, from morning to evening,
they are covered with rich carpets.[93]
In 1666 Thevenot described them at length, “and I could not have got in, if I had
not told them that I was a Stranger.” Each was set in a garden, “beautified with

many Ornaments of Architecture, and covered with a Dome, that at each of

the four corners has a Turret.” Lit by many lamps, a carpet covered the floor,
and a silk pall the tomb itself.[94]
Mitford visited in 1842, gave some measurements, and counted about twenty-
five tombs in all, “which serve but to remind the passer-by of the transitory glory
of realms and rulers, whose names are nearly forgotten.”[95] Two years later
Siddons mentioned only “six or seven noble mausolea, built in the Saracenic
order of architecture.”[96] Layard, here in 1869 could describe the tombs only
as “interesting.”[97]
1.8 Sikandra
The monument itselfe, whose outward frame resembleth the mauseolo

pictured amonge the 7 wonders, fower square, lesseninge towards the
topp, haveinge severall galleries round about, adorned with Copulaes of
which the lower galleries conteyne the more, the borders on the outside
etts. of redd stone through Cutt [perforated] with curious works.[98]
At Sikandra, just over 13km from Agra, lies the 22.5m high tomb of the Mughal
Emperor Akbar (r.1556–1605), the builder of Fatehpur Sikri (q.v.). Building
1605–13, Peter Mundy saw it in 1632, some twenty years after its completion
by Akbar’s son Jahangir. He described it in detail: see the above quote. And
he focussed on (in Keene’s words) “these minute yet everlasting pieces of fret-
work,” to be seen also in the Taj, the fort and the Tomb of Itmud-ud-Dowlah.[99]
Hodges visited in 1794, noting that “a blazing eastern sun shining full on this
building, composed of such varied materials, produces a glare of splendour
almost beyond the imagination of an inhabitant of these northern climates to
conceive.” He determined to view the tomb itself, and approached an old mul-
lah, “who had the keys of the interior of the building, (which is still held in ven-
eration) and who obtains a precarious subsistence by shewing it to the curious
traveller.”[100] Four years later Henry offered a long description of this monu-
ment, with its domes, marble, red stones, and damage to the upper pavilions.
Ils ont été extrêmement endommagés par la foudre et par un tremble-

ment de terre. L’un d’eux est même tout-à-fait abattu, et le dôme des
autres est en très-mauvais état. L’intérieur de ce cinquième étage est
curieusement incrusté de marbre noir, sur lequel sont tracés plusieurs
passages du Koran.[101]
Sleeman described the tomb briefly in 1835–6,[102] and Siddons noted a few
years later that “this remarkable edifice is still in a high state of preservation.”

244 Chapter 6
Its grounds were reminiscent of England, and (just as happened at the Taj,
there frowned upon by Sleeman) “here in the cold season parties frequently
resort to enjoy the salubrious air, and the pleasures of an English garden.”[103]
Siddons in 1844 called the tomb remarkable, and well preserved, and intro-
duced the European dimension.
The ground-floor rests on a plinth of immense area, and a piazza of pro-

digious strength runs all round the building: here in the cold season par-
ties frequently resort to enjoy the salubrious air, and the pleasures of an
English garden.[104]
Pfeiffer visited in 1851, thought the entrance gate a masterpiece (“I stood before
it for a long time amazed”), and then found the tomb itself not very attrac-
tive, although “it improves on a more detailed examination,” which she then
provided. But vandals had been at work here, as she saw on the second terrace.
Several small kiosks at the corners and sides of the terrace give to the
whole a somewhat bizarre though tasty appearance. The pretty domes of
the kiosks must formerly have been very rich and splendid, for on many
there are still to be seen beautiful remains of coloured glazed tiles and
inlaid marble-work.[105]
Ireland added remarks in 1859, noting the beauty of the cenotaph (“a solid
block of white marble, so beautifully sculptured as almost to appear like a lace-
pall thrown over it”), but decrying the quality of the entrance gate.
The entrance to the tomb, is a lofty building with an immense dome, and
arched-way. It is imposing, and a mass of coarse mosaic, but the effect
is fine.[106]
2 Persia
Forming, it is probable, his ideas of such celebrated places as Ispahan,

Bagdad, Shiraz, Bussora, or Tabriz, upon a fanciful model, embellished
with oriental domes, minarets, and columns, he can scarcely be prepared
to witness the shapeless mass of ruins and filth which even the best of
these cities will present to his view.[107] [1834]
Fraser (above) visited Persia after she had suffered a devastating series of
earthquakes, which had wrecked buildings, commerce and communication.

There were too many to be cited here but, as examples Tabriz suffered in 1042,
1669 and 1780, and Shiraz in 1824 and 1853. Today, Persia is named Iran, and
adjacent territories were named following allocation of borders by the West
after the First World War. Our visitors viewed Persia more broadly, incorporat-
ing what are now Azerbaijan and the Caspian to the north,5 then “Persian Iraq”
and “Arab Iraq” to the south.6 Afghanistan also attracts minimal attention in
what follows. This allows A Miscellany of Mosques at the end of this section to
include a few structures here and there which caught the traveller’s eye, some
of which are now in other countries.
From the Renaissance onward, Persia (Iran) was an important target for
western diplomats and traders, who generated plentiful descriptions of its
monuments. Many of their accounts are valuable because of the havoc wreaked
by earthquakes. Perhaps this is why Drouville in 1825 grudgingly admitted that
the only significant buildings to be seen were mosques, yet rudely (nay, inde-
cently) suggested that they “ressemblent assez par leur delabrement à de mau-
vais cabarets.”[108] As for minarets, why did they fall down? Not earthquakes,
according again to Drouville, who suggested they were dismantled because
they overlooked harems, in other words “l’effet de cette jalousie si profondé-
ment gravée dans le coeur des Persans.”[109] And westerners were clear about
burial customs, because “on éleve une Tombe, & souvent un dôme; sur celles
des personnes de condition.”[110] For Forster in 1798, the expenditure on monu-
ments was far beyond that in Europe:
The construction of mosques, baths, Hindoo temples, grand reservoirs of

water, spacious gardens, together with a variety of costly private edifices.
These modes of expence are neither adapted to the genius, or inclina-
tion, of Europeans, who have no religious passion to gratify, nor are they
impelled, by patriot zeal, to raise monuments of grandeur in India; but
holding themselves the moveable tenants of the day …[111]
But such extravagance was seen to be a thing of the past. As Jaubert saw at
the start of the nineteenth century, public buildings in Persia were scarcely
maintained, because “ils sont pour la plupart à la charge des provinces, et
5 Encyclopedia Britannica 1911 XXI s.v. Persia, a kingdom of western Asia, bounded on the N.
by the Caspian Sea and the Russian Transcaucasian and Trans-Caspian territories, on the
E. by Afghanistan and Baluchistan, on the S. by the Arabian Sea and the Persian Gulf, and on
the W. by Turkish territory.
6 Encyclopedia Britannica 1910 XIV s.v. Irak: a province of Persia, situated W. of Kum and
Kashan and E. of Burujird … ʿIraq-Arabi, “Arab Irak,” the name employed since the Arab con-
quest to designate that portion of the valley of the Tigris and Euphrates known in older lit-
erature as Babylonia.

246 Chapter 6
par consequent mal entretenus; les gouverneurs ne songeant qu’entasser des

richesses.”[112] As elsewhere, authors offered résumés or better of previous vol-
umes; thus Henri Garnier in 1854 printed potted accounts of no fewer than ten
previous travellers.7 Two travellers stand out for the detail and quality of their
accounts of Persian sites. Sir Robert Ker Porter (1777–1842) was a well travelled
artist and diplomat with very wide interests, who was in the country 1817–20.
Charles Texier (1802–1860) was an architect who dug at Fréjus and Ostia in
1828–9; he was Inspecteur des Travaux publics de Paris from 1827, and from 1843
Inspecteur général des Bâtiments civils in Algeria. He travelled widely in Asia
Minor (1833) and Persia (1839) and, by his own account was usually successful in
sweet-talking officials. His Description de l’Arménie, la Perse et la Mésapotamie,
2 vols, Paris 1842 and 1845 was a strange and expensive book, which needed the
Government to advance-purchase forty copies before it could be printed, plus
a further eight to the Ministère de la Guerre. (In spite of the title, and without
explanation, pp. 15–40 are devoted to Constantinople, largely on Hagia Sophia,
with its complete history, but no illustrations.) Throughout, all detailed and
comprehensive descriptions are keyed to the plentiful plates. Texier had some
help with the illustrations, but seems to have done most of the sketching and
measuring himself, if with some difficulties in Isfahan.[113]
What with earthquakes, dilapidation and ruins Tancoigne, travelling 1807–
09, declared that “in Persia they no longer build those beautiful mosques which
were such objects of admiration to Chardin and his contemporaries.” Hence
only those which had escaped the ravages of time and revolution should be
inspected, and their tiled cupolas and minarets admired. He complained about
the neglect of old buildings, regretting that the rulers
no longer build for posterity, and seem to think only of the present
moment. The modern mosques, destitute of minarets, have nothing to
distinguish them externally from common houses.[114]
Except, that is, for offering accommodation, for Fraser in 1831 recounted spend-
ing plenty of nights lodged in village mosques.[115] Eyriès in 1859 paid homage
to what was long gone, for
7 Garnier, Henri, Voyages en Perse etc, 4th edn., Tours 1854. For potted accounts (with plentiful
quotes) of Jean Chardin (1664–1680), Amédée Jaubert (1805–1806), Sir John Malcom (1800–
1809), Buckingham (1817), Fraser (1821–1822), Keppel (1824), Robert Mignan (1827), Stocqueler
(1831–1832), Burckhardt (1814), Eugène Boré (1837–1840).

je désirais simplement vivre pendant quelques jours au milieu de ses

vieilles populations, et s’il m’était possible, repasser au milieu de ses
ruines les souvenirs de sa gloire éteinte.[116]
Thielmann in 1875 had a similar experience in the village of Derrebrusch, on

his journey Tabriz-Baghdad: “instead of a narrow peasant hut the mosque itself
was given up to us for night quarters. This was an honour which had never yet
been bestowed upon us, and which was never again to fall to our lot.”[117]
3 Collecting Persian Tiles
Traders went to Persia in earlier centuries to sell European goods and purchase
local products, including textiles and carpets as well as luxury metalwork
and ceramics. By the mid-nineteenth century archaeologists like Texier were
drawing buildings, and were fascinated by tilework, which already attracted
attention in museums and exhibitions in the West. Friedrich Sarre (1865–1945)
roamed Persia at the end of the century with a camera, and certainly had
no difficulty lining the locals up and posing for his photographs of architec-
tural treasures including mosques and mausolea, but with very few internal
shots.[118] Sarre accumulated a large collection of Persian artefacts, and we
may assume that many or all of the coloured plates of tiles in this book were
simply taken home by him for reproduction. These even included high-quality
Koran-inscribed tiles taken from an unnamed mihrab and figured tiles from
the Palace of Shah Abbas at Isfahan. Several plates are even labelled Im Besitze
von F. Sarre.
As Lycklama à Nijeholt enthused in 1875:
Rien n’égale leur [the Persians’] fécondité et leur bon goût dans ce genre
d’ornements, exécutés soit à fresque, soit sur la pierre et le marbre, soit
dans la décoration de leurs mosquées au moyen de ces mosaïques émail-
lées pour lesquelles ils sont sans rivaux.[119] [1875]
But the grandeur of palace and mosque, he declared, had a retrograde effect
on other arts:
Ces constructions se recommandent par un double cachet d’originalité et

de grandeur qui captive fréquemment l’admiration du voyageur … Elles
témoignent aussi d’un vif sentiment de l’art décoratif, quoique, en ceci,
les artistes persans aient plus souvent rencontré le joli que le beau. La

248 Chapter 6
sculpture et la peinture, depuis la conquête musulmane, loin de faire des

progrès, ont rétrogradé.[120]
A book waits to be written on the acquisition by western travellers of tile-

work – whether picked up in ruined structures, stolen by being prised off a
wall, or purchased from tourist seeking locals who, just as was the case with
the denizens of Sancta Sophia in Constantinople, surely saw detaching tiles
for tourists as an easy money-earner. Nineteenth century Europe was thirsty
for tiles from the East and from Spain, whether for mantlepiece decoration at
home, or for gift or sale to a museum, wherein the grandeur of distant monu-
ments, thereby deprived of their cladding, might be conjured, in the unlikely
event that such separata were correctly identified.
Gobineau, in Isfahan in the mid-1850s, wrote of the decrepit state of some
buildings, where such tiles were to be found:
Quoi qu’il en soit, je le confesse encore, il ne m’ennuie pas de voir auprès

d’un édifice scintillant d’émaux de toutes couleurs, et étalant la plus
coquette magnificence, un écroulement de briques crues couvertes de
poussière, au milieu desquelles dorment pêle-mêle les chiens de bazar
avec leurs petits.[121]
Benjamin saw the shrine at Meshed from the outside, because Christians could
not enter. But he longed to see the tiles of the interior, especially one large
one, and was clearly in the market for purchasing what he could, since he was
knowledgeable about prices:
An enormous reflêt tile, described by those who have seen it as quite

the finest relic of old art now existing in Persia, as well as the largest tile
known in that country … When one considers that five-hundred dollars
is not an uncommon price to be paid for some of the Persian reflets, he
can imagine what must be the antiquarian and pecuniary value of this
unique example.[122]
He wrote of how Persian shrines and tombs
have been spoiled, not only by the ravages of war and of time, but also
of avarice, which has stealthily stripped many of them of some of their
noblest decorations, to enrich the museums and private collections of
Europe! … The greed which has stimulated this spoliation of some of the
grandest monuments of Persia may be appreciated from the fact that

death would attend detection. But the enormous prices paid by collec-
tors for these prizes has often stimulated the thief to dare the vigilance of
the authorities.[123]
Benjamin should not have been castigating other for greed. He himself was
careful to distinguish the value of old tiles from modern ones, “for within forty
or fifty years the secret of making the superb blue color … has fallen into dis-
use, and no one now seems able to reproduce it.”[124] And, eagerly buying old
tiles, he thirsted for a view of tiled interiors he could not visit.
An old bath fell in at Demavênd, and one of the villagers brought me, at
Teheran, some of the tiles which had incrusted the interior. They proved
to be very rare examples of tile art of the time of Shah Abbass, and gave
me an idea of what treasures of decorative art must be still concealed in
those forbidden shrines of the town of Demavênd.[125]
Collecting was perhaps helped because detaching tiles from their mortar
did not endanger the structure of the building and, in any case, earthquakes
ensured that many lay amidst dust and débris on the ground, ready to be
appropriated. Are there any examples of such tiles being kept safe and then
reattached before the middle of the twentieth century?
3.1 Ardebil
This city’s name is well known to westerners for the great carpet [made 1539–40)
in the V&A in London, (“purchased by a traveller about 1890 for £100, and was
finally acquired by the South Kensington Museum for many thousands”[126])
but also of course for the much earlier mausoleum of Safi-ad-din (d.1334) from
which it came. As Fraser remarked in 1834, the Shiʾia “flock to Mushed and
Koom; to the tombs of Imam Reza and his sister Fatima to Ardebil, where lie
interred the first of the Suffees.”[127] The town capitulated to the Russians in
1828; when the famous library belonging to the mosque of Shah Safi was sent
to Russia.
Chardin, in Persia from 1671, found Ardebil particularly remarkable for
a most noble mosque, in which is the tomb of the founder of this city, “the
famous Sultan Mahomet Chodabende. This mosque has three great gates, all
of polished steel, and the tomb is seen through a grate of the same metal, finely
wrought in foliages and branches of trees; and though some of these are of the
thickness of a man’s arm, yet they are so exquisitely finished, that there is not
so much as a joint to be perceived in the whole; from whence the inhabitants

250 Chapter 6
persuade themselves, and would willingly persuade strangers, that it is made

of one entire piece, and affirm that it was seven years in making.”
Le Brun visited the city in 1703, and when visiting the mausoleum of Safi had
to beat off the crowd attracted by his Dutch dress.[128] As he wandered through,
it cost him money:
il faut de l’argent par tout, & quoy qu’on ait suffisamment passé à l’entrée,
il faut continuellement avoir la main à la bourse, à la porte de chaque
appartement.[129]
He made sure to offer a long description, detailing the architecture, and

even comparing the room with the dome to that of the Pantheon, “mais plus
petit,” and covered with carpets. Leaving this great room, he found “plusîeurs
Mausolées, avec des Cerceüils élevez, dont il y en a qui ont de grands orne-
ments; & quelques autres, du côté gauche, qui sont séparez par une petite
muraille, où l’on dit que reposent les cendres de plusîeurs Princes, descendus
de Familles Royales.”[130] The tomb of Seid Kudbeddin, Safi’s grandfather he
found closed, so he drew it through cracks in the door.[131]
Morier was in Ardebil in 1818, and gained access to the complex, noticing
the Tabriz marble, but also that “the whole exterior of the tombs, as seen from
this court, exhibit the approach of ruin.” He then analysed the dilapidation.
The whole exterior of the tombs, as seen from this court, exhibit the
approach of ruin. The small cupola which covers the mausoleum of the
Sheikh has given way in several places, and has already lost a great num-
ber of its varnished tiles, whilst the rents and fissures in the walls do not
announce a much longer duration to them … the first large hall … its floor
was covered with carpets … and then came to a gateway plated with gold,
beyond which we were not permitted to advance.[132]
He continued, describing ancient Korans “which time and use had rendered
almost unserviceable,” and, at one end, Sheik Safi’s tomb.[133] He was then
taken to another large room (“a saloon of large dimensions”), a kind of treasury,
with a great variety of bowls of china, agate and jade, which “did not appear
to be of Mahomedan workmanship,” together which Shah Abbas’ collection of
books, stamped as such.[134]
Holmes was here in 1845, and offered a description of what must be the
Jannat Sarai Iwan, mentioned by Morier above, a long apartment opposite the
mausolea, with a mention of what might be the famous carpet.

It is a long lofty apartment, and has once been beautifully ornamented:

from the ceiling hang a quantity of small lamps, said to be either of gold
or silver, but so covered with cobwebs and dust that it is impossible to
distinguish anything more than the mere shape. / On the floor were the
faded remains of what was once a very splendid carpet, the manufacture
of which very much surpassed that of the present day. At one extremity
was woven the date of its make, some three hundred years ago.[135]
An adjacent room was a large domed chamber, containing the china which
belonged to Shah Ismael, “consisting principally of large dishes, vases, drinking-
cups, and flagons, spread out on the floor.”[136] Perhaps the carpet(s) were
similar “treasure gifts,” brought here from where they were surely woven,
namely Tabriz.
Thielmann visited the complex in 1875 and noted that “the art of decorating
large surfaces with variegated glazed ornaments was in high bloom in Persia in
the Middle Ages;” Tabriz was in ruins, but Meshed and Kerbaba were still mag-
nificent. He named the courtyard of the Ardebil mosque, “which in spite of the
gnawing tooth of time still presents imposing and magnificent remnants of the
original decoration,” and found that the mausoleum itself was “was strewed
over with carpets of great antiquity.”[137]
3.2 Erivan
Erivan (now Armenia) suffered great earthquakes in 1679 and 1853. The Great
Mosque was “un spécimen d’architecture religieuse musulmane aussi beau
qu’il se puisse voir,” wrote Lycklama à Nijeholt in 1872, “surmonté d’un dôme en
porcelaine bleue et d’un minaret de l’effet le plus original pareillement recou-
vert en porcelain.”[138] Three years later Thielmann exclaimed that “I never saw
throughout the east so beautiful a mosque.” His party entered at dusk, and
we had already walked through the interior without attracting attention,

when one of the attendants, a coarse fellow, became aware of our pres-
ence, and ordered us in no very moderate language to quit immediately
the sacred precincts.[139]
A few years later Ernouf described the mosques in the fortress, itself to be
totally destroyed under Russian rule:
Cette forteresse, bâtie à pic sur la Zenga, contient deux charmants spé-
cimens d’architecture et de décor persans: l’ancienne salle de réception

252 Chapter 6
des gouverneurs, connue sous le nom de Salle du Serdar, et une mosquée

en mauvais état, mais remarquable par sa belle voûte émaillée [Abbas
Mirza, now gone]. Cette mosquée avait servi d’arsenal pendant le dernier
siège, car on y voit encore des boulets et des obas de divers calibres entas-
sés comme des pommes de terre dans un caveau.[140]
One of the two mosques in the fortress was also described by Feuvrier in 1892,
and he went on to mention the Great Mosque.
Une mosquée, comprise comme le palais dans l’ancienne citadelle et

comme lui en ruine, a conservé un dôme en assez bon état; elle est encore,
à l’intérieur et à l’extérieur, revêtue de belles faïences aux vives couleurs,
bien que bon nombre gisent brisées à terre. / Nous trouvons en ville une
mosquée mieux entretenue et livrée au culte; elle est dans le style de la
précédente, pareillement ornée de faïences polychromes – où pourtant
le bleu domine – qu’agrémentent divers dessins en jaune ou bien, comme
aux frises, des inscriptions d’un bel effet décoratif.[141]
3.3 Isfahan
Quoique les Bâtimens de Perse n’ayent pas tant de justesse dans leur
structure que ceux d’Europe, ils ont néanmoins un certain agrément qui
donne de l’admiration aux Européans même, & il n’y en a pas un qui ait
vu le Palais du Roy de Perse, sans avoir esté frâpé de sa beauté.[142] [1695]
Figueroa visited in 1618 when the mosque was being built, and workmen were
engaged in polishing marble of different colours. He could already see that it
was “vn tres-beau & très-superbe bastiment,” but he bemoaned the Persian
craze for the new, and for letting older mosques and minarets decay:
La pluspart des Mosquées de la Ville ont plusieurs Alcorans [minarets],

couuerts d’ouurages de marqueterie, & ceux qui ne le sont point, l’ont
esté autrefois, & ne se sont gastez que par le temps, & par le peu de soin,
que les Persans ont de faire des réparations de cette nature, quoy que
la pluspart soient encore debout & sort entiers. Ils sont tous bastis de
briques, mais ils sont si menus, que c’est vne chose presque miraculeuse
de voir, qu’vn si petit bastiment puisse soûtenir vne si grande hauteur.[143]
Herbert described the monuments in 1627,[144] and Deslandes-Douliers, visiting

in 1673, found the city the same size as Paris,[145] and described the meidan and

the palace as Sanson was to do.[146] He was dazzled by the carpets, gold and sil-
ver, some items bought from western merchants, and by pearls fished from the
Persian Gulf.[147] Chardin, in Persia from 1671, offered a long description of the
“tres-beau & très-superbe bastiment” described above, with its walls lined to
several metres with white polished marble. Like all other of Isfahan’s mosques,
it was forbidden to Christians, but at least the courtyards were visible.
In the middle of the square, before the mosque, is a large bason, where
they wash themselves before they enter the temple. The mosques have,
most of them, cupolas, with steeples or towers, whither the mollas go up
to summon the people to their devotions, according to the Mahometan
mode, making no use of bells.[148]
Thévenot, who in 1687 gave a long description of Isfahan,[149] paid particular

attention to the Mosque of Shah Abbas (1557–1629), with its white walls and
dome exterior in green tiles. He boasted that, although Christians were barred
from entry, “that hindered not me from going thither with Monsieur Diagre
master of the Dutch factory at Ispahan, for which purpose both he and I put
our selves into the habit of the Countrey, and received not the least affront.”[150]
Olearius was here in 1637, and left a two-page account of the same mosque,
describing its vaults, tiles and marble pillars.
But the most remarkable thing in all this Emerat, is, that all the Walls,
as well those of the Gallery, which is in the Court, as of the Mosquey it
self, are of Marble, about fifteen or sixteen foot high, and that there is no
piece of Marble, (which is most of it white and extremely well polish’d)
but is five or six foot in length and breadth, and they are so neatly put
one into another, that, the Junctures being in a manner imperceptible, a
man cannot but admire the Art of the Work-man, and acknowledge that
the Workmanship is not to be imitated. The Meherab, or the Altar, is all
of one piece of Marble, having on each side, a Pillar of the same stone,
which is also all of one piece.
This was, he believed, “the chiefest in all the City, and the most sumptuous of
any in the whole Kingdome.”[151] Three decades later, Daulier-Deslandes was
evidently impressed by the city, offering a long account of the Meidan and its
buildings.[152] And near the end of the century, Careri offered a description of
the meidan and Royal Palace, including the “King’s Mosch.”[153]
Sanson in 1695 was impressed by the Palace near the Meidan, and

254 Chapter 6
vis-à-vis le Palais du Roy paroist une Mosquée dont le Dôme est une
pièce tres-hardie à cause de sa grande largeur; les dehors de ce Dôme
sont peints en Porcelaines.[154]
He offered a long description of mosque and minarets,[155] and entertained his

readers with the story of a mullah who had offended a Christian. The Christian
covered the minaret steps with food and bottles of wine, and the mullah hurt
himself descending, crying out and covered in wine. Taken to the Pasha, he was
forbidden from the minaret. Sanson then excused himself, for (“Je ne raporte
pas cette action comme digne d’un Chrétien.”)[156]
Le Brun was here in 1704, and named the Sheikh Lotfollah and Shah
Mosques, noting the dome diameter of the first (“à ce que m’assuré celui par
qui je l’ay fait mesurer; car il n’est pas permis aux Chrétiens d’y entrer”) and
writing a little on the Shah Mosque:
Elle a un Dôme comme la précédente, & deux Portes par-devant, à

chaque coté desquelles il y a une Colomne. Elles sont plus élevées que la
Mosquée, & le tout vert & bleu, avec une incrustation d’or trés-agréable à
la vue. On y voit aussi à l’entour plusieurs caractères Persans en blanc, &
le Dôme a deux Colomnes. Cette Mosquée est ronde comme la première,
& a 85. pas de diamètre.[157]
He described both mosques as round (as do many travellers of other mosques),

by which we may assume they were simply referring to the domed space alone.
He also marvelled at the riches inside the Palace:
un Salon d’une grandeur extraordinaire, fort élevé & bien éclairé, avec de
grands rideaux attachez au platfond, & traînant jusques à terre. J’eus la
curiosité d’en lever un, &: j’eus le plaisîr de voir que ce Salon étoit remply
de miroirs, & orné de belles Colomnes de bois peintes & dorées.[158]
Bell visited the Palace in 1717 and described the Hall of Audience. He was
impressed by its mirrors and “silk carpets, interwoven with branches and foli-
age of gold and silver.”[159] Henry in 1798 was similarly impressed, declaring
that so numerous were the minarets that the site seemed a forest rather than a
town.[160] Yet he was insufficiently engaged to offer descriptions of any of the
mosques, although he gave an account of the palace. This boasted porphyry at
the entrance gate, and the main room was supported on tall, gilded columns.
Les murs sont revêtus de marbre blanc, peint et doré, à hauteur d’appui.
Le reste est un châssis de cristal de toutes couleurs. Au milieu du salon,

sont trois bassins de marbre, l’un sur l’autre, et en diminuant. Le pre-

mier a dix pieds de diamètre, sa forme est carré, et celle des deux autres,
octogone.[161]
In 1809 Gardane noted another mosque (“qui sera fort belle”) in construction
near the Palace, again using rare marbles,[162] while two years later Ouseley
repeated Figueroa’s two-centuries-old complaint about the neglect of old
mosques.[163] When Morier arrived in 1813, the city was in ruins, with “houses,
bazars, mosques, palaces, whole streets, are to be seen in total abandonment;
and I have rode for miles among its ruins, without meeting with any living
creature, except perhaps a jackal peeping over a wall, or a fox running to his
hole.”[164] He described the monuments, especially the Palace of the Forty
Pillars, finding that it is “painted and gilded with a taste and elegance worthy
of the first and most civilized of nations.”[165] Chardin was his point of refer-
ence in the palace of Shah Abbas:
The remains of that splendour … are still to be traced; the fine marbles
remain, and the grandeur and elevation of the dome are still undemol-
ished … we ascended to the pavilion where Shah Abbas was wont to
see the games of the Maidan and the exercises of his troops. This also
is sinking rapidly into decay, and retains nothing to attest the beauties
which travellers describe, except the shafts of the wooden columns, some
pieces of glass, and some decayed paintings. From this we ascended by a
winding staircase, still further to the very summit … Houses, or ruins of
houses, are spread all over the plain, and reach to the very roots of the
surrounding mountains.[166]
The pavilion with an intricate clock, mentioned by Chardin, was no longer to

be seen, and he had to judge mosques from the exterior.
The Mesjid Shah, or royal mosque, is still a noble building, if I might

judge from its outside; although the lacquered tiles on the dome are in
many places falling off … The Mesjid of Louft Ollah is exteriorly in good
repair.[167]
Writing in 1821, Porter offered a long description of the city’s erstwhile magnifi-
cence and then desolation.[168] Lumsden in the following year made no men-
tion of mosques, but was thrilled by the Palace of Shah Abbas, which included
a hall “that would not disgrace the most admired palace in Europe,” and glis-
tened with mirrors, fountains and marble.[169] Malte-Brun’s unnamed source
in 1824 may have the last word, describing “the Avenue of the famous tract

256 Chapter 6
called Shaherbag, which bears a great resemblance to Versailles.”[170] In 1827

Alexander concentrated on the Meidan.
On the south side is the Musjid-i-Shah, or king’s mosque, surmounted by

a dome covered with blue enamelled tiles; on the east side is the mosque
of Lootf Ulla; and on the north, the entrance to the large bazar, extend-
ing for several miles, and all covered in. It was sunset, and the enamelled
covering of the mosques was glittering from the evening rays.[171]
Like so many others, Fraser in 1834 was shocked by the ruinous buildings he
saw, comparing their present state with what Chardin had described.[172] He
found the city “a desolate expanse of ruins which stretched on every side” and,
like Lumsden, concentrated on the glories of the Palace, with a splendid hall
wherein “are rolled up and carefully preserved by each successive sovereign
the superb carpets that were trodden by the Great Abbas, more than two hun-
dred years ago, which far surpass in beauty and texture the flimsy fabrics of
modern manufacture.”[173] He then described the Meidan (which “has ceased
to present the busy scene it was wont to display in more prosperous days”) and
merely mentioned the mosques, which he evidently could not visit.[174]
In 1840, in the suite of the French ambassador, Flandin marvelled at Isfahan’s
size and monuments,[175] fully conscious of Shah Abbas’ role in their construc-
tion, with the mosques at the forefront.
Chez les peuples musulmans, les architectes ont employé tout leur
savoir, appliqué les inventions les plus élégantes de leur imagination à
la construction et à la décoration des mosques … les marbres de Paros,
l’albâtre égyptien, le granit rouge, les colonnes élégantes en vert antique
ou en porphyre, aux chapiteaux dorés et gracieusement sculptés; pour
elles, les arabesques qui, sur l’émail, tracent les versets du Koran en lettres
brillantes devant le regard pénétré du vrai croyant.[176]
He then implied that some glitter had been lost.
Cette demeure, autrefois si somptueuse, se présente extérieurement sur

le Meidan-i-Châh, d’une manière imposante. Elle domine cette place de
toute la hauteur d’un kiosque ou portique immense qui a plus de cin-
quante mètres d’élévation.[177]
In 1841 Dubeux followed the usual travellers’ path by comparing what he could
see with what Chardin described.[178] The city was now much smaller, and one
might wander amongst the ruins without encountering any living being.[179]

He visited and described the Hussein Madrassa, noting its ruinous dome,[180]
and was enchanted by the Hasht Behesht Palace (built in 1669), which survives
today. He described the central salon.
Ce salon, qui a près de soixante pas de diamètre, a été construit de figure

irrégulière, à sept angles ou faces, dont celle du fond est beaucoup plus
large que les autres. Le milieu est en dôme écrasé, élevé de seize à dix-huit
toises, soutenu sur des pilastres, faits en arcades, et en pareil nombre qu’il
y a d’angles. Le tout est couvert d’un plafond de mosaïque, d’un fort bel
ouvrage … Partout c’est quelque chose de divers et de nouveau: aux uns
il y a des cheminées, à d’autres des bassins avec des jets d’eau, qu’on fait
monter là par des tuyaux enfermés dans les pilastres … Le bas, jusqu’à dix
pieds de hauteur, est revêtu de jaspe tout à l’entour; les balustres sont de
bois doré; les châssis sont d’argent; et les carreaux de cristal, ou de verre
fin de toutes couleurs. Pour ce qui est des ornements, on ne peut rien faire
où il y ait plus de magnificence et de galanterie mêlées ensemble.[181]
By the 1850s, the town’s aspect had improved. Gobineau, travelling 1855–58,
considered the Royal Mosque of rare magnificence (and subject to a lacka-
daisical repair program), but somehow made smaller by the immensity of the
Meidan.[182] He praised a small and recently built palace in the Chaharbagh as
“un vrai bijou,”[183] and went on to admire and describe other structures along
its length.[184] Eyriès concurred in 1859 about the magnificence of the surviving
mosques, no doubt improvising (and at length) from Texier’s account.[185] For in
1842 Texier had concentrated on Shah Abbas’ Great Mosque, “en briques recou-
vertes par des tuiles émaillées à fond bleu, et ornées de fleurs et d’arabesques,”
and praised the talent of architect and workmen in this chef-d’œuvre.[186] After
judging the bazaars as inferior in architecture to those of Constantinople,[187]
he then described the difficulties he sometimes had from passers-by as he tried
to draw monuments. He implied in a coy account that here it was in part his
sweet-talking to the mosque officials (just as at Constantinople) which gained
him privileged access:
il fallait pénétrer dans toutes les parties du monument, monter dans les
coupoles, dans les minarets, où le muezzin a seul accès. Je ne dirai pas
tous les soins que j’ai pris pour faire de proche en proche connaissance
avec les officiers de la mosquée.[188]
The tiles on Isfahan’s mosques attracted Benjamin’s attention in 1887; he

clearly lusted after them, knew their collectable value, and “considering the
extraordinary beauty of these mosaics of Ispahan and the material of which

258 Chapter 6
they are composed, it is remarkable that so little attention has been called to
them.”[189] It is no coincidence that travellers were also filching tiles in Asia
Minor (from Konya), and that detailed exposure to the Alhambra made such
tiles popular back home.
Travellers often stayed in caravanserais and were impressed by their facili-
ties. Morier in 1816 described a ruined one he visited near Isfahan.
It is situated on the right of the road, and, with its bath and reservoirs on the
left, was built by the mother of Shah Abbas. The structure has suffered less
than any other which we have seen, by the injuries of time and man. It is
built of brick, on a foundation of the same fine blue stone, which we had so
much admired at Mayar. The front is ornamented with an open brick-work,
and with neat Mosaic. The portico is crowned by a superb dome, and leads
into the square court; the sides of which contain the rooms for travellers.
Behind are vaulted stables with much accommodation. The hummum is
useless through decay; but the reservoir is still in good repair.[190]
Apparently, the town’s mid-century prosperity did not last. In 1906 Williams
Jackson wrote that “little is left to tell the story of its former beauty; neglect
and decay are all too evident.”[191] He admired the variously named eighteenth
century Madrasa-i Madar-i Shah,
with its doors encrusted with brass and chased with silver, calls forth
admiration, and its turquoise dome, girdled with arabesques in rich yel-
low, is as beautiful as it is graceful. But much of the exquisite tiling on the
dome has dropped off, and some of the marble panels on the outer wall
of the building itself have disappeared.[192]
He then visited the Takt-i-Fulad cemetery, where he described a deserted and

ruined shrine, perhaps now gone.
The roof was originally a dome, but most of this vaulted covering has
fallen … eight doorways look out toward the different points of the com-
pass. The brick and stucco columns which form the sides of the doorways
and support the roof are so arranged that they give a pillared effect to
the temple.[193]
3.4 Kashan
La principale mosquée est tout contre le grand marché. Elle a une tour
qui luy sert de clocher faitte de pierre de taille. La mosquée & la tour sont

des restes de la splendeur des premiers Mahometans qui envahirent la

Perse.[194] [1686]
Thus observed Chardin, who could have mentioned the tiles, the town’s spe-
ciality. The second Safavid shah, Tahmasp I (r.1524–76), transferred the Persian
capital here from Tabriz. But Kashan’s glory did not last, for Shah Abbas I took
the court to Isfahan in 1598. In 1725 Le Brun noted a handsome caravanserai
and a large house.
Cette Maison est grande & d’une beauté surprenante, ayant 36. pas de
profondeur & 7. de large. La voute en est couronnée d’un dôme, sur lequel
il y a une Lanterne à l’Italienne; & elle a deux arcades de côté, d’où l’on
voit les appartements.[195]
In 1816 Morier saw the Jameh Mosque in decay, as part of the Medresse Shah
Sultan Hossein.
The right side of this court is occupied by the mosque, which is still a
beautiful building, covered by a cupola and faced by two minarets. But
the cupola is falling into decay, the lacquered tiles, on its exterior sur-
face, are all peeling off, and the minarets can no longer be ascended,
for the stairs are all destroyed. The interior of the dome is richly spread
with variegated tiles, on which are invocations to the prophet, and verses
of the koran in the fullest profusion. I ascended the dome, from which
I had but a partial view of the surrounding country; and that which
I did see was scarcely any thing more than a series of ruined houses and
palaces.[196]
Williams Jackson visited Kashan in 1906 and noticed somewhat sourly the sole
remaining brick minaret (dated 1074) of the Jameh Mosque, “which looks in
the distance as if a modern factory with a high chimney had been set up to
give occupation to the inhabitants.”[197] Presumably he was expecting a mina-
ret covered in the city’s trademark tiles.
3.5 Mashhad
‘Imam Riza lies buried in a great mosque in a large tomb which is covered
with silver gilt,’ and he adds, ‘the ambassadors went to see the mosque,
and afterwards, when in other lands people heard them say they had
been to his tomb, they kissed their clothes, saying that they had been
near the holy Horazan [i.e. the shrine in Khurasan].’ [1404]

260 Chapter 6
Thus noted the Spanish ambassador Clavijo, envoy from the Castilian court
to the capital of Tamerlane at Samarkand, who was able to visit the shrine,
unlike in my day, wrote Williams Jackson in 1911.[198] In this, the capital of the
province of Khurasan, the enormous shrine of Imam Reza was described by
Muslim travellers,[199] and is much visited by pilgrims to this day, but not well
known to travellers because of its exclusivity. Fraser described in 1834 what he
saw from the outside.
The whole is adorned with tiles of the richest colours, profuse of azure
and gold, disposed in the most tasteful devices, while from the centre
depends a large branched candlestick of solid silver. The dome is cov-
ered with gilded tiles … two lofty- minarets, the lowest parts of which
are cased with an azure coating, while the upper parts and the galleries
round the top are richly gilt, – assuredly the most beautiful things of this
description in the whole empire.[200]
Fraser paid a second visit to Mashhad and its great square in 1838, without
mentioning that the complex included the tomb of Imam Reza, he found that
all its beauty was gone; its glory had departed. The gilding was dimmed or
smirched; the tiles in many places had fallen off, leaving great clayey gaps
in the middle of the rich gold work. The beautiful lackered work of glazed
tiles, resembling vivid mosaic, here called Câshee, had been rubbed or
worn off beneath, and in many places had peeled from the walls to a great
extent, betraying the bricks and mud.[201]
Nor was this all, for
the beautiful minaret of azure and gold erected by Shah Ismael, had been
so shook or damaged, that for fear of its falling they had taken it down;
and the splendid azure-lettered inscriptions on the neck of the golden
dome, were turned to a dusty grey. The beautiful gateways at either end of
the Sahn had suffered a corresponding dilapidation. The tiles were every-
where peeling off, and the freshness of their colours quite tarnished. Even
the exquisite succah-kaneh, or water-house, in the centre of the square,
constructed of a kind of filigree work in gilded wood, was falling to pieces,
and all its gilding was gone.[202]
He had described more of the complex in his 1834 book (“neither Jew nor
Christian is permitted to intrude into this magnificent square under pain of

death”), but did not say how he came by the details he cited.[203] Eyriès in 1839
wrote only that “La dépouille mortelle de ce saint personage repose sous une
coupole dorée dont la magnificence est égalée par deux minarets richement
décorés et qui, aux rayons du sotfit, répandent une lumière éclatante.”[204]
Mitford, travelling in 1842, who apparently visited the tomb of Imam Reza,
found “several large handsome squares, which have been very splendid, but are
now falling to decay.” He admired the “Moorish” arches in the centre of each
side of the main square, one of them being the entrance to the mosque.
These are most beautiful, and minutely worked in Gothic fret-work and
arabesque patterns, with abundance of gilding and coloured glazed
tiles; this ornamental work is carried round the walls of the square and
has a very beautiful effect; one of these arches forms an entrance to the
mosque, the gilt dome of which rises above it, furred with dry grass, which
has grown between the interstices of the blocks of stone.[205]
Eastwick also described the shrine complex at length in 1864, but perhaps
could not enter the inner shrine.
The quadrangle of the shrine seemed to be about 150 paces square …

Over the western archway was a white cage for the muazzin, and outside
it was a gigantic minaret 120 ft. high, and as thick as the Duke of York’s
column in London. The beauty of this minaret cannot be exaggerated.
It had an exquisitely carved capital, and above that a light pillar, seem-
ingly 10 ft. high; and this and the shaft below the capital, or about 20 ft.,
were covered with gold. All this part of the mosque (shrine) was built by
Shah Abbas … The inner mosque would contain 3000 persons. Over it
rose a dome entirely covered with gold, with two minarets at the sides,
likewise gilt all over. On the right of the Imam’s tomb is that of Abbas
Mirza, grandfather of the reigning Shah. Near him several other princes
and chiefs of note are buried.[206]
Nor could Benjamin in 1887:
Of course no Christian has seen anything but the exterior of this shrine,
and that from a distance, except one or two who have entered in disguise
at imminent risk of their lives. The effect is said to be one of matchless
chromatic splendor, – a combination of gold and iridescent hues play-
ing around the azure letters, which in high relief reproduce the entire
Koran.[207]

262 Chapter 6
3.6 Nakhchivan
‘Twas a great City … There are the Remains of several rare Mosquees, which
the Turks have destroy’d, for the Turks and Persians destroy one anothers
Mosquees as fast as they fall into one anothers possession. [1684][208]
Now part of Azerbaijan, and conquered by Timur in 1401, Abbas I of Persia took
the city of Nakhchivan from the Ottoman Empire in 1603. Tavernier described
no mosques in the town, but gave details of the spectacular fourteenth cen-
tury Garabaghlar Mausoleum. Some 30km NW of the town, the mausoleum
is 30m high:
It is compos’d of four Duomo’s joyn’d together, which support a kind of

Pyramid, that seems to be fram’d of twelve little Towers; but toward the
middle it changes its figure, and lessening like a Spire, ends in a Point.
The Building is all of Brick, but as well the out-side as the inside is
over-spread with a kind of Varnish of Parget, wrought into Flowers, like
Emboss’d Work.[209]
The remains of two magnificent mosques were still to be seen in Nakhchivan

in 1821, which Porter noted, but did not describe as
the mosque of Zavia, is curiously overlaid with green, blue, and gilded
tiles; a gorgeous style of ornament, which appears the peculiar taste of
the East.[210]
Ouseley merely mentioned the Garabaghlar Mausoleum in 1823, but wrote as

follows of one of the two mosques:
a mosque with two cylindrical towers or mimrehs; the front of this edifice
presented three Cufi inscriptions; one resting horizontally over the door-
way, in blue tile-work; the other two perpendicularly placed at the sides,
were in raised characters of plain brick.[211]
Lycklama à Nijeholt was here in 1872, and it was perhaps here that corpses
were left until they could be taken to Karbala: “L’odeur infecte qui sortait de
cette mosquée m’empêcha d’y entrer.”[212] Feuvrier visited in 1892, reported a
city now covered with ruins, and once much bigger, and described the Juma
Mosque, which survives.

Les plus remarquables témoins du passé sont une belle porte ogivale, flan-
quée de minarets décapités, par laquelle on accède à une tour octogonale
assez bien conservée, dont les faces sont couvertes de briques émaillées;
et une grande mosquée tout à fait en ruine, n’offrant plus qu’un dôme
éventré.[213]
3.7 Persepolis
It is to be remarked, that in the figures, throughout the whole of the pal-

ace, the rules of art are not attended to; the muscles of the figures are
wanting, yet the drapery is finely done, and the proportions in general are
well kept up, though the contour is only observed, which gives a same-
ness to the whole. [1788]
Most travellers to Persia went to Persepolis, in the footsteps (of course) of

Alexander the Great and strained to find survivals of Greek architecture else-
where in the country. Hence the short mention here. Some were fascinated but
others, like Francklin above, joined Chardin in being disappointed that “who-
ever was the architect of this celebrated palace, was ignorant of Graecian and
of Roman architecture.”[214]
3.8 Qazvin
The chiefest ornament and grace of Casbin is the King’s palace, and the
great number of the seats of the Persiam grandees, who attend upon the
court, which has its continual residence there. There are but few mosques
in Casbin, but the royal mosque, called Metshid-sha, is one of the largest
and fairest in all Persia.[215] [1670s]
Thus Chardin on Qazvin, the capital of the Safavids 1555–98, as quoted in 1811.
Stuart, travelling 1835–36, “admired the glazed dome of a mosque, and two
high towers equally blue and shining. ”[216] Holmes elaborated on this in 1845
noting that
there were two conspicuous mosques; one, called the Mesjid-i-Shah, built
by Fathy Ali Shah; and another, of much older date [the Great Mosque,
built 1153], distinguished by a large dome and two minarets of glazed blue
bricks, which are now partially destroyed. The dome was also formerly
decorated in a similar manner, but all the tiles had fallen.[217]

264 Chapter 6
A decade later Gobineau found the palace somewhat ruined, and deserted,
although it possessed “grand air et dont la porte monumentale est digne des
puissants monarques qui jadis l’ont fait élever.” He then viewed the cemeteries,
with tombs graced by a marble recalling that of Paros, and finally the Masjed
al-Nabi
une mosquée inoubliable, carrée comme une boîte, sans ornements sail-
lants, mais toute revêtue d’émaux bleus à ramages et à arabesques blancs,
oranges et noirs, qui fait l’effet le plus prodigieux, sont les objets qui font
l’admiration des voyageurs.[218]
In 1892 Feuvrier visited the same Royal Mosque, and reported on its dilapidation.
Sa porte délabrée, flanquée de deux minarets à moitié démolis, fait mal

augurer de l’état de l’intérieur … Quatre portiques on ogive, au milieu
des murs qui encadrent la cour, offrent chacun une ouverture donnant
accès dans autant de salles … Voûtes et murs décrépis, portiques, façades
et minarets dépouillés de mosaïques, bassin aux ablutions tout dété-
rioré, briques de la cour brisées ou cachées par des touffes d’herbe, tout
témoigne du manque de soins, du défaut d’entretien de cet édifice.[219]
3.9 Qom
It is not an easie thing for the Christians to get in to this Court, espe-
cially such whose Habits and Aspect they do not like: But as I cloth’d and
carry’d my self, I never was deny’d entrance into any place either in Persia
or India.[220]
Qom, 140km south of Tehran, is a holy pilgrimage city for Shiʾa Islam; it is “little
less than a city of mosques, minarets, madrasahs, and corpses,” wrote Williams
Jackson in 1901.[221] In a rich complex of monuments, it contained (among
others) the shrine of Fatima, sister of Imam Reza (789–816). In Persia from
1671 Chardin, several decades after Tavernier (quoted above), offered a brief
description of this complex’s layout,[222] and an appreciation of its architec-
ture so accurate that he must have been able to visit the chapels.
Celle du milieu a une entrée de 18. pieds de profondeur tout-a-fait magni-

fique. C’est un portail de ce beau marbre blanc dont l’on a parlé. Le haut
qui est aussi un grand demi-Dome est incrusté par dehors de grands car-
reaux de fayance, peints de moresques, & par dedans tout doré & azuré.
La porte qui a douze pieds de hauteur & six de largeur est de marbre

transparent. Les valves ou battans sont tout révetus d’argent, avec des
appliques raportées de vermeil doré, de cizelé & de lisse qui font une
Mosaïque tout-à-fait riche & curieuse. La Chapelle est octogone couverte
d’un haut Dome. Le bas à la hauteur de six pieds est révetu de grandes
tables de Porphire ondé, & peint de fleurs tirées avec de l’or & des cou-
leurs, dont la vivacité & l’éclat sautent aux yeux. Le haut est de moresques
d’or & d’azur admirablement vives & éclatantes. Le fond du Dome est fait
tout demesme. Ce Dome est fort gros & admirablement beau, incrusté en
dehors comme le portail.[223]
Indeed Careri, travelling 1694, accompanied by a guide, was conducted all

over the complex, including inside the tombs, mentioning silk, gold and silver
lamps, and carpets.[224]
By the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, however, the interiors were
evidently off limits and mentioned only by hearsay, although exteriors were
briefly described. Le Brun visited Qom in 1703, and found “plusieurs Mosquées
ornées de dômes, dont le principal est peint d’un beau vert, & glacé de bleu par
dehors. Il y en a une qui tombe en ruines à present, dont les Turcs se servirent
pour leurs prières.”[225] Bell in 1717 who wrote only of the arrangement of the
complex, and that “the monument of Sidy Fathima stands in the front of the
building, encompassed with a grate work of pure silver, very valuable.”[226] And
Eyriès stated that the mausoleum, “tout de marbre et d’or est entouré d’une
énorme grille d’argent massif.”[227]
In the early nineteenth century Morier commented only that the present
ruler
covered the cupola of the tomb itself with gold plates (instead of the lac-
quered tiles which he removed), and he is said to spend one hundred thou-
sand tomauns annually, in the embellishments of these monuments.[228]
He also noted the rich offerings the complex contained, commenting that
“such is Persia: immense wealth lavished upon one object, the magnificence
of which, compared with the surrounding misery, renders the contrast more
striking.”[229] In 1821 Porter wrote of the thin gold plates of the dome, noting
that “there are also the remains of above forty mosques, with tombs innumer-
able, and other edifices, formerly attached to the consecrated character of the
city.”[230] Not that this holy city impressed him, once large,
the most conspicuous objects are old houses fallen into rubbish, crum-
bling mosques, and other edifices, all tumbled into heaps, or gradually
mouldering down to that last stage of decay. In fact, this once populous

266 Chapter 6
city, renowned for the sanctity both of its living and its dead, is now little
more than a large straggling wilderness of ruins.[231]
Ouseley visited the city as part of an ambassadorial party in 1823, remarked on

the large numbers of uninhabited buildings, and evidently could not enter the
tomb complex.[232] Fraser was here in 1834, and described the shrine, presum-
ably from hearsay.[233]
3.10 Samarra (Iraq)

Samarra, 125km north of Baghdad (and appearing in Percy’s 1901 book enti-
tled The Highlands of Asiatic Turkey!), was once the capital of the Abbasid
Caliphate (founded by Al-Muʾtasim in 836, but abandoned in 892), and still
retains extensive visible ruins, well described by Sarre and Hertzfeld at the end
of the nineteenth century, and then excavated by Hertzfeld. The plan of several
palaces could be drawn, but any surviving elevations lacked luxurious detail
because, as Ibn Khaldun observed as a general principle of his times, unwanted
buildings were left to ruin, and their fitments extracted for further use else-
where. The most conspicuous survival was the enormous Great Mosque, with
its minaret (this comprehensively tidied up since earlier photographs). This
minaret was helical (“malwiya”) and, when it was built in 848–852, and 52m
high, its mosque (built by the Abbasid Caliph al-Mutawakkil) was the largest in
the world. Abu Dulaf then repeated the form for his own mosque, established
859, 15km north of Samarra, with a helical minaret of 32m high.
Thielmann was here in 1875, admired the Al-Askari Shrines (of the tenth
and eleventh Shiʾi imams) “the one is surmounted by a well preserved cupola,
entirely inlaid with the famous Persian glazed tiles of different colours and of
beautiful, designs; whilst the other not only has its cupola, but also the dome
covered with gold, and possesses two slender minarets rising at its side.” He
then turned to the Great Mosque’s minaret, which he evidently believed was
earlier than Islam.
It is a tower of apparently high antiquity, the shape of which is an imita-

tion of the ancient Tower of Babel. Starting from a broad basis it rises
upwards, lessening in breadth as it ascends, and a spiral-shaped road
starting from the foundation winds itself up to the summit. I was not able
to learn anything either as regards the date at which this tower was built,
or in respect of the original purpose of its construction.[234]
Earl Percy published his account of Samarra in 1901, impressed by the Mosque,
but wanting to know more about the first palace.

Of the palace of Motassem, the eighth Caliph, who first transferred the
seat of government from Bagdad to Samara, owing to a conflict between
the soldiery and the civilian population, there are now scarcely any
traces left.[235]
He was especially attracted to the Mausoleum of Imam Hussein Askar.
The glint of the sun upon its polished surface, flashing through the
whirling drifts of a sandstorm, produces a strange and weird contrast
to the barren savagery of the surrounding desert, which for many miles
is strewn with crumbling skeletons and brilliant-coloured fragments of
glazed pottery. Around its base runs a beautiful band of inscription in
enamelled tilework.[236]
3.11 Semnan
Semnan is 216km east of Teheran. Holmes visited it in 1845 and admired a
recently built mosque (“of the Shah”) as “the prettiest and most perfect thing
of the kind I ever saw in Persia; and being new, it is in excellent repair.” He
climbed the minaret of an older mosque:
called the Mesjid-i-Jumah, which, among other inscriptions, bears one,

stating its age to be two hundred and twenty-one years; but no one could
tell me by whom it was constructed. It is in ruins; and seems never to have
had pretensions to any beauty, save in a very elegant minaret about a
hundred feet high, once embellished with coloured tiles, but now exhib-
iting nothing but the bare bricks. This I ascended, and obtained a capital
bird’s-eye view of the city.[237]
Hommaire de Hell, travelling 1846–48, was startled to see the same mosque
in good condition, indeed “tout à fait intacte et tellement bien entretenue,
qu’on la dirait achevée de la veille, chose rare en Perse, où la plupart des mon-
uments publics sont complètement abandonnée aussitôt la mort de leurs
fondateurs.”[238]
The city was flourishing in the early twentieth century, when Williams
Jackson also admired the 1826 “Mosque of the Shah”:
the striking effect of the rich façade, with its panel niches of bright tiles,
the two-storied arches that balance it on the right and the left, and the
high-vaulted arch which is the main feature of the edifice, and which is
crowned by a cupola from whose height the muazzin calls to prayer, are all

268 Chapter 6
features familiar to every one who has given attention to Muhammadan

architecture.[239]
3.12 Shiraz
It hath a nombre of excellent faire churches and good howses trymed

with musaico and other goodly ornaments: and may conteigne ccml
houses, or peradventure more.[240] [1473]
Barbaro (above) wrote no more on the “excellent faire churches,” but Herbert
did so in 1627:
L’on y voit quinze superbes Mosquées, qui sont toutes rondes, faites sur le
patron du saint Alkaba de la Mecque, revestuës par dehors d’une parque-
terie de pierres bleues, comme le lapis lazari, belles comme des turquoises,
& par dehors d’un beau marbre noir, poly comme un miroir. [1627]
And he went on to describe the mosques’ “mosaics” and marble which deco-
rated them:
Il y en a deux particulièrement, dont les tours & les ouvrages à la Mosaïque

sont admirables; l’une est quarrée au corps haute de cinquante pieds, &
en quelques endroits couverte de plomb doré & azure. Les murailles sont
vernissées & chargées de lacs & de devises, vastes & sans ornement au
dedans, ayant au lieu d’aiguille deux colomnes ou pilliers de bois, ronds,
taillés & embellis de forces figures, presque aussi hauts que le clocher de
l’Eglise de saint Paul à Londres.[241]
Shiraz contained the twelfth century Shah Cheragh shrine (rebuilt and
enlarged in the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries), wherein were buried Amir
Ahmad and his brother Mir Muhammad. After Mashad and Qom, this was the
third holy focus of Shiʾi Islam.
Don Garcias de Sylva de Figueroa (1574–1628), ambassador of Philip III to
the Shah Abbas the Great, travelling 1617–24, admired the mosque built here by
Aga Liza, Governor of Dabul, in 1617, as “vn si somptueux & si superbe édifice,
auec lequel pas vn autre de toute la Ville ne peut entrer en comparaison, pour
la grandeur ny pour la beauté.” He went on to describe some details:
La façade est ornée d’vn grand & beau portique de deuant la porte, ayant à
coite deux Alcorans fort hauts, reuestus depuis le haut iusqu’en bas d’vne
tres-belle marquetterie, auec leurs galeries, dont ils sont garnis presque

iusqu’en haut, & d’où l’on découure de bien loin toutes les personnes qui
viennent à la Ville, de quelque costé qu’elles y abordent.[242]
In 1673 Deslandes-Douliers focussed on the mausolea:
on voit sur la montagne, quelques petits dômes eslevez sur quatre piliers;
ce sont des Sepulchres. Mais le plus magnifique est à un quart de lieuë de
la ville dans un vallon. Il y a une belle Mosquée avec de grands bastimens
faits pour un Collège, tout cela va en ruine.[243]
At the end of the century Le Brun offered a description of the town, naming
six mosques, and remarking that most of the buildings were falling to ruin, and
the streets stank because of latrines.[244]
Shiraz was much visited by foreigners like Daulier-Deslandes (quoted above)
on their way to the Safavid capital, Isfahan. Tavernier noted that the houses of
the town were of earth, and
only the Colledg which Iman-Kouli-Kan built, and some of the Mosquees
are of Brick: and the best of those Mosquees is call’d Sha-Shiraque, which
out of a particular devotion is kept somewhat better in repair. However,
there is nothing in it worth taking notice of.[245]
Henry thought much the same over a century later,[246] but these were minor-
ity opinions. In 1788 Francklin, “disguised in my Persian dress,” entered the
new construction of Kerim Khan (known as the Vakil Mosque) who had made
Shiraz his capital in 1766/7. He then proceeded to describe the unfinished
mosque[247] and the same Shah’s bath, with its Tabriz marble and imitation
lapis lazuli.[248]
Waring, a Bengal Lancer visiting in 1807, relayed from the suite of Sir
Thomas Sherley in 1625 that “there were fifteen mosques, one of which had
two pillars as high as St. Paul’s.”[249] He himself noted that “the outside of the
principal mosque is very handsome, and, like the generality of eastern build-
ings, is ornamented with painted tiles with Arabic inscriptions,” but offered no
description.[250]
Perhaps Waring was prevented from entering, given his use of a description
nearly two centuries old. Similarly Morier, travelling 1808–1809, mentioned
and named several mosques and mausolea, but did not offer descriptions,[251]
except to note of the Vakil Mosque that “although some parts of the fabric are
in decay, it is still beautiful.”[252] He then described the Tomb of Hafiz, another
work by Kerim Khan.[253] Ouseley, travelling in 1811, thought the city “rapidly
hastening to decay, and most of its publick structures, once very numerous, are

270 Chapter 6
in a state of ruin or of neglect.” He evidently did not get into the Vakil Mosque,
“embellished, according to report, with a tesselated pavement of beautiful
marble, besides seventy columns of stone.”[254]
In 1825, an earthquake killed a quarter of the population. Fraser, visiting in
1834, could do little better than to rehearse the notes of earlier travellers such
as Herbert, le Brun and Tavernier, regretting that “even in the time of Chardin
the place was full of ruins, and he could launch into no great praises of its
beauty, or its public edifices.”[255] The same author, writing in 1838, associated
the unimpressive and decaying mosques with the decline of the city and its
very government and ruler.[256] We must conclude that the city’s earlier monu-
ments were still buried by rubble even as late as the mid-century, when the
1853 earthquake led Eyriès to write that
A Schiraz on n’a pas relevé, dit-on, moins de douze mille cadavres. Des
inondations et la grêle ont détruit les cultures de tabac et de pavot, et pour
comble de misère le choléra est survenu et a fait d’affreux ravages.[257]
In 1841 Dubeux continued the tone of regret for what the city once was,[258]
and an acerbic comment comes from Murray’s 1895 guide that “the mosques,
the oldest of which was built AD 875 [“The Old Mosque”], are of local repute,
but look more picturesque when seen from a distance.”[259] Were readers being
reminded of the appropriate distance at which to appreciate bagpipes?
Williams Jackson visited in 1906, and studied the twelfth century Shah
Cheragh shrine, renovated in the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries, wherein
were buried the son of Imam Musa:
Conspicuous in the background is the faience-traced dome of Shah

Chiragh, the beauty of which is unfortunately impaired by a popular
comparison of its swelling cupola with the head of some gigantic aspara-
gus. Beneath its vaulted roof lie the remains of one of the sons of Imam
Musa, a champion of Islam. Yet in architectural merit neither this nor any
of the other religious edifices, madrasahs, mausoleums, or baths can rival
those of several other cities in Persia.[260]
3.13 Soltaniyeh
Soltanie, au pied d’une haute montagne, c’a esté autrefois une des plus
belles villes de Perse, pour ses Mosquées magnifiques, mais elle est bien
descheue à present, & bien déserte.[261] [1673]

Soltaniyeh (Sultaniyah / Soltanieh), built as a capital in 1302 by Ilkhanid

Mongols, was destroyed by Tamburlane in 1384, but its ruined monuments
were fine enough to be recorded. Olearius was here in 1637, excited from a
distance by its “great shew” of minarets and sumptuous structures. This did
not last on approaching closer, for “within it is in a manner desolate.”[262]
(Deslandes-Douliers (opening quote) made a similar remark in 1673.) But
there was enough remaining of a “fair Mosquey” for him to describe. This was
the 1302–12 Mosque and Mausoleum of Muhammad Khodabendeh (Öljeitü,
r.1304–1316), who converted to Shi’ism in 1310.
The first thing offers it self to your view is a noble Pyramid, somewhat
decay’d at the top, having about it eight fair Pillars of Marble. Then is
it that you come into the Mosquey it self, which is very high and well
arched, having a great number of Pillars which up-hold the Roof, with
pleasant Galleries and in the midst a rich Pulpit.[263]
Barbaro had visited in 1473, reporting back to the Venetia Signoria on the “high
churche … the great cowpe whereof is bigger than that of San Joanni Paulo
in Venice,” and the “divers sepultures of the kings that were in time past.”[264]
The Venetian ambassador, Ambrogio Contarini, was here the following year;
he mentioned the mosque, and was attracted by the three sets of bronze gates
higher “than those of Saint. Mark in Venice, worked with knobs, made in dam-
ask work with silver, which are certainly most beautiful, and must, I should
think, have cost a large sum of money.”[265]
Le Brun was here in 1703, and counted four big mosques, three of them with
domes:
& dans l’une desquelles se trouve le Tombeau du Sultan Mohammed

Chodabendé, Fondateur de cette Ville y a ce qu’on prétend, il y a environ
400. ans. On m’a alluré que ce Tombeau est magnifique, & bien bâti, &
que la Chapelle en est ornée d’or & d’argent. La vue en est charmante
par-dehors.[266]
He referred readers to Olearius for further details.[267] Careri counted three

mosques, presumably those with domes, “whose Cupola’s and Towers were
cover’d with Tiles of several Colours. One of them has the two front Towers still
standing, but without the tops by reason of their extraordinary height.”[268]
In 1717 Bell was as brief as Le Brun, noting only “several stately mosques and
minorets,” one “the tomb of a Persian prince, called Chudabendie, which has a

272 Chapter 6
brass gate of lattice work, seemingly of great antiquity. In the same mosque is
the tomb of Sultan Bajazat, son to Chudabendie.”[269]
Jaubert, diplomat and orientalist, and Napoleon’s translator in Egypt, visited
Soltaniyeh in 1806 and quizzed the locals on the town’s poor state, because he
was puzzled to know why “l’herbe couvre-t-elle le seuil de ses palais, les cours
de ses mosques, I’enceinte de ses bazars?” He received the reply: civil disorder
was the reason, together with the disinterest of the government.[270] However,
he was insufficiently interested in the monuments to describe any of them. For
monuments there certainly were.
Tancoigne, travelling 1807–09, and finding only a miserable village, declared
it “impossible to take a single step in it without treading on the ruins of fine
monuments, which remind the stranger of its past splendour.” The remains of
three mosques he declared (or was he rabbiting Le Brun?) to be magnificent.
Built of brick, and surmounted with their cupolas and minarets. The inte-
riors, once encrusted with jasper and alabaster, were ornamented with
rich arabesques, and verses from the Koran, many of which still remain.
We visited the parts of these grand edifices which time has spared, and
that a more active government might even yet save from total ruin.[271]
Gardane in 1809 was in no doubt about the best monument there, namely
Khodabendeh’s tomb: “plus belle qu’on ait élevé en Asie â Mahomet, est à
Sultanié. Dans ses ruines nous avons admiré des colonnes d’albâtre et de
superbes mosaïques.”[272] For Drouville, travelling 1812–13, these fineries went
to decorate the few inhabited houses in the erstwhile city.[273] As for the great
mausoleum itself, Morier in 1816 saw “many workmen employed in pulling it
down, to use the materials in some of the king’s pleasure-houses.” The inte-
rior was then used for storing straw, and the locals “told me that there were
many fine marbles under the straw.” He climbed one of the minarets, and
remarked that
the whole structure looks more like a mosque than a tomb, compared
at least with those at Constantinople; but of any description, and in any
place, I do not recollect a building which could have surpassed this in its
original state. I ascended to the top of one of the shattered minarets.[274]
In 1821 Porter, perhaps because of the ravages caused by time on other struc-
tures, concentrated on the Mosque and Tomb of Muhammad Khodabendeh,
with its high dome, the interior tiled and gilded.

Much gilding is yet to be seen upon the upright and transverse lines
of decoration; amongst which, it is said, the whole Koran is written in
ornamented characters. It required a Mussulman’s eye to find them
out, in the varied labyrinth of arabesque patterns with which they were
surrounded.[275]
He continued:
all the proportions and decorations of this vast structure are in the most
splendid Asiatic taste; but the blue, green, and golden tiles, with which it
has been coated, are rapidly disappearing; yet enough remains to give an
idea of the original beauty of the whole.
He then went on to deplore the continuing reduction of the town from six
thousand people in 1637 to the present much smaller number.[276] Stuart
admired this “noble edifice” in 1835–6, and measured it.
The area is 100 feet [30.48] in diameter; the dome, 120 feet [36.57] high
from the ground, is nearly pointed at the top, and covered with green
lacquered tiles, with which it has also been lined, but the interior is
now plastered over. The body of the building is of octagon form. A cor-
nice is carried round the interior, about twelve feet from the ground, on
which an Arabic inscription in large letters is carved, and has apparently
been gilt.[277]
By 1839 Texier reported extensive degradation of the Khodabendeh complex

and its environs:
Cet édifice, en effet, qui jouit d’une grande célébrité, est réduit à l’état le
plus pitoyable; il semble que chacun prenne à tâche d’en emporter une
pierre pout· le démolir entièrement. Les nombreux édifices qui s’éle-
vaient encore, il y a moins d’un siècle, autour du monument principal
sont aujourd’hui entièrement écroulés.[278]
Texier knew that the complex was regarded by earlier writers as one of the most
magnificent monuments of Persia and was still thought so after he had passed
by. For Gobineau, for example, travelling 1855–58, the remains of the “grande
et belle mosquée du sultan Khodabendëh … lorsqu’elle était debout, passait
pour le plus vaste des temples musulmans du monde.”[279] Texier dedicated ten

274 Chapter 6
plates to it.[280] Granted its beauties, however, this the contrarian nevertheless
thought otherwise:
Ce qui frappe surtout les voyageurs, c’est cette harmonie parfaite du

bleu, de l’or et du vert employés pour peindre les délicates arabesques du
dedans, et. pour émailler des briques du dehors; mais, à mon sens, il doit
être placé fort au-dessous de la mosquée de Tabriz pour la perfection de
ses mosaïques et pour le soin avec lequel la construction a été faite.[281]
We might assume that by the 1840s the mosque complex was in such a ruinous
state that it was not worth describing. Dubeux in 1841 characterised the site as
“des monceaux de ruines” including the mosque itself, and then describes the
mausoleum, which he calls the mosque:
construite de briques et surmontée d’une coupole haute d’environ cent

vingt pieds sur cinquante de diamètre, et soutenue sur huit grands
arceaux. La mosquée a quatre minarets et deux portes. Le dôme est, à
l’extérieur, de briques couvertes d’un vernis blanc et bien pâle. L’intérieur
est de faïence dorée.[282]
Four years later Holmes noted that “the mosque, containing the tomb of Sultan
Mohamed Khodabundeh, forms a very conspicuous object, and rises high
above the ruined huts with which it is surrounded.” As for the decoration of
what he must mean is the mosque itself,
it was originally ornamented with glazed tiles, but they have now almost
all fallen off. The tomb is a large octangular building, surmounted by
a dome, with a minaret at each angle, most of which are half broken
down.[283]
Travelling 1846–48, Hommaire de Hell offered descriptions of exterior and

interior, with measurements, and illustrated both. For the exterior:
C’est dans ces angles coupés que se trouvent les escaliers communiquant
aux tribunes intérieures et aux galeries extérieures. Cette partie de l’édi-
fice s’élève jusqu’au niveau de la partie supérieure des voûtes des tribunes
intérieures; au delà commence la partie complètement octogonale de la
mosquée, qui possède sur chaque face des galeries extérieures percées
d’une grande et de deux petites fenêtres. Les voûtes de ces galeries en
mosaïque sont intactes; celle du centre offre une étoile; elles sont admi-
rables de dessin et de couleur, le fond en est couleur de chair; les tympans

des fenêtres sont en bleu. C’est au-dessus de cette partie octogonale, gar-
nie autrefois à tous les angles d’un minaret, que s’élève la Coupole. Cette
mosquée est depuis plus de cinquante ans dans l’état où elle se trouve
aujourd’hui … L’effet de cette magnifique ruine est prodigieux au milieu
des misérables cabanes qui composent le Sultanièh de nos jours.[284]
And for the interior:
Tout l’intérieur de la mosquée est orné dans le principe de briques vernis-

sées recouvrant entièrement certaines parties, et formant dans d’autres,
comme à la partie inférieure, des dessins, en s’enchevétrant au milieu
de briques ordinaires. Le travail est ici, de même qu’à Tauris, celui de la
mosaïque; les morceaux vernissés ont Om 02 d épaisseur; la terre en est
plus cuite qu’à la mosquée bleue; elle est rouge. Plus tard, tout l’intérieur
de la mosquée a été recouvert d’un épais plâtrage sur lequel se trouvent
écrites une masse d’inscriptions et peintes de magnifiques rosaces qui
décorent le fond des quatre niches inférieures. On comprend d’autant
moins ce travail que, partout où le plâtrage est tombé, la mosaïque est
parfaitement intacte et d’un admirable travail.[285]
In 1851 Flandin enlarged on Porter’s 1821 description. From a distance, “on voit
sa superbe coupole briller de tout l’éclat des faïences azurées et vertes dont elle
est revêtue.” Of the eight minarets only one survived, but “balancé par le vent,
il menace à tout instant d’aller au loin joncher la terre déjà couverte des débris
des autres.” He highlighted
le dôme dont la hardiesse et la courbe gracieuse complètent ce monument,

en lui donnant une grandeur imposante. L’élévation de cette mosquée est
de quarante à cinquante mètres, son diamètre de trente mètres.[286]
This was a Shia mosque, and therefore spurned by the population, so its sur-
vival is a tribute to its solidity. As the town recovered in the nineteenth century,
its materials were reused, as Flandin remarked.[287]
In 1859 Eyriès reminded his readers of the earthquake early in the century
(1825, which nearly flattened another mosque). He thought more of the struc-
ture than Texier, and
Rien d’ailleurs ne semble plus élégant, plus gracieux, dans aucun genre
d’architecture, que le portique en arc brisé de la mosquée extérieure
de Soultanieh, avec ses moulures un peu massives qui rappellent notre
genre roman, et ses mille détails reproduits.[288]

276 Chapter 6
In 1892 Feuvrier noted that an earlier Shah (Fath Ali 1798–1834) had taken
materials from the Soltaniyeh complex to build his palace, and he showed a
drawing he had made to the current Shah.
Le chah, voyant le dessin de mon album, me fait part de son intention

de restaurer la mosquée de Khoda Bendeh, ajoutant que dans deux ans
je reviendrai avec lui à Sultanyeh et que je pourrai la dessiner réparée,
inchaallah, a-t-il soin d’ajouter, s’il plaît à Dieu. Il est à désirer que ce
monument ne disparaisse pas complètement, sort pourtant le plus pro-
bable. Sans vouloir réédifier ce qui est démoli, ne peut-on du moins pré-
server d’une pareille destinée ce qui tient encore?[289]
Nearby was Samgael, where Le Brun in 1703 enjoyed the several domed
mosques and their decoration.
Plusieurs Mosquées ornées de dômes, dont le principal est peint d’un

beau vert, & glacé de bleu par dehors. Il y en a une qui tombe en ruines
à present, dont les Turcs se servirent pour leurs prières, lors qu’ils se ren-
dirent les maîtres de cette Place.[290]
3.14 Tabriz
The Friday Mosque … had been built by the Wazir ʿAli Shah of Gilan; its
court was paved with marble, and to the tank a channel brought water.
The walls were faced with enamelled tile-work.[291]
Thus wrote Ibn Battutah in the fourteenth century. Ambrogio Contarini was
in Tabriz in 1474, sent by the Signoria of Venice, and was little concerned
with the city’s mosques. As a probable indicator of the current prosperity, he
was impressed by the many palaces he saw, each with its own mosque and
bath.[292] One mosque, visible from far away, had a fountain one hundred paces
in length;[293] a great palace at the foot of a hill had a large hall with windows
looking onto the city, and lavished with marble columns, but also walls “of the
most beautiful marbles, not white, but in colour like silver.”[294] Yet even this
was outshone by Sultan Assambei’s palace known as Astibisti (Eight Heavens),
built in the centre of a garden, and rich in marble.[295] The marble was local,
and available in various colours (see below).
Later visitors concentrated on the mosques. In 1575 Thevet described the
twelfth century Jameh Mosque as follows:

Or entre les Mosquees belles & riches qui sont en ceste ville, y en a vne
bastie au beau milieu, faite de tel artifice que ie ne sçay si celle que Sultan
Solyman a fait faire de mon temps en Constantinople, voire ne la saincte
Sophie du dit lieu, y sçauroierit donner approche.
It was adorned with columns of fine marble bearing what he thought were
Doric capitals,[296] but he did not describe its spectacular minarets.
Apparently the town was not completely Islamic when Chardin was here in
the 1670s, and he reported on the awkward and rebellious Christians in what
was perhaps an exceedingly tall story:
there is not any mosque in Teflis [!], though it be under a Mahometan

Prince, and though the Persians have attempted to build one several
times, they could never accomplish their design, for the people mutinied
and beat down their work … yet the Emperor of Persia is afraid to come
to any extremities with them, lest they should revolt to their neighbours
the Turks, and so Teflis and all Georgia enjoy their liberty to retain almost
all the exterior marks of their religion; for, on the top of all the steeples
of their churches stands a cross, and in them they have bells, which they
often ring. Every day they sell pork openly, as well as other victuals, and
wine, at the corners of the streets, which vexes the Persians to see, but
they cannot help it.[297]
Like Thevet, Bell visited the same Jameh Mosque in 1716, believing it to be a
converted ancient temple,
supported by many stately pillars of porphyry, almost entire, some

whereof are of a greenish colour, with other colours and veins of gold
interspersed.
And he wondered about the source of the marble.[298] He went on not to

describe other mosques, instead dwelling on “some large caravanseries; so that
no stranger can be at a loss for lodging at a small expence.”[299] Earthquakes
destroyed large parts of the city in 858 and 1043, again in 1669, and more in 1773
and 1780. This explains why Bell’s account featured no mention of the Blue
Mosque (built by Jahan Shah in 1465) or its tiles: it was in ruins. (Its restoration
began in 1973.)
Jean-Baptiste Tavernier’s descriptions (travelling to the East between 1630
and 1668) were frequently reproduced, and in English translation, and it is a

278 Chapter 6
pity that foreigners did not know Çelebi’s extensive mid-century accounts of
buildings in the Ottoman as well as the Persian Empire, as here for Tabriz.[300]
Tavernier’s account of Tabriz, close to the Turkish border, and near Soltaniyeh,
was where the Persians “have also let run to ruine four or five Mosquees of
a prodigious height and bigness.” He proceeded to describe at length the
Blue Mosque, paying particular attention to the domed spaces, and the wall
decoration.[301]
Because of later earthquake damage (earthquakes: 1641, 1727, and 1780),
Tavernier’s description survived for centuries, repeated in 1842 by Texier with-
out attribution,[302] and then in 1873 by Lycklama a Nijeholt,[303] an indica-
tion of the value of accounts which preceded decline or ruination. Chardin,
travelling in 1671, found no antiquities among the various ruins. He gave a plan
of the ruined town, mentioned several monuments,[304] and briefly described
the Blue Mosque, “dont le dedans est incrusté de marbre transparent, & tout le
dehors est fait de parquetterie à la Mosaique.”[305] Chardin provided a plan of
the monuments, but had little to say about the rest of them, including the Blue
Mosque, except for scavenging among the ruins.[306]
In 1673 Daulier-Deslandes reported on the mosques (in the past tense): “il
y en avoit trois ou quatre dune prodigieuse grandeur.”[307] He visited the Blue
Mosque, and perhaps climbed the minarets flanking the façade; describing
the mosque’s domes, the interior decoration, and the (Tabriz) marble panes
in the windows.[308] He also visited “une grosse tour de brique à demy ruinée”
outside the city.[309] In 1686 Deslandes-Douliers echoed Chardin’s comments
on Persian neglect in 1673, called it magnificent, mentioned the domes, and
offered a slightly longer description:
Il est couvert de deux grands dômes, sa façade a de chaque costé un mina-

ret ou tour fort haute & déliée comme une colomne: le dehors de tout
l’Edifice est revestu de briques vernissées de toutes couleurs. Le dedans
est embelly de peintures à la moresque, & de mille chifres Arabes peints
avec l’or & l’azur.[310]
Travelling in 1694, Careri remarked on two monuments
of Hassan-Bascia … a Front curiously wrought in Brick, with Reliefs of

Marble carv’d after the Italian manner in Flowers, Birds and Fruit of sev-
eral sorts. The Gate is all of one entire piece of white Marble … two high
Towers … but the tops of the Towers are gone to Ruin.][311]
And then the Osmanli Mosque,

which is the best in Tauris, and the Persians let it go to ruin as Polluted
and Heretical; because it was built by the Sunnis … the Front of it over the
great Gate … is curiously wrought, almost like Mosaick of curious Blew,
Purple, black and while Tiles, with two his Towers closing above like a
Turban, cover’d with the like Work, but rais’d. Within there are wind-
ing Stairs, but that on the left was half beaten down by Lightning … The
Cupola is 34 paces Diameter, with the same sort of Work within … It is
supported by 12 Marble Pillars within, and by 16 without, which are very
high, and each of them six Foot square … The out-side of the great Cupols
is cover’d with green Tiles, with small white Flowers, and the other with
white Stars on a black Ground, which are Pleasant to behold.[312]
Tancoigne saw ruins when he travelled to Tabriz in 1807–1809, noting the

remains of “a beautiful mosque, entirely encrusted with jasper, alabaster and
marble of various colours,” and judging that “the continued devastations and
convulsions to which this country is exposed must have discouraged the inhab-
itants from building many similar édifices.”[313] In 1809 Gardane wrote simply
of a ruined mosque that “Les habitans disent qu’elle a mille ans d’ancienneté.
Nous avons vu de beaux restes de mosaïque.”[314]
Morier in 1816 was told that it was domed buildings that stood up well to
earthquakes, “where others, the strongest walls, have been rent asunder.”[315]
Two years later, Morier thought the town had shrunk to one-tenth its seven-
teenth century size.[316] All its large buildings had been destroyed by earth-
quakes, and for the Blue Mosque he recorded “the complete ruin of a mosque,
but still sufficiently preserved to show how fine a structure it must once have
been.”[317] The same might-have-been sentiment was expressed by Aucher-Éloy,
who in 1835 saw but did not name “les ruines d’une mosquée qui a dû être
magnifique.”[318] We might assume that any new building was at the expense
of older ruins, hence the much degraded views of the Blue Mosque published
in the nineteenth century, which had also suffered in various earthquakes (see
below).
Porter explained the problem in 1821, namely that of the two hundred and
fifty mosques mentioned by Chardin, only three, and those in ruins, were vis-
ible. He concentrated on that of Ali Shah:
which still presents lofty arches, and the mouldering vaulted work of
splendid domes. The whole of the building, within and without, has been
cased with lackered tiles of porcelain, adjusted into intricate and elab-
orate figures, with an ingenuity and taste that would honour the most
accomplished artists of any age. The colours of these decorations are

280 Chapter 6
green, dark and light blue, interspersed with Arabic sentences in letters
of gold; and a broad band of such legends, formed in white, upon this
beautifully varied ground, and interwoven with flowers in green and gold,
winds round the entire extent of the building.[319]
Fossicking among the ruins of the town, Porter enlightened Bell’s puzzlement
over the source of the marble, stating
we found several spacious and vaulted apartments, much below the pres-
ent surface of the ground; and near to them the remains of a magnificent
mosque … pieces of the white transparent marble, so renowned by the
name of Tabreez marble …
So extensive had been the damage that Porter found much of his work
underground.
We traced the foundations of other considerable buildings; and distinctly

marked where the baths had been. Indeed, from the undisturbed archi-
tectural dispositions of all these remains, I am led to conclude, that the
most violent effects of the earthquakes must have been confined to the
plain.[320]
In 1824 Malte-Brun (quoting Sir Robert Ker Porter) compared the host of
mosques mentioned by Chardin with the surviving ruins of only three, includ-
ing that in the remains of the citadel:
The most considerable is that of Ali-Shah, erected nearly 600 years ago
by Ali-Koja, and still presenting lofty arches, and the mouldering vaulted
work of splendid domes; the whole of the building within and without
has been cased with lacquered tiles of porcelain, adjusted into intricate
and elaborate figures, with an ingenuity and taste which would honour
the most accomplished artists of any age. The colours of those decora-
tions are green, dark, and light-blue, interspersed with Arabic sentences
in gilt letters; and a broad band of similar inscriptions, formed in white
on this beautifully varied ground, and interwoven with flowers in green
and gold, winds round the entire extent of the building.[321]
Stuart in 1835–6 walked round the outside of the town and was impressed by
the green and yellow glazed tiles on the pillars flanking each gate.

Many of the towers are ornamented in a similar manner. A mosque built

by Shah-Jehan [the Blue Mosque], stands in a state of ruin in a suburb
on the right of the Teheran road; it is beautifully adorned with arabesque
designs, and must have been a very fine building when perfect. An earth-
quake shook it to its foundation some years ago.[322]
In 1839 Texier was more thorough in his review of the city, acknowledging
the destruction, and considering his work as that of an antiquarian, where
“il faut chercher sous les décombres les traces de son ancienne splendeur.”
This he did, daily finding objects of the greatest interest for knowledge of
Persian architecture.[323] His predecessors were necessary as a guide, for it was
Tavernier’s description of the Blue Mosque, intact in his day but destroyed by
the 1776 earthquake, which took him to the site.
Le dehors des deux dômes, dit-il, est couvert de briques vernissées, avec
des fleurons en relief; sur le premier, ce sont des· fleurons à fond vert,
et sur le second des étoiles blanches à fond noir. Ce qu’il appelle des
étoiles est un ajustement de deux décagones très·souvent employé par
les artistes orientaux.[324]
Texier offered superb drawings of the Blue Mosque, inside and out but, because
his interest was in architecture not ruins; these dodge the question of exactly
what survived and what in his drawings he had “rebuilt.” Flandin, an artist in
the suite of the French ambassador, arrived in 1840, and wrote that “Parmi les
débris que l’on y rencontre se voient les ruines d’une grande mosquée qui a dû
être fort belle.” He described its devastation:
Elle était revêtue d’émaux de couleur, formant, sur un fond bleu, des
dessins d’une délicatesse exquise. On en retrouve encore quelques frag-
ments, mais incomplets. La base des murailles est restée, en quelques
endroits, revêtue de larges plates-bandes sculptées, faites d’une espèce
d’albâtre veiné … C’est une admirable mosaïque de petites briques émail-
lées, dont les dessins variés s’entrelacent sur un fond d’azur brillant et
pur, en dépit du temps et de la ruine … Ce n’est que depuis soixante ans,
que, complètement renversée par un tremblement de terre, cette mos-
quée a été abandonnée, probablement pour ne jamais être relevée.[325]
Holmes visited the Blue Mosque in 1845, the remains of which “exhibit some
beautiful specimens of mosaic in lacquered bricks, and also some very fine

282 Chapter 6
slabs of what is called Tabreez marble,” remarking that “it is respected as much
as any other ruined religious edifice, care being taken that the marble slabs are
not removed: within its precincts the people lay out dead bodies to dry.”[326]
Gobineau, travelling 1855–58 was impressed by the tiles of the Blue Mosque
(“les ruines d’une mosquée dont les émaux sont du goût le plus pur et le plus
délicat,”) but by nothing else in the town.[327] Lycklama à Nijeholt was here
in 1873, reviewed what travellers had written before the great earthquake
of 1721,[328] reported on the ruins of a colossal mosque near the remains of
a citadel,[329] and then on the Blue Mosque, entire when Tavernier (whose
description he cites) saw it.[330] Thielmann in 1875 described this mosque as
about the size of an average village church, commenting that “it is scarcely pos-
sible to recognise from the blue glazings still extant and the large transparent
slabs of Maragba alabaster which adorn the lower portions of the walls how
beautiful the edifice must “have been in former times.”[331] Ernouf recounted
that by 1880 the mosque had lost part of its translucid marble wall plaques, and
the supports only “des vestiges de leur ancienne décoration en émail.”[332] The
marble blocks were cut according to their stratifications, and
On obtient ainsi des plaques translucides, blanches ou diversement col-

orées, pour le revêtement des édifices somptueux. Nous avions vu, dans
la Mosquée-Bleue de Tauris, de très-beaux spécimens de ces marbres,
aussi transparents que du cristal.[333]
In 1892 Feuvrier reported that “bien peu de chose” remained.
Le portique est ce qu’il y a de mieux conservé; sa haute et élégante arcade

ogivale, bordée d’une gaie faïence bleue en spirale, est en son entier; ses
ornements ont seuls, en grande partie, disparu. Des briques émaillées à
fond bleu, sur lequel ressortent des dessins de diverses couleurs, dont
il reste des traces de côté et d’autre, sont l’origine du nom de mosquée
Bleue.[334]
Williams Jackson reported on the further dilapidation of the Blue Mosque

in 1906.
This fine specimen of Mohammedan art … is now falling into utter

decay, but its crumbling walls and arches still show graceful lines and are
encrusted with tiles of a rich blue color, set off by exquisite faience of yel-
low, salmon, white, and black, interwoven with patterns and arabesque
scrolls. It is fortunate that the French archaeologist and artist Texier

preserved some of its perishing beauty in his handsome reproductions

published nearly three quarters of a century ago, and that the younger
German scholar Sarre, in his fine photographs and colored engravings,
has also contributed his share toward saving more of the Blue Mosque,
for it will probably have fallen into utter decay before another hundred
years are past.[335]
3.15 Teheran
There was little to be seen at Teheran in the early nineteenth century. Tancoigne,
travelling 1807–09, saw a mosque being built, and criticised its dome for being
“deficient in that lightness so justly admired, in the ancient Persian monu-
ments, and buildings of the same class amongst the Turks.” Nor were mina-
rets to be seen, he believed from a refinement of jealousy, “lest the muezzins,
who announce the hour of prayer from the tops of these elegant shafts, should
perceive their women in the interior of the harems.”[336] Porter was simi-
larly unimpressed by the town walls, and their gates, which “are very plain
in their structure, with the exception of a few blue and green tiles, by way of
ornament.”[337] In 1831 Fraser was equally unimpressed, and in a familiar topos
linked architecture to failure.
Tehran, in fact, like the dynasty and government, is exhibiting those

premonitory symptoms of decay … The ruins, occasioned by time or
earthquakes, remain unrestored, and little of the hum of business, or the
excitement of enterprise, is to be heard or seen.[338]
Nevertheless, Persian antiquities could be had from itinerant traders there, as

Benjamin wrote in 1887.
They beg permission to display their wares, holding up at the same time
some choice antique, – rug, embroidery, or porcelain, – such as you are
known to prize bowls and plaques of cashee [Kashan] ware; reflet tiles,
three hundred to one thousand years old … and superb bits of mosaic
from the mosques and palaces of Ispahân.[339]
Teheran was certainly adapting to some western imports, Williams Jackson

writing in 1906 of landaus, the post office with notices in Persian and French,
and “a so-called Boulevard des Ambassadeurs, along which the ministers of
the foreign legations ride in official dress, not to speak of shops with European
goods, two hotels, a claim to the use of gas, and a pretense of having a jingle-
bell tramway.”[340]

284 Chapter 6
4 A Miscellany of Mosques
4.1 Ahar
Holmes writes of Ahar, East Azerbaijan in 1845 (described in the Encyclopaedia
Britannia III 1910 as “the north-western and most important province of Persia”:
Sheikh-Shahab Tomb, still standing.
The minarets are in tolerable preservation, except their summits, which

were apparently once crowned with some kind of ornamental roof or
spire … We ascended the minarets by a worn and dilapidated spiral stair-
case … I should think the shafts of the minarets still standing were not
less than a hundred and thirty or a hundred and forty feet high.[341]
4.2 Ani
Ani, now Turkey, was sacked by Mongols in 1236, and suffered a bad earth-
quake in 1319. In 1875 Thielmann ignored the churches and described what he
called the palace (in the citadel, and not excavated until 1908), and then the
Manuchir Mosque.
Thielmann wrote that this
must have been a mighty structure. The gateway possesses a beautiful

frame of relievo-arabesques, divided into cassettes; but impelled by a sav-
age lust for destruction, the surrounding tribes have unfortunately – as far
as the hand could reach – annihilated this delicate tracery, which recalls
to mind the Alhambra. Amidst this field of ruins, and almost precisely
in the centre of it, the circular minaret of a ruined mosque rises about a
hundred feet in height. The spiral staircase in the interior is sufficiently
preserved to admit of an ascent being made; and this, accordingly, we
accomplished; but the crumbling condition of the stones renders it very
inadvisable to step out upon the roof.[342]
4.3 Baku
Lycklama à Nijeholt visited Baku, now in Azerbaijan, in 1872, and mentioned
the fifteenth century Palace of the Shirvanshahs and several mosques, describ-
ing the one attached to the palace:
Le palais, en partie très-bien conservé, est remarquable par ses dimen-

sions et son style. C’est une œuvre persane de la meilleure époque. Il est
tout bâti en pierre de taille, avec des baies ogivales, des corniches, des
moulures et des bas-reliefs finement exécutés dans le goût moresque. Ce

qui frappe le plus, c’est la grande porte en ogive qui sert d’entrée au palais
et la salle circulaire destinée au conseil ou aux réunions d’apparat des
khans, ce qu’on appelait le Divan. Je fus pareillement frappé de la beauté
de la mosquée; ses deux dômes et son minaret sont un nouveau témoi-
gnage en faveur du goût persan dans la première moitié du quinzième
siècle. Le gouvernement russe a eu la louable idée d’assurer, par des tra-
vaux bien entendus, la conservation de ces monuments précieux pour
l’histoire du pays et pour l’art.[343]
4.4 Benares
Benares (Varanasi) in Uttar Pradesh was described by Fane in 1842.
This mosque was built on the site of one of the most revered temples
of the Hindoos, by the great Mogul, for the purpose of mortifying the
Hindoos, and was considered a terrible sacrilege; but they have now built
a temple on the other side of the way, into which they say the god has
betaken himself.[344]
4.5 Diarbekir
Contarini was in Diabekir (Asia Minor) in 1474, sent by the Signoria of Venice
and (as was probably still the case at the Umayyad Mosque in Damascus)
wrote as follows of the Church of Saint Mary, after describing the column-
supported marble font: “nowadays, the eastern part of this church has been
made a mosque, while the other part is in the same state it always has been, as
it was the convent where the priests lived; in it there is a wonderful fountain of
water, as clear as crystal.” The church was indeed a paradise, “having columns
upon columns, like the palace of Saint. Mark at Venice.”[345] In 1846 Hommaire
de Hell found it abandoned.
Mosquée abandonnée … Le revêtement extérieur de la mosquée est de

pierre de taille de deux nuances. Cette mosquée, ainsi que le tertre fac-
tice, se trouve dans la seconde enceinte de la citadelle. Les grands arceaux
dont nous avons déjà parlé paraissent avoir formé autrefois les portes de
communication. Tout cela est grand et magnifique.[346]
4.6 Ghazni
Now in Afghanistan, Ghazni’s two twelfth century minarets were spectacular
enough to attract notice, one of them losing its upper part in a 1902 earth-
quake. In 1842 Fane, in the middle of a military skirmish, visited the tomb of
Sultan Mahmud.

286 Chapter 6
We were received by great crowds of people, and entered the tomb by

many a winding passage, which at length brought us to a small paved
court, with large trees in the centre, on one side of which his defunct
majesty was entombed. The only thing remarkable about the place was a
pair of large sandal-wood doors, said to have been brought from Guzerat,
beautifully carved and set in brass. The tomb itself was of handsomely
carved white marble, covered with sentences of the Koran.[347]
In 1876 Fergusson illustrated a Ghazni minaret, and then described them

both as,
neither of them was ever attached to a mosque [incorrect: Mosque of

Bahram Shah]; they are, indeed, pillars of victory … One of them was
erected by Mahmud himself; the other was built, or at least finished, by
Masud, one of his immediate successors. The lower part of these towers
is of a star-like form – the plan being apparently formed by placing two
squares diagonally the one over the other. The upper part, rising to the
height of about 140 ft. [42.67m] from the ground, is circular; both are of
brickwork, covered with ornaments of terra-cotta of extreme elaboration
and beauty, and retaining their sharpness to the present day.[348]
He then tried to link the architecture of Ghazni with that of India.
Ghazni … formed in fact the stepping-stone by means of which the

architecture of the West was introduced into India, and it long remained
the connecting link between the styles of the eastern and those of the
western world. It would consequently be of the greatest importance in
enabling us to understand the early examples of the style in India Proper,
if we could describe this one with anything like precision, but for that we
must wait till some qualified person visits the province.[349]
4.7 Karbala
The mosque and alcoran, like those of Aly, are notable for their size,
beauty and cost. And though they be less ancient than his by but few
years, founded in the same way, and increased by the devotion of the
Xyais, they show much better. The material is brick and mortar, with
some curious glazed tiles, and some mosaic work.[350]

Karbala (now Iraq) is 100km south-west of Baghdad, with Shiʾa monuments,

namely the Imam Husayn Shrine and the Al Abbas Mosque. Teixeira, travelling
in the late sixteenth century (see opening quote) evidently could not access
the monuments, although he was here for eight days.
4.8 Kirkuk
Ives visited Kirkuk, 238km north of Baghdad, in 1758, and visited in the citadel
what was once a church and now a mosque, one of the locations associated
with Daniel, whom he misnames Dennis. He was admitted by kindly locals, but
did not mention its architecture.
We were conducted to a Mosque with a Minaret, and there were desired

to dismount; which we did, following the example of our Aga; we were
then bade to pull off our boots … as we had received no intimation that
any such honour as seeing a Mosque was intended us, and not knowing
that Christians were ever permitted to enter, we hesitated, and ordered it
to be intimated to the Caliph who was there, that we had always under-
stood that none but those of the Mahometan faith were allowed to go into
their churches, and that our curiosity was sufficiently satisfied, desiring
that we might do nothing irregular. He replied, it was true that Christians,
inhabitants of the country, were not allowed to enter, but as we were trav-
elling gentlemen, and Christian Saints were deposited here, they wished
to oblige us, and provided we left our boots without, there was nothing
that hindered our admission.[351]
4.9 Merv
Now in Turkmenistan, the Merv Oasis harboured a complex of towns, and the
enormous capital of the Great Seljuk Empire in the eleventh and twelfth cen-
turies, and a pilgrimage site. Destroyed by the Mongols in 1221. Mausoleum
of Sultan Sanjar its best preserved remains. One of the settlements is Bayram
Ali, where Sanjar’s mausoleum is located. O’Donovan visited in 1882 and
described it.
The tomb itself is of commanding size. It cannot be less than sixty feet to
the summit of its cupola … Its greatest diameter is at least forty feet. Its
ground plan was that of a square, with the corners flattened; within, the
walls still preserve a large portion of the stucco and white plaster with
which they were formerly coated, and on which still remain, in many
places, blue and red arabesques upon a white ground. The doorway is

288 Chapter 6
on the western side, and the floor seems to have been excavated, prob-
ably for the purpose of removing the pavement, so that one enters by an
inclined plane, leading downwards, and can plainly see that the present
floor is at least six feet below the level of the original one.[352]
The decoration of the tomb, as described by Yakut in 1219, was long gone.
Lying under a great dome covered with blue tiles, so high as to be visible a
day’s march away over the plain; and the windows under the dome looked
into the adjacent Friday Mosque. It had been built in memory of him,
Yakut was told, long after the Sultan’s death by some of his servants.[353]
4.10 Varamin
Varamin, in Tehran Province, and 40km southeast of that city, boasts a grand
mosque begun by Sultan Khodabaneh. Hommaire de Hell was here in mid-
century, and sketched the mosque as well as describing it.
Porte principale à tympan de briques émaillées; archivolte et encadre-

ment de plâtre moulé ou plutôt sculpté … petite porte latérale. Tympan
et encadrement de plâtre … tympans avec fond en entrelacs de plâtre …
Vers le haut, toujours sous forme d arceaux superposés, toutes les faces
des piliers de la cour intérieure sont ëgalemeni recouvertes des plus élé-
gantes moulures en entrelacs et rosaces.[354]
He then commented on the quality of the mosques he had seen.
Ainsi donc des architectes arabes auraient élevé les belles mosquées de
Suhanièh, Tauris, Véramin, les tours de Rey et de Radkhan, tous les monu-
ments de la même époque. On voit que le xvie siècle a été tout aussi riche
en Orient qu en Occident. La mosquée de Véramin date de 1366 ou 1368,
d’après une inscription enlevée et placée dans un Imam-Zadèh. Toutes
les galeries à droite ont disparu. Je suppose que le premier portique était
orné de minarets, d après les traces d’un escalier tournant.[355]

[1] F ield-Officer_of_Cavalry_ [39] atheson_1870_401–402.

M [79] O sborne_II_1745_190.
1823_371. [40] Duff_1876_63–64. [80] S leeman_1844_II_
[2] F itzclarence_1819_ [41] Tiffany_1896_228. 272–273.
232–233. [42] S leeman_1844_I_66. [81] Russell_1860_II_73.
[3] F itzclarence_1819_232. [43] Sleeman_1844_I_41. [82] I reland_1859_462B.
[4] Brown_1905_230ff. [44] K
eene_1878_v Preface. [83] P hillips_1684_89–90.
[5] M undy_II_1914_212. [45] Keene_1878_103–120. [84] Tiffany_1896_236.
[6] Phillips_1684_94–95. [46] Phillips_I_India_1684_38. [85] Herbert_1663_117–118.
[7] M aurice_1806_I_213–214. [47] Maurice_1806_III_32. [86] Hodges_1794_128–129.
[8] Malte-Brun_1825_III_33. [48] Maurice_1806_III_34–35. [87] S leeman_1844_II_69.
[9] Mundy_II_1914_214. [49] Eyriès_1839_297. [88] I reland_1859_473–476.
[10] B ernier_1891_294–295. [50] Fitzclarence_1819_ [89] Roe_1899_517.
[11] P hillips_II_India_ 173–174. [90] Mundy_II_1914_229.
1684_50. [51] Fitzclarence_1819_175. [91] Keene_1878_119.
[12] O sborne_1745_II_ [52] Mitford_II_1884_ [92] P hillips_1684_64.
194–195. 206–207. [93] T avernier_1889_I_154.
[13] O sborne_1745_II_196. [53] Layard_1903_II_219. [94] Thevenot_1686_99.
[14] H odges_1794_122–126. [54] Mitford_II_1884_207. [95] M itford_1884_II_232.
[15] H enry _1798_337ff. [55] E B_III_1910 s.v. Bijapur. [96] S iddons_1844_552.
[16] H enry_1798_349–350. [56] Tavernier_1889_I_181. [97] L ayard_1903_II_219.
[17] Fane_1842_I_81–82. [57] I reland_1859_177. [98] Mundy_II_1914_210.
[18] F ane_1842_I_87. [58] Fergusson_1866_88. [99] K eene_1878_118.
[19] M alte-Brun_1825_III_ [59] Ireland_1859_182. [100] Hodges_1794_117–121.
32–33. [60] Ireland_1859_174–175. [101] Henry_1798_341–342.
[20] F ane_1842_I_87–88. [61] F ergusson_1866_91. [102] Sleeman_1844_II_38.
[21] E yriès_1839_255. [62] Ireland_1859_182–183. [103] Siddons_1844_438.
[22] S leeman_1844_II_28. [63] Ireland_1859_183. [104] S iddons_1844_438.
[23] Sleeman_1844_II_34. [64] Falkener_1855_99. [105] Pfeiffer_1851_177.
[24] F ane_1842_I_82–84. [65] Cousens_1916_17. [106] I reland_1859_472.
[25] Sleeman_1844_II_37. [66] E I_I_1986_s.v._Bidjapor. [107] Fraser_1834_23.
[26] Pachauri 2002, 272. [67] Cousens 1916_14. [108] Drouville_1825_I_99.
[27] Pfeiffer_1851_179–180. [68] Fergusson_1866_87. [109] D rouville_1825_I_99B.
[28] Duff_1876_67. [69] Hodges_1794_61. [110] Le_Brun_1725_IV_198.
[29] Siddons_1844_432–433. [70] Tiffany_1896_252. [111] F orster_1798_I_6.
[30] I reland_1859_462. [71] Malte-Brun_1825_III_39. [112] J aubert_1821_271.
[31] I reland_1859_362. [72] Eyriès_1839_248. [113] Texier_1845_II_133.
[32] Russell_1860_II_ [73] S leeman_1844_II_ [114] T ancoigne_1820_
265–266. 252–253. 189–190.
[33] Sleeman_1844_II_37. [74] Fane_1842_I_259. [115] Fraser_1831_II_passim.
[34] P feiffer_1851_178. [75] T iffany_1896_235–236. [116] Eyriès_1859_250.
[35] Ireland_1859_471. [76] Fane_1842_I_260. [117] Thielmann_1875_II_108.
[36] K eene_1878_12. [77] Bernier_1891_278–279. [118] Sarre_1901.
[37] Siddons_1844_437. [78] Phillips_I_India_1684_ [119] Lycklama_à_Nijeholt_
[38] Ireland_1859_468–469. 89–90. IV_1875_10.

290 Chapter 6
[120] L ycklama_à_Nijeholt_ [153] Careri_1704_136–138. [192] Williams_Jackson_

IV_1875_7. [154] S anson_1695_49–50. 1906_269.
[121] G
obineau_1905_199. [155] Sanson_1695_50–53. [193] Williams_Jackson_
[122] Benjamin_1887_285B. [156] Sanson_1695_53–54. 1906_253–254.
[123] Benjamin_1887_ [157] Le_Brun_1725_IV_ [194] Chardin_1686_344.
284–285. 115–116. [195] Le_Brun_1725_IV_
[124] Benjamin_1887_424. [158] L e_Brun_1725_IV_ 64–65.
[125] B enjamin_1887_467. 120–121. [196] Morier_1816_168.
[126] Encyclopedia [159] Bell_1788_I_118 1717. [197] W illiams_Jackson_
Britannica 1910 II q.v.. [160] Henry_1798_291. 1906_410.
[127] Fraser_1834_233. [161] Henry_1798_295–297. [198] W illiams_Jackson_
[128] Le_Brun_1725_IV_29. [162] ardane_1809_58.
G 1911_269.
[129] Le_Brun_1725_IV_21–22. [163] Ouseley_III_1823_33. [199] Le_Strange_1905_78.
[130] Le_Brun_1725_IV_18–19. [164] Morier_1818_134. [200] F raser_1834_59–61.
[131] Le_Brun_1725_IV_32. [165] Morier_1816_169. [201] Fraser_1838_II_211.
[132] Morier_1818_253–254. [166] Morier_1816_173. [202] Fraser_1838_II_211–212.
[133] M orier_1818_254. [167] M orier_1816_174. [203] F raser_1834_58–61.
[134] M orier_1818_255. [168] Porter_1821_I_407–408. [204] Eyriès_1839_349.
[135] H olmes_1845_37–38. [169] Lumsden_1822_119–121. [205] M itford_II_1884_44–45.
[136] Holmes_1845_38. [170] M alte-Brun_1824_II_ [206] E astwick_1864_II_
[137] T hielmann_1875_II_ 246–251. 225–228.
32–33. [171] lexander_1827_152.
A [207] B enjamin_1887_285.
[138] Lycklama_à_Nijeholt_I_ [172] Fraser_1834_37–40. [208] P hillips_I_Persia_
1872_474–475. [173] F raser_1834_41–42. 1684_16.
[139] Thielmann_1875_I_ [174] Fraser_1834_42. [209] P hillips_I_Persia_
186–187. [175] Flandin_1851_I_283ff. 1684_16B.
[140] E rnouf_1880_148–149. [176] F landin_1851_I_ [210] Porter_1821_I_212.
[141] Feuvrier_1892_39. 339–340. useley_III_1823_435.
[211] O
[142] Sanson_1695_47–48. [177] Flandin_1851_I_349. [212] Lycklama_à_Nijeholt_I_
[143] F igueroa_1667_184–185. [178] Dubeux_1841_397–398. 1872_485.
[144] Herbert_1663_255–261. [179] ubeux_1841_16–17.
D [213] Feuvrier_1892_41.
[145] Deslandes-Douliers_ [180] ubeux_1841_18.
D [214] Francklin_1788_.
1673_20. [181] ubeux_1841_18B.
D [215] Pinkerton_1811_158.
[146] Deslandes-Douliers_ [182] Gobineau_1905_200. [216] Stuart_1854_159.
1673_25–26. [183] Gobineau_1905_ [217] Holmes_1845_371–372.
[147] D eslandes-Douliers_ 202–203. [218] Gobineau_1905_468.
1673_92. [184] Gobineau_1905_196–197. [219] Feuvrier_1892_114–115.
[148] P inkerton_1811_190. [185] yriès_1859_259.
E [220] Phillips_I_Persia_1684_
[149] Thévenot_1687_II_ [186] Texier_1842_I_163. 28–29.
78–87. [187] Texier_1842_115. [221] Williams_Jackson_
[150] Thévenot_1687_II_ [188] T
exier_1845_II_133. 1906_410.
80–81. [189] Benjamin_1887_299. [222] C hardin_1686_I_
[151] O
learius_1669_221. [190] Morier_1816_179. 325–326.
[152] D aulier-Deslandes_ [191] Williams_Jackson_ [223] Chardin_1686_325–329.
1673_24–28. 1906_268. [224] Careri_1704_128–129.

[225] L e_Brun_1725_IV_41. [261] D eslandes-Douliers_ [296] Thevet_1575_I_282.

[226] Bell_1788_I_103. 1673_16. [297] Pinkerton_1811_152.
[227] E
yriès_1859_264. [262] Olearius_1669_186. [298] B
ell_1788_I_87–88.
[228] M orier_1816_183–184. [263] O learius_1669_187. [299] Bell_1788_I_90.
[229] Morier_1818_165. [264] B arbaro_&_Contarini_ [300] Çelebi_II_1850_134–135.
[230] Porter_1821_I_376. 1873_68. [301] Phillips_I_Persia_1684_
[231] Porter_1822_I_375–376. [265] Barbaro_&_Contarini_ 21–22 e.
[232] O
useley_III_1823_99. 1873_128. [302] T exier_1842_I_155.
[233] Fraser_1834_45. [266] Le_Brun_1725_IV_44. [303] L ycklama_a_Nijeholt_
[234] T
hielmann_1875_II_ [267] Le_Brun_1725_IV_45. II_1873_68.
139–140. [268] C areri_1704_125. [304] Chardin_1686_290.
[235] Percy_1901_271–2. [269] Bell_1788_I_99. [305] C hardin_1686_I_291.
[236] Percy_1901_273–4. [270] Jaubert_1821_198. [306] C hardin_1686_290.
[237] Holmes_1845_334. [271] Tancoigne_1820_84. [307] Daulier-Deslandes_
[238] H
ommaire_de_Hell_I_ [272] Gardane_1809_43. 1673_10.
1854_28–29. [273] Drouville_1825_II_238. [308] Daulier-Deslandes_
[239] Williams_Jackson_1911_ [274] Morier_1816_255–256. 1673_12.
149–150. [275] P orter_1821_I_279. [309] D eslandes-Douliers_
[240] B
arbaro_&_Contarini_ [276] Porter_1822_I_280. 1673_13.
1873_74. [277] Stuart_1854_156–157. [310] Deslandes-Douliers_
[241] Herbert_1663_223–224. [278] Texier_1842_I_75. 1673_11–13.
[242] F igueroa_1667_136. [279] Gobineau_1905_476. [311] Careri_1704_117.
[243] D
eslandes-Douliers_ [280] Texier_1842_I_158. [312] Careri_1704_119.
1673_70. [281] Texier_1845_II_78. [313] Tancoigne_1820_73.
[244] Le_Brun_1725_IV_ [282] Dubeux_1841_27. [314] Gardane_1809_36.
410–423. [283] Holmes_1845_374. [315] M orier_1816_274.
[245] Phillips_I_Persia_ [284] Hommaire_de_Hell_IV_ [316] Morier_1818_225.
1684_247. 1860_402–403. [317] Morier_1816_278.
[246] H
enry_1798_298. [285] Hommaire_de_Hell_IV_ [318] Aucher-Éloy_1843_I_
[247] Francklin_1788_25–26. 1860_23–24. 304.
[248] Francklin_1788_30–31. [286] Flandin_1851_I_202–203. [319] Porter_1821_I_222–223.
[249] W
aring_1807_31. [287] Flandin_1851_I_204. [320] P orter_1822_I_225.
[250] Waring_1807_33. [288] E yriès_1859_274. [321] Malte-Brun_1824_II_257.
[251] M
orier_1816_110–111. [289] F euvrier_1892_103–104. [322] Stuart_1854_141.
[252] Morier_1816_111. [290] Le_Brun_1725_IV_41. [323] T exier_1845_II_47.
[253] Morier_1816_111–112. [291] L e_Strange_1905_162. [324] Texier_1845_II_50.
[254] Ouseley_II_1821_17–18. [292] Barbaro_&_Contarini_ [325] F landin_1851_I_175–176.
[255] Fraser_1834_28. 1873_167. [326] Holmes_1845_385.
[256] F raser_1838_II_121. [293] B arbaro_&_Contarini_ [327] Gobineau_1905_
[257] Eyriès_1859_253. 1873_167–168. 483–484.
[258] D
ubeux_1841_34. [294] B arbaro_&_Contarini_ [328] L ycklama_à_Nijeholt_
[259] M urray_1895_335. 1873_169–170. II_1873_51.
[260] W
illiams_Jackson_ [295] Barbaro_&_Contarini_ [329] Lycklama_à_Nijeholt_
1906_325–326. 1873_173–174. II_1873_63.

292 Chapter 6
[330] L ycklama_à_Nijeholt_ [339] B enjamin_1887_81–82. [347] F ane_1842_II_176–177.

II_1873_65–66. [340] Williams_Jackson_ [348] F ergusson_1876_
[331] T
hielmann_1875_II_ 1906_418. 496–498.
56–57. [341] H
olmes_1845_17–18. [349] Fergusson_1876_491.
[332] Ernouf_1880_273. [342] T hielmann_1875_I_ [350] T eixeira_1902_52.
[333] E rnouf_1880_281. 168–169. [351] I ves_1773_313–314.
[334] Feuvrier_1892_59. [343] Lycklama_à_Nijeholt_I_ [352] O ’Donovan_1882_
[335] W
illiams_Jackson_ 1872_238–238. 250–253.
1906_43–44. [344] Fane_1842_I_46–47. [353] L e_Strange_1905_401.
[336] Tancoigne_1820_ [345] B
arbaro_&_Contarini_ [354] Hommaire_de_Hell_IV_
99–100. 1873_147. 1860_406.
[337] P
orter_1822_I_309. [346] Hommaire_de_Hell_IV_ [355] Hommaire_de_Hell_IV_
[338] F raser_1831_II_121. 1860_398–399. 1860_408.

Chapter 7
Coda: Mecca and Medina
Quoique les mahométans ne permettent pas aux chrétiens d’aller à

la Mecque, ils ne leur refusent pas cependant la description de leur
kaba.[1] [1798]
∵
For obvious reasons, we must address perceptions of the foundational monu-
ments in Mecca and Medina, known to most westerners only by hearsay. As
Biddulph wrote in 1609 before restrictions became even tighter, “it is forbidden
to all Christians upon pain of death to come neere Mecha within five miles.”[2]
However, a lack of direct knowledge did not colour our travellers’ perceptions
of the mosques treated in this book, because Medina was the Prophet’s court-
yard house, and Mecca, with the Kaaba in the mosque’s centre, was but one
element in a multi-step pilgrimage that could not be duplicated elsewhere
(unlike, for example, the Holy Sepulchre imitations integrated into ritual in
mediaeval Christian Europe). Again, both cities presented a moveable feast, as
monuments were destroyed, enlarged, or remodelled over the centuries.
Many Europeans were curious about the wellsprings of Islam, and it was
well known that both Mecca and Medina were forbidden to non-Muslims.
They could, for instance, read Ibn Khaldun, who offered an account of the
most illustrious mosques.[3] Curiosity about Muslim prayer practises and
behaviour could usually be observed in visitable mosques. Here, the faithful
turned toward Mecca, as directed by the positioning of the qibla, for “they
never fail to turn their faces to that city whenever they are.”[4] As for the archi-
tecture of the great shrines at Mecca and Medina, some details could usually
be set down from Muslim reports which, as Henry noted in the opening quote,
Muslims were willing to relate. Nor were such reports scarce, because of the
obligation on Muslims to take the pilgrimage and pray at Mecca if possible.
Several accounts came from Muslim authors, and also from the few outsiders
who disguised themselves as Muslims and journeyed to Mecca and Medina.
For Ibn Khaldun the mosques at Mecca, Medina and Jerusalem were
prime. He affirmed that God had given “des droits et des privilèges qu’il n’avait
jamais accordés à aucun autre lieu,”[5] and he directed his readers to historical

294 Chapter 7
accounts for their description.[6] But what was to be seen down the centu-
ries at Mecca and Medina? Both shrines were indeed lavished with splendid
architecture. Al Baladuri (820–892) reported for Mecca “columns of stone and
marble, and mosaic” brought during an enlargement. There was rebuilding at
Mecca by Al Mansur in AD 756/7,[7] and at Medina Uthman’s complete rebuild-
ing encompassed “money, mosaic, marble, and eighty Greek and Coptic arti-
sans from Syria and Egypt.”[8] Uthman was murdered at Medina in AD 656.
Further repairs were again necessary in the later ninth century, when more
mosaics were added.[9] Ibn Battuta described Medina in the early fourteenth
century, noting that the holy tomb “est entouré de marbre merveilleusement
taillé et d’une qualité supérieure.”[10]
Although converted Christians surely visited Mecca in crusading times,[11]
Ludovico de Varthema (1470–1517), travelling in 1500 and dressed as a Mam-
eluke, was the first to offer short descriptions of the sites. He visited Moham-
med’s tomb in Medina,[12] and gave a description of Mecca which his editor
thought was exact,[13] cross-checked against the early nineteenth century
account of Burckhardt.[14] André Thevet (1516–1590) travelled to the Near
East, but had to write of both Mecca and Medina from hearsay.[15] Sometimes
related accounts were very general or decidedly speculative, as when in an 1819
account the mosque at Mecca was described as “belle et grande, enrichie de
diverses peintures et dorures,”[16] and Mohammed’s tomb in Medina “est posé
sur des colonnes de marbre, qu’il est couvert d’un pavillon de drap d’or … et
que les murs de cette tour sont revêtus de plaques d’argent doré.”[17]
Girault de Prangey, writing in 1841, thought that so many restorations had
taken place at Mecca (Burckhardt confirming that much was new) that no
truly architectural appreciation was possible, for
il ne saurait en aucune manière, ce nous semble, être considéré comme

type d’un style particulier d’Architecture, dont les Arabes auraient pu
recevoir l’influence.[18]
Conceivably Girault knew of the Wahhabi track record of destruction, about

which he could have read in detail in, for example, Ali Bey.[19] Eyriès in 1859
summarised the current state of knowledge, emphasising that Medina was
rebuilt in the early sixteenth century when, he claimed, “malgré toute sa splen-
deur, construite à une époque où l’architecture arabe était à son déclin, elle
porte les signes de la décadence” – and this, he affirmed, in the time of Qaytbay,
whose reign he misdated.[20]
For our travellers growing knowledge of Islamic architecture, a near-
blank about Mecca and Medina mattered little. Indeed, neither city nor its

Coda: Mecca and Medina 295
monuments made much architectural impact even on nascent Islam, which

derived its forms of the basilica, the dome and the martyrium from ancient
Rome via Christian adaptations. Hence no matter whether its architects were
Muslim or Christian, the Dome of the Rock embraced Byzantine forms and
materials in the evident absence of other models considered suitable. Schooled
in Roman-inspired architecture by their takeover of churches, as we have so
frequently seen, it is easy to see the origins of Ottoman architecture’s basilica-
plus-courtyard type. A devotee of Old Saint Peter’s in Rome would have recog-
nised the typology, and explained the dome by reference to Roman mausolea,
and the minarets to Christian bell towers. An emphasis on Sancta Sophia, their
capital mosque in Constantinople, shows the Ottoman devotion to such forms.
[1] H
enry_1798_256. [8] Al_Baladuri_1916_20. [16] L ettres_édifiantes_
[2] B iddulph_1609_95. [9] A l_Baladuri_1916_21. 1819_217.
[3] I bn_Khaldun_II [10] Ibn_Battûta_1982_215. [17] Lettres_édifiantes_
_1865_253ff. [11] V arthema_1888_XXI. 1819_220.
[4] Howard_1755_II_15. [12] Varthema_1888_31. [18] G irault_de_Prangey_
[5] I bn_Khaldun_II [13] V arthema_1888_. 1841_VII.
_1865_260–261. [14] Varthema_1888_32. [19] A li_Bey_1816_II_152–155.
[6] Ibn_Khaldun_II_1865_271. [15] Thevet_1575_I_155. [20] E yriès_1859_IV_378.
[7] A
l_Baladuri_1916_76.

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are given in detail in their original language. These volumes offer the best com-
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together with plans and elevations of classical buildings, with plentiful references
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l’Afrique et l’Amérique: avec quelques relations nouvelles des missions et des notes
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2 vols., London 1835.
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Thornton, and Daniell, F.H. Blackburne eds., 2 vols, London 1881. Writing 1555.
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Die Türkei. Reisehandbuch für Rumelien, die Untere Donau, Anatolien, Syrienm, Paläs-
tina, Rhodus und Cypern, 2nd edn., Trieste 1870. The good oil indeed, with 234 refer-
ences to mosques in 331 pages.
Bussières, Renoüard de, Secrétaire d’Ambassade, Lettres sur l’Orient, écrites pendant les
années 1827 et 1828, 2 vols, Paris 1829. Plenty of mentions of mosques, but little out of
the ordinary to say about them. Goes to Cairo, evidently as a jumping-off point for
further up the Nile, but mentions not one mosque there.
Calas, Théophile, En terre désolée, au pays des Croisés, avec la Revue générale des sci-
ences. Avec une carte et 63 gravures d’après les photographies de M. Jules Calas et de
quelques autres touristes, 2nd edn, Paris 1900. Travelling 1897.

Calvert, Frederick, Lord Baltimore, A tour to the East in the years 1763 and 1764 with
remarks on the city of Constantinople and the Turks, London 1767.
Careri, John Francis Gemeilli, “A voyage round the world,” in A collection of voyages and
travels, IV, London 1704, 1–607. Voyage is in six parts: I Of Turky; II Of Persia; III Of
India, etc. Left Naples in 1693. NB for him “Turky” includes Egypt and the Holy Land.
Throughout his time in Turkey and Persia, he found it easy to lodge in Christian
monasteries, or with local agents.
Carlisle, George, Earl of, Diary in Turkish and Greek waters, Boston 1855.
Carne, John, Letters from the East, 2 vols, London 1826.
Recollections of travels in the East; forming a continuation of the Letters from the East,
London 1830.
Syria, the Holy Land, Asia Minor, etc illustrated, in a series of views drawn from nature
by W.H. Bartlett, William Purser, etc, with descriptions of the plates by John Carne,
London etc 1838.
Caroline, Queen, Voyages and travels of Her Majesty, Caroline Queen of Great Britain,
including to variousn parts of Germany … Greece, Palestine, etc etc, by one of Her
Majesty’s suite, London 1821. Entered as Caroline_1821.
Castellan, Antoine Laurent, Lettres sur la Morée, l’Héllespont et Constantinople, 2 vols.,
Paris 1820. Never describes mosques in detail, but refers to them sufficiently often to
confirm his interest in their elegance, marble, and light effects. Nice views of their
exteriors, but none of interiors.
Castillo, R.P. Antonio de, El devote peregrino y viage de Terra Santa, Paris 1664. Includes
at end Oratio Contra Turcos pre recuperatione Terrae Sanctae. 41 mentions of mosques.
Çelebi, Evliya Efendi, 1611–c.1684, Narrative of travels in Europe, Asia and Africa in
the seventeeth century, Hammer, Josph von, trans., 2 vols, London 1834 and 1850.
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An Ottoman traveller. Selections from the Book of Travels of Evliya Çelebi, Dankoff,
Robert, and Kim, Sooyong, eds., London 2011. Author very interested in columns,
dome and marble.
Chandler, Richard, Travels in Asia Minor and Greece: or, an account of a tour made at the
expense of the Society of Dilettanti, 3rd edn., 2 vols, London 1817.
Chardin, Sir John, Journal du voyage du chevalier Chardin en Perse, aux Indes Orientales,
par la Mer Noir et par la Colchide, qui contient le voyage de Paris à Ispahan, Amsterdam
and Paris 1686, London 1686 (both in French). Amsterdam/Paris edition used for
quotations. Left Paris in 1671. Apparently in Constantinople with Grelot in 1672,
although Chardin does not mention him. No description either of Constantinople
mosques – he was more concerned with French diplomacy, and competition from
other nations.

Chateaubriand, François-René de (1768–1848), Itinéraire de Paris à Jérusalem et de

Jérusalem à Paris, en allant par la Grèce et revenant par l’Egypte, la Barbarie et
l’Espagne, II, Paris 1811.
Chenevard, Aimé, Voyage pittoresque en Grèce et dans le Levant fait en 1843–1844, par
Aimé Chenevard, architecte, Etienne Rey, peintre, et Jean-Michel Dalgabio, architecte,
professeurs à l’École des Beaux-Arts de Lyon, Lyon 1849. Considering their academic
status and professions, they should be able to say more about architecture than
they do, and in much greater detail. There are 49 references to marble, and 25 to
mosques.
Chenavard, Aimé, et al., Voyage en Grèce et dans le Levant fait en 1843–1844, Lyon 1849.
Chesneau, Jean, Le voyage de Monsieur d’Aramon, Ambassadeur pour le Roy en Levant,
Schefer, Charles, ed., Paris 1887. Aramon Ambassador 1547–1553.
Chishull, Edmund, Chaplain to the Factory of the Worshipful Turkey Company at
Smyrna, Travels in Turkey and back to England, London 1747. Travelling 1698ff. He
dates his account 1699. Then in 1701 his account from Smyrna to Constantinople
and back.
Antiquitates Asiaticae Christianam Aeram antecedentes, London 1728.
Choiseul-Gouffier, le comte de, Voyage pittoresque de Constantinople et des rives du
Bosphore, Paris 1819.
Voyage pittoresque dans l’Empire Ottoman, en Grèce, dans la Troade, les îles de
l’archipel et sur les côtes de l’Asie Mineure, 2nd ed., 4 vols, Paris 1842 – vol IV for his
extended description of Constantinople and its regions, describing a lot of monu-
ments. C-G was ambassador to Constantinople from 1784 to 1791, and his Voyage
Pittoresque en Grèce, Brussels 1782 was republished using the above title. See I_xi–
xvi for details of the succession from first to second editions, and the host of later
authors [i.e. after C-G’s death] cited herein.
Voyage pittoresque de la Grèce, II.2 Paris 1821. Plentiful references to mosques (shad-
owing those in his Voyage pittoresque de Constantinople), including of course find-
spots for classical inscriptions and sculptures. Full treatment of Constantinople
and its monuments classsical and Muslim, with illustrations of plenty of mosques
large and small.
Claridge, R.T., A guide along the Danube, from Vienna to Constantinople … from the notes
of a journey made in the year 1836, London 1837.
Clarke, Edward Daniel, LL.D., Travels in various countries of Europe Asia and Africa, II:
Egypt and the Holy Land, vol V, London 1816; 4th edn., vol VIII, London 1818.
Cobbe, Frances Power, The cities of the past, London 1864.
Cockerell, C.R., Travels in southern Europe and the Levant, 1810–1817, London 1903.
Cochran, William, Pen and pencil in Asia Minor, or Notes from the Levant, New York
1888. With much detail on marble and its reuse.

Colbeck, Alfred, A summer’s cruise in the waters of Greece, Turkey and Russia, London
1887.
Colonisation de l’ex-régence d’Alger, documents officiels déposés sur le bureau de la
Chambre des Députés … avec une carte de l’État d’Alger, Paris 1834. Entered as
Colonisation_1834.
Colton, Rev. Walter, U.S.N., Visit to Constantinople and Athens, New York 1836.
Land and lee in the Bosphorus and Aegean, oor views of Constantinople and Athens,
New York 1856. Seems to be a reprint of his 1836 book, above.
Condamin, James (1844–1928), Parthénon, Pyramides, Saint-Sépulcre: Grèce, Egypte,
Palestine, Lyon 1899. [Includes photogravures of several mosques and tombs in
simili-gravure – they look like photographs]
Conder, Josiah, The Modern traveller in Palestine, London 1830 (the first volume in his
long series). In a book of 372 pages, largely quotes, some extensive, from earlier trav-
ellers: 89 references/quotes from Dr. Clarke; 118 from Pococke; 49 for Buckingham;
73 references to Richardson; 93 references to mosques. There are no full bibliogra-
phy, for the reader is presumed to know them; so we get footnotes such as “Travels
of All Bey, vol. ii. pp. 20 and 208. Richardson’s Travels, vol. ii. pp. 197–199.” Entered
as Conder_1830A.
The modern traveller: Turkey, London 1830. (Vol 14 in this 30-volume series. 126
occurrences of “mosque.”) Like the other volumes, this is a compilation, with long
quotations from earlier travellers. Entered as Conder_1830B.
Syria and Asia Minor, London 1830. Vol II of his 30-vol series. Entered as
Conder_1830D.
Cook, Thomas
Cook’s Tourists’ Handbook for Egypt, the Nile and the Desert, London 1876.
Cooks Cruise to the Mediterranean, the Orient and Bible Lands, 2nd edn., London
1902.
Cook’s cruise to the Mediterranean, the Orient and Bible Lands, New York etc 1903.
Cook’s Tourists’ Handbook to Palestine and Syria, London 1907.
Coppin, le père J., Consul des Français à Damiette, and Syndic de la Terre Sainte,
Relation des voyages et faits dans la Turquie, la Thebaïde, et la Barbarie, Lyon 1720.
Cornille, Henri, Souvenirs d’Orient, Constantinople, Grèce, Jérusalem, Égypte, 2nd edn.,
Paris 1836. Lightweight, superficial, and without intellectual perception of monuments.
Cotvvyck, Ian van, Hettvveede Boeck van der reyse van Ierusalem unde Syrien, Amsterdam
1620. Includes plates from Jean Zuallart’s 1586 account of his journey to Jerusalem;
these plates also republished Rome 1595, and Antwerp 1619, 1620 and 1626.
Cousens, H. Bijapur and Its Architectural Remains, Bombay 1916. With 100 occurrences
of the term “dome.”
Craven, Lady Elizabeth, A journey throught the Crimea to Constantinople … written in
the year 1786, London 1789.

Crowe, Eyre Evans, The Greek and the Turk; or, powers and prospects in the Levant,
London 1853.
Coutsinas, Nadia, Inventaire-index des Missions scientifiques et littéraires en Grèce
et en Asie Mineure. Dossiers individuels (1846–1937) F/17/2933–3014/A, F/17/17243,
F/17/17265–17290), (Ministère de l’Instruction publique, Service des Missions). [The
term “mosque” is not mentioned once – main interest is in classical archaeology,
and inscriptions].
Cuinet, Vital, (d.1896), French consul at Istanbul, La Turquie d’Asie: géographie admin-
istrative: statistique descriptive et raisonnée de chaque province de l’Asie-Mineure, I,
Paris 1892; II, Paris 1891; III and IV, Paris 1894; Syrie, Liban et Palestine, Paris 1896.
Includes a section on antiquities wherever he finds note of them (e.g. two pages
on Ayasoluk, including its history). With plentiful information on mosques, their
number and contents, and sometimes their reused materials.
Curtis, William Eleroy, The Turk and his lost provinces: Greece, Bulgaria, Servia, Bosnia,
Chicago etc. 1903.
Around the Black Sea, New York 1911.
Curzon, Hon. Robert, Visits to monasteries in the Levant, New York 1849.
Cust, Lionel, History of the Society of Dilettanti, London 1914. [With not one mention
of mosques]
Dallaway, James, late chaplain and physician of the British Embassy to the Porte,
Constantinople ancient and modern, London 1797. Has a serious interest in archi-
tecture, and describes it well, with plentiful references to “sumptuous” and “hand-
some” mosques. A most intelligent and well written, descriptive book, let down by
its few plates, which are poor – and none of which show mosques.
Constantinople ancienne et moderne, 2 vols, Morellet, André, trans, Paris An VII
(1799). For the illustrations.
Damer, Hon Mrs. G.L. Dawson, Diary of a tour in Greece, Turkey, Egypt and the Holy
Land, 2 vols., London 1841. Travelling 1839–40.
Daulier-Deslandes, André, Les beautez de la Perse, Paris 1673. Illustrates view of Ispahan,
and Persepolis, but no mosques.
D’Ault-Dumesnil, Édouard, Dictionnaire historique, géographique et biographique, des
Croisades, embrassant toute la lutte du Christianisme et de l’Islamisme, Paris 1852.
Includes a long account in the 191-page Introduction setting out the parameters.
Forms vol XVIII of Migne’s Encyclopédie Théologique. 99 references to mosques,
plus long articles on the Crusades and on Jerusalem (no surprise, since this Abbé
Migne publication also has Dictionnaire des Croisades as a running catch).
Davis, Rev. E.J., Life in Asiatic Turkey. A journal of travel in Cilicia etc, London 1879.
Davy, John, Inspector-General of Army Hospitals, Notes and observations on the Ionian
Islands and Malta: with some remarks on Constantinople and Turkey, 2 vols., London
1842.

De Hass, Frank S., D.D., Buried cities recovered, or, Explorations in Bible lands, rev.ed.,
Philadelphia 1883. His Recent travels and explorations in Bible lands (New York 1880)
indicates the popularity of his account, again with plentiful references to mosques.
De Kay, James Ellsworth, Sketches of Turkey in 1831 and 1832, by an American, New York
1833.
Delaplanche, M. l’abbé Jean-Constant-François, Le pèlerin: voyage en Égypte, en Pales-
tine, en Syrie, à Smyrne et à Constantinople, 2nd edn., Livarot 1876.
Della Valle, Pietro, Voyages de Pietro della Valle, gentilhomme romain, dans la Turquie,
l’Égypte, la Palestine, la Perse, les Indes Orientales, & autres lieux, nouvelle édition, 7
vols., S. Martin-sur-Renelle 1745. Author travelling 1614–26.
Delaroière, M., Voyage en Orient, Paris 1836. He accompanied Lamartine to the Orient
in 1832.
Dennis, George, A summer in Andalucia, 2 vols., London 1839. With long and serious
accounts of Córdoba and Granada.
Deshayes de Courmenin, Louis, Voiage de Levant fait par le Commandement du Roy en
l’année 1621 par le Sr D.C., Paris 1624.
Deslandes-Douliers, André (1621–1715), Les beauties de la Perse, ou ce qu’il y a de plus
curieux dans ce royaume: enrichie de la carte du pays et de quelques estampes dess-
inees sur les lieux par le sieur A. D. D. V., Paris, 1673.
Desmichels, Louis Alexis (1779–1845), Oran sous le commandement du général
Desmichels, Paris 1835.
D’Estourmel, Le comte Joseph, Journal d’un voyage en Orient, I, Paris 1844.
De Vere, Aubrey, Picturesque sketches of Greece and Turkey, 2 vols., London 1850.
Dieulafoy, Jane, La Perse. La Chaldée et la Susiane … contient 336 gravures sur bois
d’après le photographies de l’auteur, Paris 1887. Some measurements, but none for
the height of domes.
Dodwell, Edward, A classical and topographical tour through Greece, during the years
1801, 1805, and 1806, 2 vols., London 1819.
Dorr, Benjamin, D.D., Notes of travel in Egypt, the Holy Land, Turkey, and Greece,
Philadelphia 1856.
Drouville, Gaspard, Voyage en Perse, fait en 1812 et 1813, 2nd edn, 2 vols., Paris 1825.
Plentiful colour illustrations (dancers, athletes, soldiers) but none of mosques or
the architecture of other types of buildings. No mention of mosques in vol I: he was
a cavalry officer in Russian service.
Drummond, Alexander, His Majesty’s Consul at Aleppo, Travels through different cities
of Germany, Italy, Greece, and several parts of Asia, London 1754. For its images.
Dubeux, Louis, La Perse, Paris 1841. In the series L’Univers.
Duff, Mountstuart E. Grant, Notes of an Indian journey, London 1876.
Dumont d’Urville, Jules (1790–1842), Voyage autour du monde, Paris 1859. Short remarks
on mosques in India.

Du Loir, le Sieur, Les voyages du sieur Du Loir: contenus en plusieurs lettres écrites du
Levant … ensemble ce qui se passa à la mort du feu sultan Mourat dans le serrail …
avec la relation du siège de Babylone fait en 1639 par Sultan Mourat, Paris 1654.
Du Mont, Jean, Voyages de M. Du Mont, en France, en Italie, en Allemagne, à Malthe, et
ern Turquie, 2 vols., Hague 1699.
Dupré, L., élève de David, Voyage à Athènes et à Constantinople, Paris 1825.
Durbin, John P., Observations in the East, chiefly in Egypt, Palestine, Syria and Asia
Minor, II, New York 1845.
Dutemple, Edmond, Vice-Consul de France, En Turquie d’Asoe. Notes de voyage en
Anatolie, Paris 1883. Thinks Bursa a dirty place; no interest in mosques or architecture.
Duthoit, Edmond, (1837–1889; disciple of Viollet-le-Duc) Rapport sur une mission scien-
tifique en Algérie, in AMSL 1873, 305–326. Il fut de 1880 à sa mort, architecte en chef
des monuments historiques d’Algérie.
Eastwick, Edward Backhouse, Journal of a Diplomat’s Three Years’ Residence in Persia,
Ebersolt, Jean, Constantinople byzantine et les voyageurs du Levant, Paris 1918.
Egmont, J. Aegidius van, and Heyman, John, Travels through part of Europe, Asia Minor …
Egypt, 2 vols, London 1759. Notices and sometimes gives the number of mosques in
towns through which they pass. Several illustrations, but none of mosques.
Eliot, Sir Charles, Turkey in Europe, London 1900.
Elliott, C. B., Travels in the Three Great Empires of Austria, Russia, and Turkey, 2 vols.,
London 1838.
Ellis, Tristram J., On a raft, and through the desert, II, London 1881.
Elwood, Mrs. Colonel, Narrative of a journey overland from England, by the continent
of Europe, Egypt, and the Red Sea, to India … in the years 1825, 26, 27 and 28, 2 vols.,
London 1830.
Ernouf, Le Baron, Le Caucase, la Perse et la Turquie d’Asie d’après la relation de M. le Baron
de Thielmann, 2nd edn., Paris 1880.
Eton, William, many years resident in Turkey and in Russia, A Survey of the Turkish
Empire, in which are considered: I, its Government, Finances Military and Naval Forces,
Religion, History, Arts, Sciences, Manners, Commerce, and population; II, the State of
the Provinces … III, the causes of the Decline of Turkey … IV, the British Commerce with
Turkey, 3rd edn., London 1801. First published 1798.
Evans, Arthur J., Illyrian letters, London 1878.
Exposition historique de Madrid, Catalogue des monuments intéressant l’histoire de
la Tunisie, reproduits par les soins du service des antiquités et des arts de Tunisie.
Collections du musée Alaoui (Bardo), collections du musée de St. Louis-de-Carthage,
monuments de l’époque antique, monuments et habitations arabes, Tunis 1892. [As
tableaux. Second tableau: 31 examples of mosquées et minarets, 13 from Kairouan.
Fifth tableau: 28 Muslim examples from Tunis, mosques, minarets and maribouts.]

Eyriès, Jean-Baptiste-Benoît (1767–1846), Voyage pittoresque en Asie et en Afrique,

résumé général des voyages anciens et modernes, par J.-B. Eyriès, Paris 1839. These
are indeed résumés, and he doesn’t identify the texts. But has images on the frontis-
piece of Chardin, Simon Pallas, Burckhardt, and Richard Lander, giving only their
birth-dates.
Voyage en Asie et en Afrique d’après les récits des derniers voyageurs, 2nd edn. Paris
1859.
Faber, Frederick William, Sights and thoughts in foreign churches and among foreign
peoples, London 1842.
Falkener, Edward, The museum of classical antiquities. A series of papers on ancient art,
London 1855.
Ephesus, and the Temple of Diana, London 1862.
Fane, Henry Edward, Late A-d-C to the Commander-in_Chief in India, Five years in
India, 2 vols., London 1842.
Febvre, Michel. L’état présent de la Turquie ou il est traité des vies, moeurs, coutumes des
ottomans,, autres peuples de l’empire, Paris 1675.
Théâtre de la Turquie … Traduit d’italien en françois, par son auteur le Sr Michel
Febvre, Paris 1682.
Fellows, Charles, A journal written during an excursion in Asia Minor, 1838, London 1839.
Travels and researches in Asia Minor, more particularly in the Province of Lycia,
London 1852.
Fergusson, James, One hundred stereoscopic illustrations of architecture and natural his-
tory in Western India, photographed by Major Gill and described by James Fergusson,
London 1864. Largely Ajanta and Ellora, but some Muslim remains, mostly
Aurangabad.
Architecture at Beejapoor, an ancient Mahometan capital in the Bombay Presidency,
London 1866.
Illustrations of various styles of India architecture, London 1869. “Printed for the use
of schools of art in the United Kingdom.” With a lecture on “The Study of Indian
Architecture.”
History of Indian and Eastern architecture, forming the third volume of the “History of
Architecture,” London 1876. Not restricted to only Islamic architecture.
Fermanel, Gilles, Le voyage d’Italie et du Levant, Rouen 1670.
Ferrario, Dr. Giulio, Descrizione della Palestina o storia del Vangelo illustrata coi monu-
menti, Milan 1831. Full and conscientious descriptions but, as he acknowledges, only
relayed from earlier travellers.
Ferrières-Sauveboeuf, Comte olivier de, Mémoires historiques, politiques et géogra-
phiques des voyages faits en Turquie, en Perse et en Arabie, depuis 1782, jusqu’en 1789,
2 vols., Paris 1790.

Ferté-Meun, Mme. La Duchesse de la, Lettres sur le Bosphore, Paris 1821.

Feuvrier, Docteur, Ancien médecin-chef de S. M. Nasr ed Din Char, Trois ans à la cour
de Perse, 4 planches en couleur, 4 cartes, 1 plan et 79 illustrations d’après des photogra-
phies inédites et des croquis de l’auteur, Paris 1892 [?] His photos rather muddy, his
croquis sketchy indeed.
Field-Officer of Cavalry, Diary of a tour through southern India, Egypt, and Palestine, in
the years 1821 and 1822, London 1823.
Figueroa, D. Garcias de Silva, L’ambassade en Perse, Paris 1667. Travelling 1617–24.
Filleul de Pétigny, Clara, Souvenirs de voyage dans l’Asie, le Nord de l’Afrique, Syrie,
Tripoli, Tunis, etc., Limoges 1884. Plentiful if conventional opinions on the mosques
she saw, many of which (e.g. Kairouan) she could not enter.
Finati, Giovanni, Life and adventures, Bankes, William John ed., 2 vols., London 1830.
He spoke Arabic, and acted as interpreter for Bankes.
Fitzclarence, Lieut-Colonel, Journal of a route across India, through Egypt, to England,
in the latter end of the year 1817, and the beginning of 1818, London 1819.
Flandin, Eugène, Voyage en Perse de MM Eugène Flandin, peintre, et Pascal Coste,
Architecte, attachés à l’Ambassade de France in Perse pendant les années 1840 et
1841, entrepris par ordre de M. le Ministre des Affaires trangères, 2 vols, Paris 1851.
Mentions a large number of mosques in villages and small towns, some with brief
descriptions. Long descriptions of mosques at Ispahan, carefully distinguishing
their characteristics from those further West, and in Cairo.
Forbin, Comte Auguste de, Travels in Greece, Turkey, and the Holy Land in 1817–18,
London 1819.
Voyage dans le Levant en 1817 et 1818, 2nd edn., Paris 1819. Entered as Forbin_1819B.
Formby, Rev. Henry, A visit to the East; comprising Germany and the Danube, Constanti-
nople, Asia Minor, Egypt and Idumea, London 1843.
Forster, George, A journey from Bengal to England through the northern parts of India,
Kashmire, Afganistan and Persia, and into Russia by the Caspian-sea, 2 vols, London,
1798. Knew Persian, and wore a turban.
Fortin d’Ivry, T., “Des origines Mauresques en Espagne. Traces qu’y a laissées dans la
langue, dans les mœurs et dans les monuments, le séjour prolongé des Arabes,” in
Revue de l’Orient: Bulletin de la Société orientale, I, Paris 1843, 142–153.
Fosbroke, Rev. Thomas Dudley, Foreign topography; or, an encyclopedick account,
alphabetically arranged, of the ancient remains in Africa, Asia and Europe, forming a
sequel to the Encyclopedia of Antiquities, London 1828. An omnium gatherum from
earlier authors, and brief indeed on the descriptions. E.g. 312, preceded by Trapezius
(Trebizond) and followed by Treves: “Tremesin (Africa). Several shafts of pillars,
and fragments of Roman antiquities. A mosque is composed of these and sepul-
chral stones. Shaw, and c.” Contains only 26 references to mosques.

Fossati, Giuseppe, Aya Sofia as recently restored, London-Paris 1852.

Fowler, George, Turkey; or, a history of the origin, progress and decline of the Ottoman
Empire, 2nd edn., London 1854.
Francklin, William, Observations made on a tour from Bengal to Persia, in the years 1786–
7, Calcutta 1788. Includes account of Persepolis.
Frankland, Capt. Charles Colville, Travels to and from Constantinople in the years 1827–
8, 2 vols., London 1829.
Fraser, James Baillie, Historical and descriptive account of Persia, New York 1834. His
headings promise an account of the provinces of Persia, and this he delivers, with
clear distinction between what earlier travellers saw, and the state in which he then
found the same locations.
A winter’s journey (Tatar) from Constantinople to Tehran, 2 vols, London 1838.
Fraser Rae, W., The business of travel. A fifty years’ record of progress, London 1891.
Published by and for Thomas Cook Ltd.
Fratelli Treves, ed., Tunisi, Viaggi di Crapelet, Rebatel e Tirant, etc., Milan 1876.
Freese, Jacob R., U.S. Commissioner to Paris Exposition, 1867, Palestine Syria and Asia
Minor, travel, incident, description and history, Philadelphia 1869.
Fresne-Canaye, Philippe du, Le voyage du Levant, ed. H. Hauser, Paris 1897. Travelling
1573.
Fryer, John, A new account of East-India and Persia, in eight letters being nine years
travels, began 1672. And finished 1681, London 1698. Mentions of mosques, but no
descriptions.
Fürer von Haimendorff, Christoph (1517–1561), Itinerarium Aegypti, Arabiae, Palaestinae,
Syriae aliarumque regionum orientalium, Nuremberg 1621.
Fulin, Rinaldo, Diarii e diaristi Veneziani, studii, Venice 1881.
Fuller, John, Narrative of a tour through some parts of the Turkish Empire, London 1830.
Galland, Antoine, Journal pendant son séjour à Constantinople (1672–1673), Schefer,
Charles, ed., 2 vols., Paris 1881.
Galt, John, Voyages and travels, in the years 1809, 1810, and 1811 … on Gibraltar, Sardinia,
Sicily, Malta, Serigo and Turkey, London 1812.
Gardane, Paul-Ange-Louis de (1765–1822), Journal d’un voyage dans la Turquie-d’Asie
et la Perse, fait en 1807 et 1808. 1809, Paris and Marseille 1809. Mention mosques fre-
quently, often as “beautiful,” but never describes them. What he offers is really an
itinerary, with distances and brief notes on the settlements he passes, hence little
detail on mosques.
Garnier, E. Henri, Jérusalem et la Judée, description de la Palestine ou Terre-Sainte, Tours
1843.
Gassot, Jacques, Le discours du voyage de Venise à Constantinople, Paris 1550.
Gautier, Théophile, Travels, III: Constantinople, Boston 1912.

Gay, Oscar, La Tunisie, notice historique, Paris 1861. [Mentions liberté des cultes, but not
one mention of mosques].
Gédoyn “le Turc,” Consul de France à Alep 1623–1625, Journal et correspondance, Paris
1909.
Gell, Sir William, M.A., F.R.S., F.S.A., Narrative of a journey in the Morea, London 1823.
Gentil, Émil, Souvenirs d’Orient, I, Metz and Paris 1855.
Gingras, Leon, L’Orient, ou voyage en Egypte, en Arabie, en Terre-Sainte, en Turquie et en
Gréce, 2 vols Quebec 1847.
Girault de Prangey, Philibert-Joseph (1804–1892). Essai sur l’architecture des Arabes
et des Mores en Espagne, en Sicile et en Barbarie, Paris 1841. Authoritative account
by a man trained at the Ecole Nationale Supérieur des Beaux-Arts, and in the East
1841–44. Has a long and detailed description of the Mezquita (21–57). Begins with
Spain. Has very little to say about the Barbarie in his title: plenty of references, but
he is stumped by not having adequate descriptions of the monuments (such as
Kairouan).
Girault de Prangey, Philibert-Joseph (1804–1892), Monuments arabes d’Egypte, de Syrie
et d’Asie Mineure, dessines et mesures de 1842 á 1845, ouvrage faisant suite aux Monu-
ments arabes de Cordoue, Seville et Grenade, Paris 1846–1855. In Constantinople and
Anatolia 1843–5, and took over 800 photos there. This is an excellent source of high-
quality illustrations – but no Umayyad Mosque.
Gobineau, le comte A. de, Trois ans en Asie (de 1855 à 1858), Paris 1905.
Golinberg, Graf Nikolai, En Orient. Impressions et reminiscences, 2 vols., S. Peterburg
1867.
Grelot, Guillaume-Joseph, Relation nouvelle d’un voyage de Constantinople, enrichie
des plans levez par l’Autheur sur les lieux, & des Figures de tout ce qu’il y a de plus
remarquable dans cette Ville, Paris 1680. In Constantinople in 1670–72. Literate
text, good and thorough descriptions and explanations. Catches in the margins, so
easy to follow. A great deal on Islam, and the Turks’ procedures in washing, in the
mosque, the actions of the imam, etc. Clearly interested in Islam, and not just in
the architecture! 70 pages devoted to Hagia Sophia, plus a considerable amount of
general information on Islam and its practices, etc. Provides elevations and plans,
always keyed. Doesn’t start dealing with the other mosques of Constantinople until
264ff, Des Temples de Turquie. Describes the interior of the Sultan Achmet andfSü-
leymaniye briefly, but clearly has not been inside either of them. Final impression
is that this is a book about Hagia Sophia and its use in Islam, with most of the
remainder as a filling.
Grey, Hon. Mrs William, Journal of a visit to Egypt, Constantinople, the Crimea, Greece,
&c. in the suite of the Prince and Princess of Wales, London 1869.
Griffiths, J., Travels in Europe, Asia Minor, and Arabia, London, 1805.

Guérin, Victor, “Rapport adressé à Monsieur le Ministre de l’instruction publique par M,

Victor Guérin, ancien membre de l’Ecole française d’Athènes, chargé d’une mission en
Egypte,” in AMSL VIII 1859, 60–66.
Guilletière, Sr. de la, Athenes ancienne et nouvelle, et l’estat present de l’Empire des Turcs,
2nd edn, Paris 1675.
Gyllius, Petrus, The antiquities of Constantinople, London 1729. An excellent account
hill by hill, placing the antiquities, naming marbles, and measuring columns where
he can.
Habesci, Elias, The present state of the Ottoman Empire, London 1784.
Hahn-Hahn, Ida, Countess, Letters of a German Countess; written during her travels in
Turkey, Egypt, the Holy Land, Syria, Nubia etc., in 1843–4, 3 vols, London 1845.
Hakluyt, Richard, Hakluyt’s collection of the early voyages, travels, and discoveries, of the
English nation, II, London 1810.
Hamilton, William J., Researches I Asia Minor, Pontus, and Armenia; with some account
of their antiquities and geology, 2 vols., London 1842.
Hammer, Joseph von, Histoire de l’Empire Ottoman, 18 Vols., Paris 1835–1841.
Harborne, William, “The voyage of the Susan of London to Constantinople, wherein
the worshipfull M. William Harborne was sent first Ambassador vnto Sultan Murad
Can, the great Turke, with whom he continued as her Maiesties Ligier almost six
yeeres,” in Hakluyt_1810_285–291.
Hartley, Rev. John, Researches in Greece and the Levant, London 1831.
Hartmann, K.O., Die Baukunst in ihrer Entwicklung von der Urzeit bis zu Gegenwart, I,
Leipzig 1910. For its images.
Hasselquist, Frederick, Voyages and travels in the Levant; in the years 1749, 50, 51, 52,
London 1766.
Haussmann de Wandelburg, A. (Mgr) Études et souvenirs sur l’Orient et ses missions:
Palestine, Syrie et Arabie, I, Paris 1883.
Hayward, Harriet Cornelia, From Finland to Greece; or, three seasons in eastern Europe,
New York 1892.
Herbert, Thomas, Relation du voyage en Perse et des Indes orientales, Paris 1663. He
repeats several times that mosques are round: I think he just means they have a
domed interior.
Henry, Pierre François (1759–1833), Route de l’Inde, ou Description géographique de
l’Égypte, la Syrie, l’Arabie, la Perse et l’Inde / traduit en partie de l’anglais et rédigé par
P.-F. Henry, Paris 1798.
Hervé, Francis, A residence in Greece and Turkey; with notes of the journey through
Bulgaria, Servia and Hungary, and the Balcan, 2 vols, London 1837.
Herz Bey, Max, Architecte en chef du Comite de Conservation des Monuments de l’Art
Arabe, Conservateur du Musée, Catalogue raisonné des monuments exposés dans le
Musée National de l’Art Arabe et des Arts Industriels en Égypte, précédé d’un aperçu de

l’histoire de l’architecture par Max Herz Bey, architecte en chef, Cairo 1895, 2nd edn.,
Cairo 1906. The essay gives outline information on surviving monuments.
Héron de Villefosse, Antoine, Musées et collections archéologiques de l’Algérie. Musée
africain du Louvre, Paris 1906, pp. 80. [Not one mention of mosques.]
Heude, Lieutenant William, of the Madras Military Establishment, A voyage of the
Persian Gulf, and a journey overland from India to England in 1817, London 1819. Gives
an account of Persepolis, but has no interest in mosques.
Heyd, W. Histoire du commerce du Levant au moyen-âge, II, Leipzig 1886.
Hobhouse, J.C., A journey through Albania and other provicnes of Turkey in Europe and
Asia to Constantinople, during the years 1809 and 1810, 2 vols, Philadelphia 1817.
Hodges, William, R.A., Travels in India during the years 1780, 1781, 1782, and 1783, 2nd edn,
London 1794.
Holmes, William Richard, Sketches on the shores of the Caspian, descriptive and picto-
rial, London 1845.
Hommaire de Hell, Xavier, (1812–1848) Voyage en Turquie et en Perse exécuté par ordre
du gouvernement français, pendant les années 1846, 1847 et 1848; 4 vols, Paris, 1854–
1860. 24 plates of his own sketches in vol IV, including several mosque plans, such
as Soltanieh and Kasvin. Cet ouvrage est accompagné de cartes, d’inscriptions, etc., et
d’un album de 100 planches par Jules Laurens. [Author interested mainly in ancient
inscriptions.]
Hornby, Lady, Constantinople during the Crimean War, London 1863. With plentiful
exclamations at the fairly-tale-like beauty of mosques. She does not describe their
external architecture, and there isbut no indication she went in any of them.
Howard, Edward, Travels, through Asia, Africa, and America, 2 vols, London 1755. Con-
tains descriptions of old Egyptian cities, such as Antinoe, Thebes, and Alexandria;
though he sees a lot of marble and porphyry.
Howe, Fisher, Oriental and sacred scenes, from notes of travel in Greece, Turkey and
Palestine, New York 1854.
Howel, Thomas, Voyage en retour de l’Inde, par terre, et par une route en partie incon-
nue jusqu’ici, par Thomas Howel; suivi d’observations sur le passage dans l’Inde par
l’Egypte et le grand désert, par James Capper, Paris 1796–1797.
Hughes, Rev. Thomas Smart, Travels in Sicily Greece and Albania, 2 vols., London
1820.
Hunter, William, Travels through France, Turkey, and Hungary, to Vienna, in 1792, 2 vols.,
London 1803.
Ibn Khaldun, Les prolégomènes, Slane, Gluckin de, trans. ed., 3 vols. Paris 1863, 1865,
1868.
Inglis, Henry D., Spain in 1830, vol. I, London 1831.
Irby, Charles Leonard, and Mangles, James, Travels in Egypt and Nubia, Syria, and Asia
Minor, in the years 1817 and 1818, London 1823. Reprinted 1852.

Ireland, John B., From Wall Street to Cashmere. A journal of five years in Asia, Africa
and Europe, with nearly one hundred illustrations, from sketches made on the spot
by the author, New York 1859. Travelling 1851–6. Profusely illustrated from his own
sketches; very interested in architecture, Hindu as well as Muslim.
Irving, Washington, The Alhambra; or the new sketch book, Paris 1832. He rambled
through Spain (“particularly Toledo and Seville”) with David Wilkie in 1829, to
whom he dedicates this book. Travelled to Granada in 1829. In this long book, there
is very little on the details of the architecture: one reference to mosaic, three to
stucco, eleven to marble.
Ives, Edward, Voyage from England to India in the year 1754 … Also, a journey from Persia
to England by an unusual route, London 1773.
Jacob, William, MP, FRS, Travels in the south of Spain, in letters written A.D. 1809 and
1810, London 1811.
Jaubert, Pierre Amédée (1779–1847), Voyage en Armenie et en Perse dans les annees 1805
et 1806, Paris 1821. French diplomat and orientalist; Napoleon’s translator on the
Expédition de l’Egypte. Little to say about mosques.
Joanne, Adolphe, and Isambert, Émile, Itinéraire de l’Orient, Paris 1861. The French
equivalent of Morray’s or Baedeker’s guidebooks.
Jones, Owen, Plans, elevations, sections and details of the Alhambra: from drawings
taken on the spot in 1834 by the late M. Jules Goury and in 1834 and 1837 by Owen Jones,
Architect, I, London 1842. With 51 plates.
Jusserand, Marcel, Souvenirs d’Orient, Paris n.d. For its images.
Keene, H.G., Handbook for visitors to Agra and its neighbourhood, fourth edition, consid-
erably enlarged and improved, Calcutta etc. 1878. Third edition 1869.
Keppel, Major, the Hon George, Narrative of a journey across the Balcan … in the years
1829–30, 2 vols., London 1831.
Kinneir, John Macdonald, Journey through Asia Minor, Armenia, and Koordistan, in the
years 1813 and 1814, London 1818. In most towns, counts up and records the number
of mosques, but does not often have much to say about them.
Knox, Thomas W., The Oriental world: or new travels in Turkey, Russia, Egypt, Asia Minor
and the Holy Land, San Francisco 1879.
Kremer, Alfred von, The Orient under the Caliphs, translated from Von Kremer’s
Culturgeschichte des Orients, Bukhsh S. Khuda, trans, Calcutta 1920.
Kruse, Friedrich, Ulrich Jasper Seetzen’s Reisen durch Syrien, Palästina, Phoenicien, die
Transjordan-Länder, Arabia Petraea iind Unter-Aegypten. Herausgegeben und com-
mentirt von Professor Dr Fr. Kruse, 4 vols., Berlin 1854–1859. Seetzen (1767–1811)
went down the Danube in 1802, then six months in Constantinople, then Smyrna,
and in Aleppo Nov 1803 to April 1805. Learned Arabic, and travelled as a native in
Palestine, Dead Sea, Fayum and Cairo; his journal 1805–1809 published by Kruse
1854–1859. Reached Mecca as a pilgrim in October 1809. As EB has it, “Many papers

and collections were lost through his death or never reached Europe.” Supposedly
the first European to reach Jordan and Petra (1807). As is often the case before
sealed roads, times his trajets (and seems to mention them all) by hours and min-
utes, not measured distance. Plenty of references to mosques, and occasionally to
their marble; but no description of the Umayyad Mosque at Damascus! Nor did he
get up onto the Haram at Jerusalem. Is it curious that a fifty-year-old set of notes
should be published mid-century?
Laborde, Alexandre de, A view of Spain, London 1809. In 5 vols. The whole work is cool
and descriptive, giving specific details of churches, population, etc.: as its title page
suggests, an authoritative guidebook to the whole of Spain, rather than the whimsi-
cal wanderings of a traveller. It is intentionally dry, conveying accurate information
(heights, weights, dates) rather than enthusiasm.
Laborde, Michael J., A steam voyage down the Danube, 2nd edn, 2 vols., London 1835.
Lacroix, Frédéric, Guide du voyageur à Constantinople et dans ses environs, Paris 1839.
Lamartine, Alphonse de, Souvenirs, impressions, pensées et paysages pendant un voyage
en Orient 1832–1833, ou notes d’un voyageur, Paris 1845.
La Mottraye, Aubry de, Travels through Europe, Asia and Africa, 2 vols., London 1730.
Langlois, Victor, Voyage dans la Cilicie et dans les montagnes du Taurus exécuté pen-
dant les années 1852–1853, Paris 1861. Conscientiously lists mosques he comes across,
noting those converted from churches; but does not appear interested in their
architecture.
Lannoy, Ghillebert de (1386–1462), Oeuvres de Ghillebert de Lannoy, voyageur, diplo-
mate et moraliste, Potvin, Charles, ed., Louvain 1878.
Laporte, M. de, l’abbé de Fontenai et Domairon (1736–1806), Le voyageur françois, ou La
connoissance de l’ancien et du nouveau monde, Paris 1765.
Laurent, Peter Edmund, Recollections of a classical tour through various parts of Greece,
Turkey, and Italy, made in the years 1818 and 1819, London 1821.
Layard, Sir Henry, Autobiography, 2 vols., London 1903.
Leake, William Martin, Journal of a tour in Asia Minor, London 1824.
Travels in the Morea, 3 vols., London 1830.
Travels in northern Greece, 4 vols., London 1835.
Lear, Edward, Journals of a landscape painter in Albania and c., London 1851. As one
might expect, concentrates on the picturesque, rather than on architectural details.
Le Brun, Corneille, (1652–1726/7), Voyage au Levant, c’est-à-dire dans les principaux
endroits de l’Asie Mineure, dans les isles de Chio, de Rhodes, de Chypre, etc., de même
que dans les plus considérables villes d’Égypte, de Syrie et de la Terre Sainte, Paris 1714.
[A Dutch artist and traveller, alternatively Cornelis de Bruijn, Le Brun] Very well
illustrated, and several of ruined churches (plus working ones, e.g. at Jerusalem).
Distant views of mosques and minarets, but no close-ups or interiors. First trav-
els to Levant and Asia Minor published 1698/1700/1702 (Dutch, French, Englsh);

second travels to Moscow, Persia and India published 1711/1718/1720 (Dutch, French,
English).
This work is a Dutch original 1698; French trans, 1700; English trans 1702. Other edi-
tions Delft 1700, Paris 1925.
Lechevalier, J.B., Voyage de la Propontide et du Pont-Euxin, Paris 1802. Plenty of basic
information on the mosques of Constantinople, but scarcely any appreciation of
their architectural beauties.
Leslie, Gaultier de, L’ambassade à la porte Ottomane ordonnée par sa Majesté Imperiale
Leopold I, [1665–1666], Vienna 1672.
Lettres édifiantes et curieuses, écrites des missions étrangères. Mémoires du Levant I,
Paris 1819. Entered as Lettres_édifiantes_1819_.
Leveson-Gower, Elizabeth, Narrative of a yacht voyage in the Mediterranean in the years
1840–41, 2 vols, London 1842.
Lithgow, William, (1582-c.1645), The totall discourse of the rare adventures and painefull
peregrinations of long nineteene yeares travayles from Scotland to the most famous
Kingdomes in Europe, Asia and Affrica, Glasgow 1906.
Loubeau, Pierre de, La Méditerranée pittoresque, Paris 1894. Profusely illustrated; text
scanty on mosques. For its images.
Lucas, Paul, Voyage du Sieur Lucas, fait en MDCCXIV, par ordre de Louis XIV, dans la
Turquie, l’Asie, Sourie, Palestine, Haute et Basse Egypte, &c, I, Paris 1714. Vol II of the
Amsterdam 1720 edn covers Upper Egypt. The Paris 1712 edn covers Anatolia in the
first volume.
Lumsden, Lieut. Thomas, of the Bengal Horse Artillery, A journey from Merut in India
to London, through Arabia, Persia, etc. during the years 1819 and 1820, London 1822.
Lusignan, Sauveur (Salvator), A series of letters addressed to Sir William Fordyce, MD,
FRS, 2 vols., London 1788. Author spent nearly three years in Cairo. Seems not to
have entered mosques at Constantinople; 109–110 for Mosque of Sultan Selim at
Adrianople, giving height and brief description of the interior.
Lycklama à Nijeholt, Tinko Martinus, Voyage en Russie, au Caucase et en Perse, dans
la Mésopotamie, le Kurdistan, la Syrie, la Palestine et la Turquie: exécuté pendant les
années 1866, 1867 et 1868, Paris and Amsterdam, vol I 1872, vol II 1873, vol III 1874,
vol IV 1875. Plenty of information on mosques. Vol I is exclusively Russia, vol II
exclusively Persia, vol III Babylonia, vol IV Assyria. In this collection of well over
2,000 pages there are no illustrations except for the vol I frontispiece portrait of the
author, and two inscriptions from the Tomb of Esther at Hamadan.
Lynch, W.F., Commander of the expedition, Narrative of the United States’ expedition to
the River Jordan and the Dead Sea, London 1849.
MacFarlane, Charles, Constantinople et la Turquie en 1828, Paris 1829.
Turkey and its destiny: the result of journeys made in 1847 and 1848 to examine the
state of that country, 2 vols., Philadelphia 1850. Ruined, degraded and crumbling
mosques are a leitmotif of his book.

Macleod, Norman, Eastward, London and New York 1866. Engravings made from
photographs.
Macmichael, Willam, MD, FRS, Journey from Moscow to Constantinople in the years
1817–1818, London 1819.
Madden, Richard Robert, Travels in Turkey, Egypt, Nubia and Palestine, in 1824, 1825, 1826
and 1827, 2 vols., London 1829.
Malcolm, Sir John, Sketches of Persia, from the journals of a traveller in the East, 2 vols.,
London 1827.
Malte-Brun, Conrad (1775–1826), Universal geography … improved by the addition of the
most recent information, derived from various sources, Boston 1824. Final version in
8 vols. Occasionally detailed, and sometimes notes his sources. But at a disadvan-
tage before visitors who actually see the monuments, and sometime describe them
in detail. For example, his account of Islamic Cairo is very brief monument-wise,
spending much more time on Pharaonic material.
Manino, Conte Leonardo, Dissertazione intorno ad alcuni viaggiatori eruditi veneziani
poco noti, Venice 1803.
Marcellus, Vicomte de, Souvenirs de l’Orient, 2 vols, Paris 1839.
Marchebeus, Architecte du Gouvernement, Voyage de Paris à Constantinople par
bateau à vapeur, Paris 1839.
Martin, L’abbé, Voyage à Constantinople fait à l’occasion de l’ambassade de M. le comte
de Choiseul-Gouffier à la Porte ottomane, Paris 1821.
Martin, William Young, The East: being a narrative of personal impressions of a tour in
Egypt, Palestine and Syria, London 1876.
Marzo, Giacchino de, Delle belle arti in Sicilia dai Normanni sino al fino del secolo XIV,
I, Palermo 1858.
Masudi, Maçoudi, Les prairies d’or, III, Barbier de Meynard, C., and Coureille, Pavet de,
ed., Paris 1864.
Matheson, John, England to Delhi. A narrative of Indian travel, London 1870.
Maundrell, Henry, Voyage d’Alep à Jerusalem à Paques en l’année 1697, Utrecht 1705.
“Journey from Aleppo to Jerusalem, at Easter A.D. 1697,” in Pinkerton, John, A gen-
eral collection of the best and most interesting voyages and travels in all parts of the
world, X, London 1811, 305–379.
“The journey from Aleppo to Jerusalem,” in Early travels in Palestine, Wright,
Thomas, ed., London 1848, 383–512. Text cited in three editions to demonstrate its
continuing popularity.
Maurand, Jérome, Itinéraire de Jérome Maurand d’Antibes à Constantinople (1544),
Dorez, Léon, ed., Paris 1901.
Maurice, Thomas, Indian antiquities. Dissertations relating to … Hindostan, compared,
throughout, with the religion, laws, government and literature of Persia, Egypt and
Greece, 4 vols., London 1806.

Mazure, Adolphe (1799?–1870), Illustrations, ruines et souvenirs des capitales anciennes

et modernes, Paris n.d. Includes a chapter on Constantinople, but only pedestrian
accounts of the buildings.
Méry, Joseph, Constantinople et la Mer Noire, Paris 1855. Interested as the author
is in mosques (100 references to them), there are no plates of the mosques of
Constantinople.
Michaud, Joseph François, Bibliothèque des Croisades, Quatrième partie: Chroniques
arabes, traduites et mises en ordre par M. Reynaud, Paris 1829, for western confronta-
tion with Islam and mosques.
The history of the Crusades, Robson, William, trans, 3 vols., New York 1853.
Michaud, Joseph François, and Poujoulat, Baptistin, Correspondance d’Orient 1830–1831,
II, Paris 1833; V Paris 1834. The letters are written by Michaud in the first person, with
information and opinions of both, all quotations therefore appearing as Michaud
and Poujoulat.
Mitford, Edward Ledwich, A land march from England to Ceylon forty years ago, II,
London 1884.
Mocquet, Jean, Voyages en Afrique, Asie, Indes Orientales, & Occidentales, Rouen 1665.
English translation London 1696. Travelling 1611.
Moncaut, Cénac, “Parallèle de l’architecture espagnole avec celle des Pas-Bas,” in AMSL
VIII 1859, 43–59.
Monconys, M. de, Journal des voyages de Monsieur de Monconys, Conseiller du Roy en ses
Conseils d’Éstat & Privé, & Lieutenant Criminel au Siège Presidial de Lyon. Première
partie. Voyage de Portugal, Provence, Italie, Egypte, Syrie, Constantinople, & Natolie,
2 vols, Lyon 1665, Lyon 1666.
Monk, Charles James, The Golden Horn; and sketches in Asia Minor, Egypt, Syria and the
Hauran, 2 vols., London 1851.
Monro, Rev. Vere, A summer ramble in Syria, with a Tartar trip from Aleppo to Stamboul,
Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley (1689–1762), Letters written during her travels in Europe,
Asia and Africa, London 1790. Husband – ambassador to the Porte 1716–1717.
Montbard, G. Among the Moors. Sketches of oriental life, London 1894. First words of the
Preface: “A crumbling empire.”
Morkoc, Selen, A study of Ottoman narratives on architecture: text, context, and herme-
neutics, Palo Alto 2010.
Morier, James, His Majesty’s Secretary to the Court of Persia, A journey through Persia,
Armenia, and Asia Minor, to Constantinople in the years 1808 and 1809, Philadelphia
1816.
A second journey through Persia, Armenia, and Asia Minor, to Constantinople in the
years 1810 and 1816, Philadelphia 1818.

Morris, E. Joy, Notes of a tour through Turkey, Greece, Egypt, Arabia Petraea, to the Holy
Land, 2 vols, Philadelphia 1842.
Morritt, John B.S., Letters descriptive of journeys in Europe and Asia Minor in the years
1794–1796, Marindin, G.E., ed., London 1914.
Müller, Mrs Max (Georgina Adelaide), Letters from Constantinople, London etc 1897. In
Constantinople in 1894.
Mundy, Peter, (fl. 1600–1667), Travels in Asia, 1628–1634, London 1914. [I: Travels in
Europe, 1608–1628; II: Travels in Asia, 1628–1634; III.1 Travels in England, India, Canton
River 1634–1637; III.2: Achin, Mauritius etc 1638].
Murphy, James Cavanah, The Arabian antiquities of Spain, London 1813. Long, accurate,
detailed and well illustrated descriptions. Translates inscriptions. Many more plates
for the Alhambra (93) than for the Mezquita (9), including a host of decorative pan-
els from the former, and no details of the latter.
Murray, John.
A handbook for travellers in the Ionian Islands, Greece, Turkey, Asia Minor, and
Constantinople, being a guide to the principal routes in those countries, London 1840.
A handbook for travellers in Syria and Palestine, London 1858.
A handbook for travellers in Greece, 4th edn., London 1872.
Handbook for travellers to Asia Minor, Transcaucasia, Persia, etc, London 1895.
Naud, le R.P., de la Compagnie de Jesus, Voyage nouveau de la Terre-Sainte, Paris 1702.
Neale, F.A., Eight years in Syria, Palestine, and Asia Minor, from 1842 to 1850, 2 vols,
London 1851.
Newberie, John, Two voyages, one into the holy Land, the other to Bassora, Ormus, Persia
and backe throw Turkie, in Purchas, his pilgrims, etc., VIII, Glasgow 1905, 449–481.
Travelling 1581–2.
Newton, C.T., Travels and discoveries in the Levant, 2 vols., London 1865.
Niccolò of Poggibonsi, Fra, A voyage beyond the seas (1346–1350), Berllorini T., and
Hoade, E., trans, Jerusalem 1945.
Nicolay, Nicholas de, (1517–1587), Géographe du Roi, Le navigationi et viaggi, fatti
nella Turchia, Venice 1580. In Constantinople with M. Gabriel d’Aramon from 1551.
Several editions and translations. Plenty of illustrations, but all of people, and none
of monuments.
Niebuhr, Carsten, Travels through Arabia and other countries in the East, 2 vols.,
Edinburgh 1792. The French editions are Copenhagen 1773 and Paris 1776.
Noah, Mordecai Manuel (1785–1851), Travels in England, France, Spain and the Barbary
States in the year 1813–14 and 15, London 1819.
O’Donovan, Edmond, The Merv Oasis, 2 vols. London 1882.
Officier de Marine, Voyage de M. le Baron de St Amant, Ambassadeur du Roy Tres-Chrêtien
vers le Roy de Maroc, Lyon 1698.

Oldmixon, John W., Commander, R.N., Gleanings from Piccadilly to Pera, London
1854.
Olearius, Adam, The voyages and travels of the ambassadors sent by Frederick Duke
of Holstein, to the Great Duke of Moscovy, and the King of Persia, begunin the year
MDCXXXIII and finish’d in MDXXXIX … written originally by Adam Olearius,
Secretary to the Embassy, 2nd edn., London 1669. No illustrations of any buildings
in Persia.
Voyages très-curieux & très-renommez faits en Moscovie, Tartarie et Perse, I, Amster-
dam 1727. Profusely illustrated, but no mosques.
Olivier, Guillaume Antoine, Travels in the Ottoman empire, Egypt, and Persia, under-
taken by order of the government of France, during the first six years of the Republic,
London 1801.
Olivier, Guillaume Antoine, Voyage dans l’Empire Othoman, l’Égypte et la Perse, Paris
1801 for vol. I, Paris 1804 for vol. IV.
Omont, Henri, Missions archéologiques françaises en Orient aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles,
in two parts (continuously paginated), Paris 1902.
Osborne, Thomas, A collection of voyages and travels, consisting of authentic writers
in our own tongue, which have not before been collected in English … and continued
with … other Nations and Languages … Digested according to the parts of the World …
compiled from the curious and valuable Library of the Earl of Oxford … Printed for and
sold by Thomas Osborne, 2 vols., London 1745.
Otter, Jean, Voyage en Turquie et en Perse, 2 vols. in one, separately paginated, Paris 1748.
Travelled at the behest of the comte de Maurepas, minister and secretary of state.
The Ottoman Empire: the sultans, the territory, and the people, London 1859. Entered as
Ottoman_Empire_1859.
Ouseley, Sir William, Travels in various countries of the East more particularly Persia; a
work wherein the author has described, as far as his own observations extended the
state of those countries in 1810, 1811 and 1812, and has endevoured to illustrate many
subjects of antiquarian research, history, geography, philology and miscellaneous
litterature, with extracts from rare and valuable oriental manuscripts, London 1819–
1823, 3 vol. in-4°. [#interested in the language, but not much in architecture].
Pacifique, Le R.P., Voyage de Perse, Paris 1631. Began first journed in 1622, and included
visit to the Holy Land. His title is a misnomer, with Persia beginning at 389 in a text
of 415 pages, and for which country he mentions not one mosque.
Palerne Forésien, Iean, Pérégrinations du S. Iean Palerne Foresien, Secretaire de François
de Valois Duc D’Anjou, & d’Alençon, &c., Lyon 1606.
Pardoe, Miss, The beauties of the Bosphorus, illustrated in a series of views of Constanti-
nople and its environs, from original drawings by W.H. Bartlett, London 1838.
The city of the Sultan; and domestic manners of the Turks in 1836, 2 vols, London 1837.
Parnauvel, Omney Tcherson, A trip to Turkey, and traveller’s guide to the Turkish capital,
by way of Gibraltar, Malta, Syra and Alexandria, London 1855.

Parsons, Abraham, Travels in Asia and Africa, London 1808. Travelling 1772–78.
Pears, Sir Edwin, Forty years in Constantinople: The recollections of Sir Edwin Pears,
1873–1915, London 1916.
Pellé, Clément, and Galibert, Léon, Voyage en Syrie et dans l’Asie Mineure, I, London
and Paris 1843.
Percy, Earl, M.P., Highlands of Asiatic Turkey, London 1901.
Pernot, Maurice, Rapport sur un voyage d’étude à Constantinople en Égypte et en Turquie
d’Asie ( Janvier–Août 1912), Paris 1912. Commissioned by the Comité des Intérêts fran-
çais en Orient, founded 1909. This 338-page book is not in the least monumental:
only 17 references to churches, and not one to mosques.
Perry, Charles, A view of the Levant: particularly of Constantinople, Syria, Egypt and
Greece, London 1743.
Perthes, Boucher de, Voyage à Constantinople … en Mai, Juin, Juillet et Août 1853, 2 vols.,
Paris 1855.
Pertusier, Charles, Promenades pittoresques dans Constantinople et sur les rives du
Bosphore, 3 vols., Paris 1815. Does indeed write about and describe the elements and
details of the architecture, not just about beauty and magnificence, and not just the
imperial mosques. He offers twenty-three walks over the three volumes.
Pfeiffer, Ida, A woman’s journey round the world, London 1851. Also visits Fatehpur-Sikri.
Excellent descriptions all round, including Delhi, Iraq and Persia.
Phillips, J., Collections of travels through Turky into Persia … giving an account of the
present state of those countries … being the travels of Monsieur Tavernier Bernier, and
other great men, 2 vols. in one, London 1684. Persia and India in the same volume,
paginated separately. This printing uses page-for-page the same pagination as the
London 1678 translation of Tavernier’s Six Voyages, both printed for Moses Pitt.
Pigeory, Félix, Les Pèlerins d’Orient. Lettres artistiques et historiques sur un voyage dans
les Provinces danubiennes, la Turquie, la Syrie et la Palestine, Paris 1854.
Pinkerton, John, A general collection of the best and most interesting voyages and travels
IX, London 1811. For Sir John Chardin’s Travels into Persia, in the 1670s.
Playfair, Sir R. Lambert, Handbook to the Mediterranea: its cities, coasts and islands, for
the use of general travellers and yachtsmen, Part I, London 1881. Mosques in Algiers,
Constantinople, Thessaloniki, Córdoba, etc.
Pococke, Richard, (1704–1765), A description of the East, and some other countries. I:
Observations on Egypt, London 1743.
A description of the East, and some other countries. II.1: Observations on Palestine or
the Holy Land, Syria, Mesopotamia, Cyprus, and Candia, London 1745.
A description of the East, and some other countries. II.2: Observations on the islands of
the Archipelago, Asia Minor, Thrace, Greece, and some other parts of Europe, London
1745. Gives a plan of the Umayyad Mosque at Damascus, but no views of other
mosques, even those in Constantinople.

Porter, Sir James, ambassador to the Porte 1746–1762, Observations on the Religion, Law,
Government, and Manners of the Turks, 2 vols. continuously paginated, Dublin 1768.
[First London, 1768, then London, 1771.]
Porter, Sir Robert Ker, Travels in Georgia, Persia, Armenia, Ancient Babylonia, and c.
2 vols. London 1822.
Post, Henry A. V., A visit to Greece and Constantinople, in the year 1827–8, New York 1830.
Postel, Guillaume, cosmopolite, De la république des Turks: & là où l’occasion s’offrera,
des meurs & loy de tous Muhamedistes, Poitiers 1560.
Poujoulat, Baptistin (1809–1864), Voyage dans l’Asie Mineure, en Mésopotamie, à Pal-
myre, en Syrie, en Palestine et en Égypte, 2 vols, Paris 1840 and 1841. The younger
brother of Jean-Joseph-François, immediately below, and the collaborator of Michaud.
Voyage à Constantinople, dans l’Asie Mineure. En Mésopotamie, à Palmyre, en Syrie,
en Palestine et en Egypte, I, Brussels 1841.
Pouqueville, Francois Charles H.L., Travels through the Morea, Albania, and several
other parts of the Ottoman Empire, to Constantinople, during the years 1798, 1799, 1800
and 1801, London 1806. Diplomat, with medical knowledge; jailed in Constantinople,
but able to wander the city.
Voyage de la Grèce, 2nd edn, 6 vols, Paris 1826.
Poullet, le Sieur du, Nouvelles Relations du Levant, qui contiennent diverses remarques
fort curieuses, non encore observées, touchant la religion, les mœurs et la politique de
plusieurs peuples, avec une exacte description de l’empire turc en Europe, et plusieurs
choses curieuses remarquées pendant huit années de séjour, Paris 1668. Spent four
months altogether in Adrianople and Constantinople. Does not mention the Sultan
Selim in Adrianople.
Price, William, Journal of the British Embassy in Persia. Embellished with numerous
wiews taken in India and Persia. Also a dissertation upon the antiquities of Persepolis,
2 vols, London 1825. His views of monuments and town buildings are always distant,
and without detail.
Prime, E.D.G, D.D., Forty years in the Turkish Empire; or, Memoirs of Rev. William Goodell,
DD, late missionary of the ABCFM at Constantinople, New York 1876.
Prime, Samuel Irenaeus, Travels in Europe and the East, 2 vols, New York 1855.
Pulszky, Francis, The Tricolor on the Atlas; or, Algeria and the French conquest, from the
German of Dr. Wagner and other sources, London 1854. [Largely repackaged from
Dr. Moritz Wagner’s 1841 publication, as P notes in his Preface.]
Quin, Michael J., A visit to Spain, London 1824.
Rampoldi, Giovanni Battista, Annali Musulmani, 12 vols Milan 1822–1826. For a good
overview about what the nineteenth century West knew (and was interested in)
about Islam.
Rapelje, George, A narrative of excursions, voyages and travels, performed at different
periods, New York 1834.

Ray, Rev. John, A collection of curious travels and voyages, 2 vols., 2nd edn., London 1738.
Raguse, Voyage du Maréchal Duc de Raguse en Hongroie … à Constantinople … en
Palestine et en Égypte, 3 vols, Paris 1839. 3 vols., Brussels 1837.
Ramsay, William M., Impressions of Turkey during twelve years’ wanderings, London
1897.
Regnault, A., Voyage en Orient. Gréce, Turquie, Egypte, Paris 1855.
Reid, John, Turkey and the Turks: being the present state of the Ottoman Empire, London
1840.
Reinach, Salomon, Chroniques d’Orient, Paris 1891.
Reinaud, Joseph Toussaint (editor of Aboulfeda), Chroniques arabes, Paris 1829. In the
series Bibliotheque des Croisades, IV.
“Monuments arabes et mauresques de Cordoue, Séville et Grenade, par M. Girault de
Prangey – Essai sur l’architecture des Arabes et des Maures en Espagne, en Sicile et en
Barbarie, par le même,” in Journal asiatique 6, for 1842, 336–366.
Monuments arabes, persans et turcs du cabinet de M. le dce de Blacas, et d’autres
cabinets, considérés et décrits d’après leurs rapports avec les croyances, les moeurs et
l’histoire des nations musulmanes, 2 vols, Paris, 1828. Excludes architecture.
Revue Archéologique, ou recueil de documents et de mémoires relatifs à l’étude des mon-
uments, à la numismatique et à la philologie de l’antiquité et du moyen âge publiés
par les principaux archéologues français et étrangers (1844ff; later dropped to the
simple Revue Archéologique) frequently mentions mosques, but usually because
ancient stelai or inscriptions have been found encased in their structure or that of
the minaret.
Richardson, Robert, MD, Travels along the Mediterranean, and parts adjacent, during
the years 1816–17–18, 2 vols, London 1822. Careful descriptions, and good at describ-
ing where he goes and what he sees. He got into the Dome of the Rock because he
had cured the Governor.
Richter, Otton-Frédéric de, “Pèlerinages en Orient faits en 1815–1816,” in Nouvelles
Annales des Voyages XXII, Paris 1824, 5–289.
Ricketts, Clemuel Green, Notes of travel, in Europe, Egypt and the Holy Land, including a
visit to the city of Constantinople in 1841 and 1842, Philadelphia 1844.
Riedesel, le Baron de, Voyages en Sicile, dans la Grande Grèce et au Levant, Paris 1802.
Rivoira, Giovanni T., Moslem architecture: its origins and development, London etc. 1918.
[originally Milan 1914].
Rochefort, Iouvin de, Trésorier de France, Le voyage d’Europe où est le voyage de Turquie,
qui comprend la Terre Sainte et l’Égypte, dédié à Monseigneur de Ponponne, Secretaire
d’Estat, Paris 1676.
Roe, Sir Thomas, The Embassy of Sir Thomas Roe to the court of the Great Moghul, 1615–
1619, 2 vols., Foster, William, ed., London 1899. He visited places of interest, such as
Fatehpur Sikri, but has nothing to say of the architecture. He corresponded with his

factors at Agra, but apparently did not visit because of the plague. He wrote (537)
that Agra was “one of the great woorkes and woonders of the world,” but the editors
suggest it was described to him by Coryat.
Röhricht, Reinhold, ed., Chronologisches Verzeichniss der auf die Geographie des
Heiligen Landes bezüglichen Literatur von 888 bis 1878, Berlin 1890. With information
on mosques and their illustration.
Ronsier, M. l’abbé, Voyage à la terre sainte. Monuments, moeurs, usages de l’Egypte, la
Syrie, la Palestine, Limoge and Paris 1856.
Rosaccio, Gioseppe, Viaggio da Venezia, a Costantinopoli, Venice 1598. Profusely illus-
trated with fortresses, towns and islands along the way, but only one highly inac-
curate print of Constantinople, and the basic information about that city. For its
images.
Roudh el-Kartas: Abou Mohammed Salih ibn Abd Al Halim, Roudh el-Kartas. Histoire
des souverains du Maghreb (Espagne et Maroc) et Annales de la ville de Fès, Paris 1860.
With much on mosque-building and repair reign-by-reign, and frequent mentions
of the use of marble, but without indicating its source. Entered as Roudh_el-Kartas.
Royer, Alphonse (1803–1875), Aventures de voyage, tableaux, récits et souvenirs du
Levant, Paris 1837.
Rudolph, Crown Prince of Austria (1857–89), Travels in the East including a visit to
Egypt and the Holy Land, London 1884. Extensively illustrated, e.g. Pharaonic mate-
rial, but no mosque interiors, and only distant external views.
Russell, Alex, MD, The natural history of Aleppo, 2 vols., London 1794.
Russell, William Howard, special correspondent of The Times, My diary in India in the
year 1858–9, II, London 1860.
Rycaut, Paul, The present state of the Ottoman Empire, 3rd edn., London 1670.
Saint-Martin, Vivien de (1802–1896)., Description historique et géographique de l’Asie
Mineure, 2 vols, Paris 1852. Includes much information on early travellers, and their
encounters with mosques.
Histoire des découvertes géographiques des nations européennes dans les diverses
parties du monde: 2 vols, Paris 1845–46. He wrote a prospectus for an expansion, in
43 vols. 8vo plus atlas, never completed.
Saint-Paul, Anthyme, L’Année archéologique 1879, Paris 1880.
Salaberry, Charles-Marie d’Irunberry, comte de, Voyage à Constantinople, en Italie et
aus iles de l’archipel par l’Allemagne et la Hongrie, Paris 1799. Appreciates mosques.
Salle, Eusèbe de (1796–1873), Pérégrinations en Orient, ou Voyage pittoresque, historique
et politique en Égypte, Nubie, Syrie, Turquie, Grèce pendant les années 1837–38–39,
Paris 1840.
Salmon, Thomas, Lo stato presente di tutti i paesi, e popoli del mondo, VI: Della Turchia
etc, 2nd edn., Venice 1738; VII: Della Turchia in Europa etc, 2nd edn., Venice 1739.

St John, James Augustus, Egypt and Mohammed Ali, or, travels in the valley of the Nile,
Sandie, Rev. George, Horeb and Jerusalem, Edinburgh 1864.
Sandwich, John Montague, Earl of, A voyage performed by the late Earl of Sandwich,
round the Mediterranean, in the years 1738 and 1739, 2nd edn., London 1807. Author
was 20 when he made the trip. [first edn 1799?] Illustrates Constantinople minarets,
some Greek buildings, and the Pyramids, but no mosques.
Sandys, George (1577–1624), Travels, 7th edn., London 1673.
Sanson, M., Voyage ou relation de l’etat present du royaume de Perse, Paris 1695.
Sanudo, Marino (1466–1536), Diarii, Fulin, Rinaldo et aleds, 58 vols, 1879–1903.
Sapienza, Otavio, Nuevo tratado di Turquia, Madrid 1622.
Ville de Constantine. Agrandissement de la ville. Dévasement du Coudiat-Aty suivant
le projet Percher. Lettres adressées à Monsieur le maire et à Messieurs les membres du
Conseil municipal composant la commission d’examen des divers projets du dévase-
ment, reproduites par le journal “l’Indépendant,” Constantine 1885. [No mention of
mosques. Likewise Etudes de voyage par M. Charles Grad,… II. Les travaux publics en
Algérie, Nancy 1883.]
Sarre, Friedrich (1865–1945), Reise in Kleinasien, sommer 1895, Berlin 1896. Denkmäler
Persischer Baukunst, 2 vols. Berlin 1901.
Sarre, Friedrich, and Herzfeld, Ernst, Archäologische Reise im Euphrat- und Tigris-
Gebiet, 3 vols, Berlin 1911. I 52–109 for Herzfeld’s on Samarra (including dealing
with al-Mutawakkil’s palace), including accounts of earlier scholars. Vol III for the
120 plates, which document many ruins which have not survived.
Savigny de Moncorps, Vte de, Journal d’un voyage en Orient 1869–1870. Égypte-Syrie-
Constantinople, Paris 1873.
Schickler, Fernand, En Orient. Souvenirs de voyage 1858–1861, Paris 1863. Excellent
descriptions of Cairo and its mosques and great cemeteries.
Schroeder, Francis, Secretary to the Commodore commanding the United States
squadron in that sea, Shores of the Mediterranean; with sketches of travel, 1843–1845,
Scott-Stevenson, Mrs., Our ride through Asia Minor, London 1881.
Senior, Nassau W., A journal kept in Turkey and Greece in the autumn of 1857 and the
beginning of 1858, London 1859.
Sestini, Dominique, Voyage dans la Grèce asiatique, à la Péninsule de Cyzique, à Brusse
et à Nicée; avec des détails sur l’histoire naturelle de ces contrées. Traduit de l’italien
de M. l’abbé Dominque Sestini, de l’Académie de Florence, Paris 1789. Travelling 1779.
Shakespear, John, The history of the Mahometan Empire in Spain … designed as an
introduction to The Arabian Antiquities of Spain by James Cavanah Murphy, London
1816. Shakespear was Professor of Oriental Languages to the Honourable East India
Company’s Military Seminary.

Siddons, Joachim Hayward, The hand-book of India, a guide to the stranger and the trav-
eller, and a companion to the resident, London 1844. His title-page pseudonym was
J.H. Stocqueler.
Skene, Felicia, Wayfaring sketches among the Greeks and Turks, and on the shores of the
Danube, by a seven years’ resident of Greece, London 1847.
Skinner, Major Thomas, Adventures during a journey overland to India, by way of Egypt,
Syria and the Holy Land, 2nd edn., 2 vols., London 1837.
Slade, Adolphus, Records of travels in Turkey, Greece, and c. and of a cruise in the Black
Sea with the Capital Pasha, in the years 1829, 1830 and 1831, 2 vols., Philadelphia and
Baltimore 1833.
Slade, Adolphus, Turkey, Greece and Malta, 2 vols., London 1837.
Sleeman, Lieutenant-Colonel W.H., of the Bengal Army, Rambles and recollections of
an Indian official, 2 vols., London 1844. Excellent accounts of Indian buildings, all of
which he has obviously visited.
Smith, Albert Richard, A month at Constantinople, London 1850. 3rd edn, London 1851.
Travelling 1849.
Smith, Jerome C.D., M.D., Turkey and the Turks; or, Travels in Turkey, Boston 1852.
Smith, John, Palestine, in 1789 and 1790 … and a particular description of the city of
Jerusalem in its present state, London 1792.
Smith, Rev. William Alexander, From Occident to Orient, Pittsburgh 1897.
Smith, Thomas, “An account of the city of Prusa in Bithynia,” in Philosophical Trans-
actions 155, 1683, 431–454. A succinct takedown of the Turks and their intellectual
horizons.
Sonnini, C.S., Engineer in the French Navy, and member of several scientific and literary
societies, Travels in Upper and Lower Egypt: undertaken by order of the Government
of France, 3 vols, London 1807. One-volume edition London 1801.
Spencer, Edmund, Travels in Circassia, Krim-Tartary, and c., London 1839. Travelling
1836.
Travels in European Turkey in 1850, 2 vols, London 1851.
Spiers, Richard Phené, Architecture east and west, London 1905.
Spilman, James, A journey through Russias; by two English Gentlemen … in the year 1739,
London 1742.
Spon, Iacob, and Wheler, George (1650–1723), Voyage d’Italie, de Dalmatie, de Grece, et
du Levant, fait és années 1675 and 1676, 3 vols, Lyon 1678.
St. John, James Augustus, The lives of celebrated travellers, II, London 1831. Deals with
Tournefort, Shaw, Hasselquist, Wortley Montague, Pococke, Bell, Ledyard, Forster
and Bruce.
Egypt and Nubia, their scenery and their people, being incidents of history and travel,
from the best and most recent authorities, including J.L. Burckhardt and Lord Lindsay,
illustrated with one hundred and twenty-five wood engravings, London 1844. No

consistent or complete attribution for his quotes. Much of the text seems to relate
the authors own experiences. He was proficient in French, Spanish, Italian, Arabic
and Persian. Travelled mostly on foot.
Stochove, Chevalier Vincent, Voyage du Levant, Brussels 1650.
Struve, Johann Christian von, Voyager en Krimee, suivi de la Relation de l’Ambassade
envoyée de Pétersbourg à Constantinople en 1795. Publié par un jeune Russe, attaché à
cette Ambassade, Paris 1802.
Stuart, Charles, Lieut-Colonel, 13th Light Infantry, Journal of a residence in norther
Persia and the adjacernt provinces of Turkey, London 1854. Travelling 1835–36, to
meet his relation Henry Ellis, appointed ambassador Extraordinary to the Court of
Persia.
Swinburne, Henry, Travels through Spain, in the years 1775 and 1776, in which several
monuments of Roman and Moorish architecture are illustrated by accurate drawings
taken on the spot, London 1779.
Sykes, Mark, Dar-ul-Islam. A record of a journey through ten of the Asiatic provinces of
Turkey, London 1904. For its images.
Tancoigne, J. M., Attached to the Embassy of General Gardane, A narrative of a journey
into Persia, and residence at Teheran, London 1820. Travelling 1807–1809.
Tavernier, John B., The six voyages of John Baptista Tavernier, as Noble Man of France
now living, through Turkey into Persia and the East-Indies, finished in the year 1670,
London 1678.
Taylor, Bayard, The lands of the Saracen: pictures of Palestine, Asia Minor, Sicily, and
Spain, New York 1855. Taylor, Bayard (1825–1878), much-published and wide-flung
traveller, author and popular lecturer.
Tchihatcheff, Peter Alexandrivitch, Espagne, Algérie et Tunisie. Lettres à Michel
Chevalier, Paris 1880.
Teixeira, Pedro, The travels of Pedro Teixeira, Sinclair, William F., and Ferguson, Donald,
eds, London 1902. Travelling 1586–1605.
Texier, Charles (1802–1871), Description de l’Arménie, la Perse et la Mésapotamie, 2 vols,
Paris 1842 and 1845.
Description de l’Asie Mineure faite par ordre du gouvernement français de 1833 à 1837
et publiée par le ministère de l’Instruction publique, 1849, ouvrage dédié à Louis
Philippe. Published in the Univers series in 1862, and in an English edition with
R.P. Pullar (The principal ruins of Asia Minor) in 1865.
Description géographique, historique et archéologique des provinces et des villes de la
Chersonnèse d’Asie, Paris, Firmin Didot, 1862, 1882.
Texier, Charles (1802–1871), “Notice sur Erzeroum: fragment d’un journal de voyage,
1839, 1840” in Bulletin de la Société de Géographie XX 1843, 213–228.
Thenaud, Jean, Gardien du Couvent des Cordeliers d’Angoulême, Le voyage d’Outremer
(Égypte, Mont Sinay, Palestine), suivi de la Relation de l’Ambassade de Domenico
Trevisan auprès du Soudan d’Égypte, 1512, Schefer, Charles, ed., Paris 1884.

Thévenot, Jean (1633–1667), Voyage fait au Levant, Paris 1664; I.2, II.1, Paris 1689. Ravels
of Monsieur de Thévenot into the Levant, in three parts, viz. Turkey, Persia, the East
Indies, London 1687. Two volumes in one publication, separately paginated. The
author evidently enjoyed mosques, and describes many during the course ofhis
travels, including Damascus, Bursa, Jerusalem and Aleppo.
Suite du voyage de M. Thévenot au Levant, 3rd edn., 3, Amsterdam 1727.
Thevet, André (1516–1590), La cosmographie universelle d’André Thevet Cosmographe
du Roi, illustrée de diverses figures des choses plus remarquables veuës par l’auteur, I
Paris 1575. First published 1556.
Thielmann, Lieut. Baron Max von, Journey in the Caucasus, Persia, and Turkey in Asia,
Thompson, Charles, Travels through Turkey in Asia, the Holy Land, Arabia, Egypt, and
other parts of the world, London 1768, Glasgow 1798. Sailing from Constantinople to
Smyrna in 1733. Garrulous with a historical lecture at the drop of a hat. Has a dis-
quisition on the Jewish Temple of Solomon, but does not even mention, let alone
describe, the Haram or the Dome of the Rock.
Thompson, Charles, Travels, containing his observations on France, Italy, Turkey in
Europe, the Holy Land, Arabia, Egypt, etc., 3 vols., Reading 1744.
Thomson, Joseph, F.R.G.S., Travels in the Atlas and southern Morocco. A narrative of
exploratioin, London 1889.
Thornton, Theodore, Etat actuel de la Turquie, 2 vols. Pais 1812.
Tietz, M. von, Prussian Counsellor of Legation, St Petersburgh, Constantinople, and
Napoli di Romania, in 1833 and 1834, 2 vols., London 1836.
Tiffany, Francis, This goodly frame the earth. Stray impressions of scenes, incidents and
persons in a journey touching China, Japan, Egypt, Palestine and Greece, Boston and
New York 1896.
Tilley, Henry Arthur, Eastern Europe and Western Asia. Political and social sketches on
Russia, Greece and Syria in 1861-2-3, London 1864.
Titmarsh, Michael Angelo, Notes of a journey from Cornhill to Grand Cairo, by way of
Lisbon, Athens, Constantinople, and Jerusalem, London 1846. [i.e. William Thackeray].
Tobler, Titus, Titus Toblers dritte Wanderung nach Palästina im Jahre 1857. Ritt durch
Philistäa, Fussreisen im Gebirge Judäas und Nachlese in Jerusalem, Goth 1859. Plenti-
ful information on mosques.
Tollot, le Sieur, Nouveau voyage fait au Levant, ès années 1731 and 1732, Paris 1742.
Tott, Baron de (1733–1793), Mémoires du baron de Tott sur les Turcs et les Tartares,
quatrième partie, Amsterdam, 1784. Author spent some 23 consecutive years in Turkey
and parts of the Empire; in 1787 was given the task of fortifying the Dardanelles castles.
Tournefort, Joseph Pitton de (1656–1708), Relation d’un voyage du Levant, II, Lyon 1717.
Frequently remarks on ancient marbles he has seen built into later houses, churches
and mosques. Royal Botanist.

A voyage into the Levant, perform’d by command of the late French King, 2 vols.,
London 1718.
Townsend, Rev. George Fyler, A cruise in the Bosphorus, and in the Marmara, and
Aegean Seas, London 1876.
Trant, Captain T. Abercromby, Narrative of a journey through Greece, in 1830, London
1830.
Turner, William, Journal of a tour in the Levant, 3 vols, London 1820.
Turton, Zouch H., To the desert and back; or, travels in Spain, the Barbary States, Italy,
etc., London 1876.
Ubicini, J. H. A., La Turquie actuelle, Paris 1855. Appeared also as Lettere sulla Turchia,
Milan 1853, and Letters on Turkey, tr. Lady Easthope, London 1856. Sensible generali-
ties, but nothing architectural.
Urquhart, David, M.P., The Pillars of Hercules; or, a narrative of travels in Spain and
Morocco in 1848, 2 vols, London 1850. Remarks on Jerusalem and Cairo.
Valentia, George, Viscount, Voyages and travels in India, Ceylon, the Red Sea, Abyssinia,
and Egypt, in the years 1802, 1803, 1804, 1805 and 1806, 3 vols, London 1809.
Vallée, Pietro della, Voyages dans la Turquie, l’Egypte, la Palestine, etc., I, S. Martin sur
Renelle 1745.
Vandal, Albert, Une ambassade française en Orient sous Louis XV: la mission du Marquis
de Villeneuve 1728–1741, Paris 1887.
Van-Lennep, Rev. Henry John, Travels in little-known parts of Asia Minor, 2 vols., London
1870.
Vars, Charles, Cirta, ses monuments, son administration, ses magistrats, d’après les
fouilles et les inscriptions, Paris and Constantine 1895. Mosques feature frequently
because they retain relics of classical monuments and inscriptions.
Varthema, Lodovico de (14?–1517), Les voyages de Ludovico di Varthema ou le Viateur, en
la plus grande partie d’Orient, Schefer, Charles, ed., Paris 1888.
Vernet, Horace, Voyage d’Horace Vernet en Orient, Goupil-Fesquet, Fréderic, ed., 2 vols.,
Paris 1843.
Voyage en Orient, 2 vols. in 1, Brussels and Leipzig 1844.
Veryard, E., An account of divers choice remarks as well geographical, historical, political,
mathematical, physical, and moral, Taken in a journey through the Low -Countries,
France, Italy, and part of Spain, etc etc, London 1701.
Vetromile, Rev. Eugene, Apostolic Missionary, Travels in Europe, Egypt, Arabia Petraea,
Palestine and Syria, 2 vols., New York 1871.
Vigne, G.T., F.R.S., A personal narrative of a visit to Ghuzni, Kabul and Afghanistan,
London 1840.
Vivanti, Anna, A journey to Crete, Comnstantinople, Naples and Florence. Three months
abroad, London 1865.
Waddington, George, A visit to Greece, in 1823 and 1824, 2nd edn., London 1825.

Walpole, Rev. Robert, Travels in various countries of the East; being a continuation of
Memoirs relating to European and Asiatic Turkey, etc, London 1817.
Memoirs relating to European and Asiatic Turkey, edited from manuscript journals,
London 1820.
Walpole, Lieutenant the Hon F., R.N., The Ansayrii and the assassins with travels in the
further East, in 1850–51, including a visit to Nineveh, 3 vols, London 1851. Has an eye
for mosques, and often describes them as fine, handsome, etc.
Walsh, Rev R., Narrative of a journey from Constantinople to England, London 1828.
A residence at Constantinople, 2 vols, London 1836.
Warburton, Eliot, The Crescent and the Cross; or, romance and realities of Eastern travel,
2nd edn., New York 1848.
Waring, Edward Scott, of the Bengal Civil Establishment, A tour to Sheeraz, etc, London
1807. A few mentions of mosques.
Webster, James, Travels through the Crimea, Turkey, and Egypt; performed during the
years 1825–1858, 2 vols., London 1830.
Wellsted, J. Raymond., Travels to the City of the Caliphs, along the shores of the Persian
Gulf and the Mediterranean, 2 vols., London 1840.
Wheler, George, Voyage d’Italie, de Dalmatie, de Grece, et du Levant, fait és années 1675
and 1676, 2 vols, Lyon 1678.
A journey into Greece in company of Dr Spon of Lyons, London 1682. Notable for its
appalling illustrations.
Whishaw, Bernhard and Ellen M., Arabic Spain: sidelights on her history and art,
London 1912: “This book is an attempt to elucidate some points in the history of
Seville under the Moslems, on which the existing histories of Moslem Spain throw
no light whatever. We are fully aware how little qualified we are for such a task: our
ignorance of Arabic is alone a serious obstacle to an exhaustive study of the subject,
and our only excuse for publishing what must necessarily be a very imperfect piece
of work is that no one else has yet attempted to do it.” For its images.
White, Charles, (1793–1861) Three years in Constantinople, or, Domestic manners of the
Turks in 1844, 3 vols., London 1845. Provides an enormous amount of information on
Islam and mosques and their funding and the extent of their revenues, but nothing
at all on their architecture, except for epithets such as “beautiful,” “remarkable,” etc.
Mausolea (which are “among the most interesting sights in the city”) can be “impos-
ing” (Suleimaniye) or “brilliant” (Mahmoud II).
Willelmi Tyrensis Archiepiscopi Chronicon, 2 vols., Turnholt 1986. Entered as Willam_of_
Tyre_1986.
Williams, Hugh William, Travels in Italy, Greece and the Ionian Islands, 2 vols.,
Edinburgh 1820.
Williams Jackson, Abraham Valentine, Professor of Indo-Iranian languages at Colum-
bia University, Persia past and present. A book of travel and research, London 1906.

Williams Jackson, Abraham Valentine, From Constantinople to the home of Omar

Khayyam. Travels in Transcaucasia and northern Persia for historic and literary
research, New York 1911.
Willis, N. Parker, Summer cruise in the Mediterranean, New York 1853.
Wilson, Sir Charles, ed., Handbook for travellers to Asia Minor, Transcaucasia, Persia,
etc., London 1895.
Wittman, William, of the Royal Artillery, Travels in Turkey, Asia-Minor, Syria, and across
the desert into Egypt, during the years 1799, 1880, and 1801, Philadelphia 1804.
Wood, J.T., Discoveries at Ephesus including the site and remains of the great Temple of
Diana, Boston 1877.
Wratislaw, Wenceslas, Adventures of Baron Wenceslas Wratislaw of Mitrowitz in the year
of Our Lord 1599, London 1862.
Wren, Stephen, Parentalia, London 1750,
Wrighte, William, architect, Grotesque architecture, or rural amusement; consisting of
plans, elevatuions and sections for huts, retreats … mosques, etc., rev. ed, London 1790.
Young, Mrs., Our camp in Turkey, and the way to it, London 1854.
Zalonkemeny, Etienne Kazaksh de, Iter Persicum, ou description de voyage en Perse
entrepris en 1602, Schefer, Charles, ed., Paris 1877. Ambassador of Holy Roman
Emperor Rudolph II to Grand Duke of Moscovy, and to Shah Abbas of Persia.

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CMR_I_viii: Since it is concerned with relations between Christians and Muslims,

inclusion was decided according to whether a work was written substantially about
or against the other faith, or contained significant information or judgements that
cast light on attitudes of one faith towards the other. It is NOT concerned with opin-
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constructing buildings taller than those of Muslims, lest architecture imply the
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227–245.
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334 Bibliography – Modern Scholars
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336 Bibliography – Modern Scholars
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Index
Readers will note that country and empire boundaries have changed since the travels related in
this book, and the index therefore contains a mix of old and new country names. This volume,
like the previous books I have written for Brill, I have indexed myself using TExyz, from texyz.
com, and I commend its use to other authors.
Addison, Charles G. 39, 102, 104, 119, 131, tombs 21, 23, 172, 215, 219, 229–30,
135–36, 159, 166, 169, 219, 223 232, 234–37, 241–44, 248–50,
Afghanistan 245, 285 259–61, 264–66, 271–72, 274, 285–88
Ghazni 285–86 palaces 3–4, 45–47, 61–64, 66–68, 103–6,
Andréossy, Count General Antoine 174–76, 193–94, 215, 219, 228–30, 235,
François 116, 119, 147, 150, 168 237, 240–41, 247, 253–57, 263–64,
antiquities, classical 7, 9, 21–22, 24–25, 90, 266–67, 276, 283–85
179, 196, 208, 212, 217–18, 220–22, 272, “Saracenic” 3, 20, 38, 40–42, 64, 68, 73,
278 194, 200, 207–8, 213
architects by type
Brunelleschi 121, 126, 146–48 churches and cathedrals 8–61, 69,
Michelangelo 121, 126, 153 71–75, 101–2, 110–11, 113–14, 120–22,
Sinan 95, 117, 120–21, 151–52, 163, 168, 124–25, 127–28, 141–42, 144–46, 149–
170–72 50, 152–53, 178, 180, 189, 197–201,
Wren 147–49 219–21, 223–24, 284–85
architecture houses 26, 34, 44–46, 102, 104, 107–9,
Byzantine 11, 23, 25, 110, 129, 137 176, 178–79, 189–91, 193, 196, 209,
decoration - See decoration 211, 255
domes and dimensions 97, 102–5, 107–8, mosques 1–3, 7–12, 19–51, 55–56,
117, 121–23, 125–27, 135–41, 143–47, 69–72, 74–77, 84–125, 129–30,
149–55, 157–58, 160–61, 164–67, 236–40, 136–37, 139–45, 147–52, 156–74,
243–44, 255–56, 258–61, 265–67, 176–80, 188–205, 207–24, 233–42,
271–74, 287–88, 295 244–47, 251–59, 261–72, 274–88
earthquakes 38–39, 64, 67, 70, 136–37, palaces 3–4, 61–64, 66–68, 103–6,
144, 150–51, 192–93, 244–46, 249, 251, 174–76, 215, 219, 228–30, 237, 247,
270, 275, 277–85 253–57, 263–64, 266–67, 276,
fires 2, 45, 108, 149 283–85
by material vandalism 24, 61, 75, 141–42, 178, 231,
brick 108, 113, 117, 207, 213, 229–30, 233–34, 244
258, 260, 262, 269, 272, 278 Arnold, R. Arthur 101, 129, 141, 161
marble – See marble Arundell, Rev F.V.J. 190, 197
wood 10, 31, 44–45, 61, 101, 104–5, 113, Arvieux, Chevalier Laurent d’ 34, 113, 123,
191, 197, 201, 205 157, 167, 223, 298
monuments Asia Minor 8, 10, 12–13, 19–20, 51–52, 55, 57,
all types 1–3, 8–12, 21–22, 46, 49–50, 167, 169, 188–209, 213, 215, 219, 221, 223
52–55, 79, 88–91, 104–5, 117, 130–33, Aleppo 91, 115, 188, 190–92
202–4, 226–28, 230–32, 236–40, Alexandria Troas 169, 194, 197, 206, 216
245, 255–57, 264–65, 272–73, 278 Baghdad 81, 150, 266, 287
mausolea 149, 191, 203, 235–36, 247, Bursa 7, 41, 46, 150, 188, 202, 204
249–51, 262, 265, 267, 269–72, 274 Green Mosque 41, 203–4

Index 339
Asia Minor (cont.) Atik Valide 172

Üç Şerefeli mosque 94, 150 Nuruosmaniye 90, 118
Ulu Camii 202–4 “royal mosques” 86, 92, 100, 103–4,
Cyzicus 197, 205 112, 115–17, 119, 123–24, 128, 217, 255,
Ephesus & Ayasoluk 41, 45, 168–69, 188, 257, 263–64
196–201, 205, 219–20 S. Sophia 22–23, 25–28, 37–38, 47,
Erzerum 188, 207, 209 84–85, 88, 90–91, 96–99, 103–6,
Karaman 32, 188, 207, 209–11 110–13, 115–30, 132–36, 138, 140–41,
Kayseri 34, 188, 207, 210, 215 146–47, 150–52, 155–69, 174, 221–22
Konya 188, 207, 209, 211–15, 258 Süleymaniye 94–95, 103–4, 110–11,
Alaeddin Mosque 213, 215–16 113, 117, 119–20, 124, 126, 134, 152,
Azizieh mosque 216 162–63, 165, 167, 169, 171
Çifte Minareli Medrese 207 Sultan Achmet 88, 90, 94, 97, 103–5,
Lampsacus 189, 216 110, 112–13, 116, 125–26, 128–29, 152,
Magnesia 217–18 155–57, 159–61, 163
Miletus 219 Sultan Bajazet 102, 104, 115–16, 168
Mut 209, 211 Sultan Mahomet 102, 104, 115, 205
Mylasa 22, 220 Sultan Selim 93, 99, 102, 104, 115,
Nicaea 198, 209, 220–21, 223 198, 211
Yesil Camii 221 Sultan Selim II 194
Nigde 209–10 Sultan Selim III 171–72
Pergamum 218, 222 palaces, Topkapi 104, 141, 174–75
Smyrna 6, 28, 35, 45, 48–49, 188, 197, 201, Seraglio 17, 41, 93, 170–71, 174, 176–77,
219, 223 202
Trebizond 17 Scutari & Chalcedon 105, 107, 162, 165,
Troy and the Troad 194–95, 206 168–69, 171–72
Aucher-Éloy, Remi 193, 207, 212, 279 Crusades 2, 4, 8, 11, 20, 30–31, 34, 37, 61, 68
Austria, Vienna 4, 12, 16, 57, 148
decoration 8, 10, 62, 65, 215, 249
Baltimore, Lord 29, 102, 126 carpets 16–17, 20, 34–35, 119, 123, 176,
Barbaro, Josafa 268, 271 213, 215–16, 218, 242–43, 247, 249–51,
Benaglia, Giovanni 94, 175 253–54
clocks 16, 20, 109, 255
Çelebi, Evliya Effendi 55, 110, 123, 150–52, fountains & water 64, 66, 98, 100, 102,
156, 163, 168, 202, 209, 278 104, 107, 171, 190–91, 197–98, 205–6, 218,
Chardin, Sir John 27–28, 246, 249, 253, 222, 276, 285
255–56, 263–64, 270, 277–80 fresco 96, 156–57
Charles V 63–64, 66, 69–70, 207 gilding 65, 72, 74, 133, 175–76, 219,
Choiseul-Gouffier, le comte de 1, 12, 90, 104, 260–61, 273
194, 303, 317 glass 6, 10, 73, 138–39, 157, 172, 255
Constantinople 1–5, 7–9, 12–13, 15, 17–18, chandeliers 172
20–23, 27–29, 31–32, 34–35, 43–51, 76, lamps 99, 170
84–187, 191, 194, 198–200, 205–7, 215–17, windows 164
222–24, 257 lamps 128, 131, 157, 159–60, 162, 170,
cannon & marble shot 206 172–73, 215, 217–19, 243, 251
Hippodrome 155–56, 159, 174 mosaics 38, 71–74, 122, 124–25, 136–41,
mosques 25–26, 43, 47, 50, 115, 117, 125, 153–54, 161–62, 192–93, 201–3, 214, 232,
128, 130, 150, 154, 194, 200 234, 257–58, 268, 279

340 Index
decoration (cont.) Fraser, James Baillie 20, 55, 85, 93, 208, 244,
painting 54, 71, 87, 123, 137, 178, 216, 249, 256, 260, 266, 270
218–19, 255
plaster 29, 122, 133, 136–37, 139–40, Galland, Antoine 27, 162, 170, 206
178–79, 204 Gell, Sir William 28, 35, 180
porcelain 16, 251, 279–80, 283 Germany 11, 66, 80
sculpture 23–25, 87, 120, 147–48, 177, 179, Gilles, Pierre 90, 104, 155
196, 214, 234, 244, 248 Girault de Prangey, Philibert-Joseph 20, 22,
stucco 62, 66, 236, 258 65, 67–68, 75–81, 294
tiles 61–62, 170, 207–8, 210, 213–15, Gobineau, le comte A. de 248, 257, 264,
247–50, 253, 255–60, 263, 265–67, 269, 273, 282
271, 273–74, 279–80, 282–83 Greece 8, 10, 12–15, 19, 21, 23, 25, 55, 57, 132,
windows 96, 105, 129, 137, 159–62, 165, 134, 177–81, 183, 185, 187
215, 217, 276, 278, 288 Athens & Parthenon 10, 15, 23, 28, 49, 56,
130, 177–79, 205
Egypt 5, 7, 10, 14–15, 19, 21, 32–33, 39, 41, 55, Navarino 31, 35, 48, 178
57, 78, 106, 167, 169 Tripolitza 28, 179–80
pyramids 46, 262 mosques 179
Alexandria 2, 15, 21–22, 42, 57, 168 Grelot, Guillaume-Joseph 27–28, 47, 104,
Cairo 2, 7, 13, 15, 17, 20, 22–23, 25, 41–42, 123, 128, 157, 166, 175, 205–6, 220, 226
46, 51, 53, 55, 57, 144–45
mosques, Sultan Hasan 32, 144–45 Hobhouse, J.C. 91, 105, 111, 131, 138, 156, 158,
Nile 15, 50 168, 200, 216
England 4, 21, 40, 42, 56, 64, 66, 68, 114, 191,
244 India
London 50, 65, 96, 102, 105, 118, 127–28, Agra 2, 228–30, 232–34, 236–37, 240–41,
147–48, 154, 249, 297 243
churches, St. Paul 105, 118, 121, 127, Pearl mosque 232–33
141, 153, 159, 169, 269 Taj Mahal 152, 228–35, 239–40,
Europeans in the East 4, 9, 39, 50, 55, 149 243–44
ambassadors 16–17, 62, 70, 92, 100, 111, Aurungabad 236
116, 123, 125–27, 281, 283 Bijapur 146, 236–38
consuls 11, 26, 32, 51, 87, 94, 176, 191 Gol Gumbaz 237–38
diplomats 175, 245–46, 272 Delhi 2, 145, 165, 230, 232, 234, 237–41
soldiers 11, 28, 97, 231 Jama Masjid 239–40, 259, 277
See also travellers Qutub Minar 239
Eyriès, Jean-Baptiste-Benoît 53, 200, 208, Quwwat-ul-Islam 239
230, 239, 257, 261, 265, 270, 275, 294 Fatehpur Sikri 241, 243
Golconda 236, 242
Fergusson, James 79, 236–37, 286 Shah Jahan 228, 234, 240
Fermanel, Gilles 34, 123, 157, 199, 202 Shahjahanabad 239
Flandin, Eugène 52, 104, 256, 275, 281 Sikandra 230, 243
France 5, 9, 11, 16, 21, 56, 68, 91, 114–15, 178, Iraq
191 Karaman 32, 188, 207, 209–11
Paris 12, 50–51, 78–79, 99, 102, 106, Karbala, Al Abbas mosque 287
147–49, 228–29, 240–41, 246, 252 Samarra 222, 266, 325
Val-de-Grâce 148 Italy
Versailles 170, 256 Florence 121, 141, 146–48, 153, 231–32, 239

Index 341
Italy (cont.) marble veneers & columns 21–25, 61–62,

Brunelleschi’s dome 148 68–74, 76–77, 94–97, 118–19, 122–25,
Naples 15, 56, 102, 147, 164 156–63, 167–70, 172, 174–80, 191–95,
Pisa and cathedral 31, 146, 169 199–201, 203–6, 209–13, 215–22, 228–
Rome 3, 10, 15, 17, 19–21, 23, 25, 81, 89–90, 30, 233–37, 242–44, 276–80
121–22, 127–28, 130–32, 146–49, 153–55, Marchebeus, Jean Basptiste 49, 119, 121, 135,
237–38 160, 169
Pantheon 121–24, 141, 146–47, 150, Maurand, Jérome 100, 122, 124
153, 155, 237–38, 250 Maurice, Thomas 20, 228
Saint Peter 101, 105, 121, 124, 127, 131, Mediterranean 22, 24, 81, 167
133–34, 141, 147–48, 153–54, 236 Michaud, Joseph François 30, 37, 92, 128,
Venice 12, 16–18, 53, 77, 121, 134, 149, 200, 216
152–53, 271, 276, 285 Monconys, M. de 157, 172, 198
ambassadors, Domenico Morier, James 29, 39, 41, 136, 207, 250, 255,
Trevisano 17–18, 111 258–59, 269, 272, 279
San Marco 100, 120, 134 Morris, E. Joy 160
Morritt, John B.S. 95, 126, 318
Kinneir, John Macdonald 96, 196, 203, Mundy, Peter 100–101, 105, 122, 228–29,
211–12 242–43
Murphy, James Cavanah 62, 66–67, 72
Laborde, Alexandre de 60, 70–71, 76–77, 315
Lacroix, Frédéric 132, 138, 156, 158, 169–70, Newton, C.T. 24, 142, 226
172 North Africa 4, 6–7, 10–11, 14, 32, 52, 57,
La Mottraye, Aubry de 95, 202 66, 81
Layard, Sir Henry 33, 212, 236, 243 Algeria 10, 21, 39, 51, 228, 246
Leake, William Martin 43, 180, 209, 211–12, Morocco, Marrakesh 46
221 Tunisia, Kairouan 20, 51, 81
Le Brun, Corneille 102, 157, 163, 197, 199,
250, 254, 259, 265, 269–72, 276 Olearius, Adam 92, 253, 271
Leveson-Gower, Elizabeth 65, 114, 160 Olivier, Guillaume Antoine 44–45, 103, 205,
Lycklama à Nijeholt, Tinko Martinus 193, 320
224, 226, 247, 251, 262, 278, 282, 284 Ottoman Empire 1, 5–6, 8–9, 11, 16–17, 21,
Lynch 87, 114, 119, 140, 160, 177, 198, 224 38–39, 46, 61, 228, 232
janissaries 32–33, 35, 51, 53, 95, 98, 111,
MacFarlane, Charles 22, 38, 41, 46, 48, 117, 122–23, 135, 160
98–99, 205, 218, 222 modernisation and modernity 2, 5–6, 13,
Macmichael, Willam 96, 107, 111 31, 40, 42, 46, 48, 51, 61–62, 256, 259
Madden, Richard Robert 108, 112, 195, 206 travellers and “the Turks” 17–18, 21–22,
Malta 49, 102 26–28, 30–33, 37–48, 92–95, 97–100,
Malte-Brun, Conrad 239, 255, 280 107–8, 110–13, 118, 120–21, 123–25,
marble 133–38, 140–41, 158, 161, 174–75, 177–80,
columns, “porphyry” 90, 165, 168–69, 199 192–93, 217–18
Marmara 122, 205–6, 220
“porphyry” 1, 19, 116, 118, 120, 128, 132, 163, Palestine & the Holy Land 13–15, 30, 55, 57,
166–69, 175–76, 200 81, 145
verd antique 116, 125, 153, 157, 175, 194, Jerusalem 2, 4, 7, 13, 15, 36–37, 41, 43, 47,
203, 220 51, 54, 57, 149–50
marble spolia and its reuse 22, 45, 90, Pardoe, Miss 50, 86, 129, 131, 135, 139, 160,
119–20, 126, 168, 180, 195, 205, 221, 248 169–70, 172, 176

342 Index
Percy, Earl 34, 105, 188–89, 209, 215, 226, 266 Siddons, Joachim Hayward 232–33,
Persia 243–44
Ardebil, mosque 249–51 Slade, Adolphus 97, 103–4, 121, 134–35, 166
Isfahan, Mosque of Shah Abbas 253 Sleeman, Lieutenant-Colonel W.H. 37,
Karbala 222, 262, 286–87 230–34, 239–41, 243–44
Kashan 245, 258–59, 283 Spain
Mashad, Imam Reza shrine 249, 260–61, Córdoba, Mezquita 2, 4, 11, 22, 60–62,
264 64, 66–76, 80
Merv, Mausoleum of Sultan Sanjar 287 Granada 4, 11, 25, 60–61, 64–68, 71–72, 77
Nakhchivan 262 Alhambra and Generalife 20, 40,
Persepolis 263, 322 60–68, 72, 74, 77, 144, 258, 284
Shah Abbas & architecture 247, 249, Spencer, Edmund 45, 99, 128, 134, 138, 154,
253, 255, 257–59, 261, 268 158, 169
Shiraz 136, 244–45, 268–69 Stochove, Chevalier Vincent 93, 102, 111, 123,
Vakil Mosque 269–70 156, 162, 175
Soltaniyeh 92, 146, 270–72, 276, 278 Syria 4, 7, 10–11, 13–14, 55, 57, 78, 81, 88–89,
Tabriz 39, 244, 250–51, 259, 269, 274, 276, 143, 145, 188, 191
278–79 Baalbek 168
Blue Mosque 277–79, 281–83 Damascus, Umayyad Mosque 2, 33, 150,
Teheran 9, 249, 267, 283 285
Varamin 288
Pfeiffer, Ida 204, 231–32, 244 Tancoigne, J. M. 157, 175, 221, 226, 246, 272,
Pinkerton, John 249 279, 283
Pococke, Richard 90–91, 125, 163, 167, 170, Tavernier, Jean-Baptiste 191, 199, 202,
172, 191, 196, 199, 202, 220–21, 226 228–29, 234, 237, 242, 262, 264, 269–70,
Porter, Sir Robert Ker 199, 240, 255, 262, 278, 282
265, 272, 275, 279–80, 283 Taylor, Bayard 38, 50, 68, 75, 213
Poujoulat, Baptistin 37, 92, 112–13, 128, 159, Tchihatcheff, Peter Alexandrivitch 76
196, 200, 203, 216, 221 Texier, Charles 52, 195–96, 198, 203, 205,
Poullet, le Sieur du 102, 162 208, 210, 221, 223, 246–47, 257, 273, 275,
Pouqueville, Francois Charles H.L. 48, 100, 278, 281
127, 164, 175, 180, 206 Thévenot, Jean 29, 123–24, 157, 162, 191, 202,
253
Ragusa 90, 131, 166, 200 Thevet, André 53, 276–77
Ricketts, Clemuel Green 100, 104, 164 Thielmann, Lieut. Baron Max von 247, 251,
Riedesel, le Baron de 102, 126, 158, 168, 223 266, 282, 284
Russell, Alex 192, 232, 240 Thompson, Charles 115, 125, 168, 199
Russia & Russians 29, 31, 35, 94–95, 125, 134, Tietz, M. von 97, 117, 129, 154, 159, 166
159, 178, 208, 249 Tiffany, Francis 233, 239, 241
Tournefort, Joseph Pitton de 33, 101, 110, 115,
Salaberry, Charles-Marie d’Irunberry, comte 124, 132, 157, 166, 168, 170
de 96, 126, 153 travellers 1–4, 6, 8–61, 84–89, 101–2, 124–26,
Sandwich, John Montague 103, 127, 137, 128–30, 132–37, 139–41, 147–50, 163–65,
158, 178 167–71, 197–99, 201–3, 205–7, 220–22,
Sandys, George 101, 115, 121–23, 156, 175 246–47, 254–58, 267–70, 272–74
Sarre, Friedrich 247, 266 collecting books 6–8, 26–30, 36–38,
Saudi Arabia, Mecca & Medina 8, 11, 16, 41, 52–57, 72, 76, 78–79, 81, 85, 87, 91–94,
43, 51, 217, 293–95 217, 227–30, 234–36, 246–48

Index 343
travellers (cont.) servants 17, 23, 49, 79, 84, 89, 171, 195, 288
inscriptions 21, 23–25, 36, 73, 75, 91, souvenirs 25, 117, 137, 140–41, 215, 247
179–80, 190–91, 195–96, 207, 209, tourists 14–15, 36, 50, 57, 104, 141, 233, 248
215, 217, 260, 267 travelling
manuscripts 1, 9, 11, 23, 84, 91–92 camping and tents 14–15, 68, 100–101,
doctors 32–33, 119, 193, 195 109, 193, 197, 220, 227, 230–31, 234, 239
dress caravanserais / khans 40, 188, 191, 193,
foreign 29, 104, 169 202, 207, 212, 217–19, 222–23, 258–59,
local 29–30, 32–33, 136 269
Persian 33, 269 encountering imams 10, 32, 91, 97, 127,
Syrian 112 129, 134–36, 163, 165, 172, 195–96
turbans 70, 279 groups 6, 35, 49–50, 87–88, 111, 129,
finances 12, 14–15, 27–28, 47, 49–50, 78, 141–42, 163–64, 176, 236, 240
86, 90, 110–11, 113–14, 116, 141, 143, 250, horses and horseback 13, 66, 211
271 railways 6, 15, 40, 49–50, 101, 108, 188,
firmans 2–3, 32–33, 84–89, 92, 119, 121, 197, 201, 217
125–29, 132–36, 138, 141–43, 153–54, roads 6, 12, 15, 39–40, 49, 52, 70, 188, 258,
164–65, 167, 176, 178 266, 281
guidebooks 13, 19, 21, 25, 52–53, 87, 145, steamships 6, 15, 40, 49–50, 105
164, 179 travelling & museums 10–11, 23–24, 122, 214,
Baedeker 54, 57 247–48
Joanne 57, 198 Turkey 5, 8, 13, 15, 37–40, 55, 57, 95, 97, 99,
Murray 13–14, 54, 57, 87–88, 164, 179, 129, 189–90, 211, 214–15, 218
212, 215, 223, 270 Adrianople 22, 84–187
guides, dragoman 15, 52, 87, 114, 119, 135, Selimiye mosque 94–99, 103, 120,
141, 161, 171 151–52
hotels 15, 49, 87, 142, 283 Dardanelles & its cannon 12–13, 194,
languages 15, 29, 32, 51–52 206, 216
mosques and cleanliness Turner, William 119, 169, 200, 203, 222
shoes 30, 34–35, 88, 95, 99, 113–14,
119, 134, 136, 217, 223–24 Varthema, Lodovico de 3, 8, 294
slippers 34, 87, 114, 134–35 Vernet, Horace 21, 33, 131
spitting 20, 29, 33–36, 113, 164
panoramas 12, 54, 57, 78, 100–101, 105–9 Walpole, Rev. Robert 45, 133, 211
photography 3, 9, 56–57, 78–79, 236, 247, Walsh, Rev R. 97, 106, 167, 203
266, 283 Williams Jackson, Abraham Valentine 9,
daguerrotype 65, 78–79 258–60, 264, 267, 270, 282–83
pilgrims and pilgrimage 1–2, 7, 14–15, 37, Wilson, Sir Charles 40, 114, 215, 226
189, 260, 264, 287, 293 Wittman, William 84, 121, 127

Illustrations

Chapter 1. “ If the Traveller be only a Tourist ” – 1 347
Some early travellers convinced their readers of their travel credentials with an appropriate
frontispiece, such as (1) Boullaye le_Gouz’s 1653 print of himself in supposedly Levantine dress.
Lithgow (2) was in Constantinople in 1611–12, and the frontispiece of his account shows his
(or his illustrator’s) idea of Turkish dress, with below, a doggerel account of his travels. Both
authors must have known what genuine Oriental dress was like, but they (or their illustrators or
publishers) didn’t care.
3: Far different is the Spaniard who adopted

an Eastern name and honorific as Ali
Bey (1767–1818, travelling 1803–07). He
shows himself tooled up for science. For
his map-making etc. he carried “an entire
reflecting circle of ten inches diameter, with
four verniers, mounted on a stand made
in London by Troughton; an achromatic
telescope of two feet by Dollond; a
chronometer by Brooksbanks, and another
by Pennington.”

348 Chapter 1. “ If the Traveller be only a Tourist ” – 2
4 5
4: Ireland in local dress in 1859, as an independent traveller. 5: A dragoman employed by Messrs
Cook (whose 1876 classification of “tourist” is the opening phrase on this and the previous page).
Fierce dragomans would protect their timid clients in such dangerous countries: group travel
was safe!
Tourists had been to the Holy Land in protected groups since the Middle Ages. We shall see in
volume 2 how from the later nineteenth century companies such as Cook (6: encampment in
Palestine) had been providing all mod. cons., including full catering and rail and a steamer from
home.

Chapter 3. Spain I. Granada: the Alhambra 349
7
Owen Jones 1842: Section with Patio des los Leones in the middle (7); part of the plan (8),
showing the overwhelming scale of Charles’ palace; Patio de la Aberca (9); “Actual state of the
colours” (11); Murphy’s Hall of the Two Sisters (10)
10 11

350 Chapter 3. Spain II. Cordoba and Medinet
12
Cordoba, 12: Villa Viciosa Chapel, by Girault de Prangey, 1841.
13
Cordoba, 13: Murphy’s view of the Mezquita interior. Strangely, few authors
were interested in or even mentioned the decorations of the exterior.
14
Medinet al Zahra, 14: Aqueduct, by Velazquez Bosco in 1912, when the site
was beginning to be explored.

Chapter 3. Spain III: Islamic architecture in the West 351
15
Girault de Prangey (1804–92) was

a photographer and draughts
man rich enough to take many
daguerrotypes in the East. As
we have seen in the text, he
also drew Cordoba and the
Alhambra, and took an interest
in all Islamic architecture in the
West in order to understand its
history. He illustrated (15) the
Zisa in Palermo and (16) the Arab
Baths in Palma de Mallorca, both
of which survive.
16

352 Chapter 4. Constantinople I
17
17: Panorama from the water; Melling 1819.
19
18
21
Sancta Sophia exterior (18), and two views of
the interior (19, 20); and how Muslims pray
(21); all by Grelot 1680.
20

Chapter 4. Constantinople II 353
22
22: In 1680 Grelot provided an elevation of Sultan Achmet (1609–1616), together with a
plan. This was a main sight for tourists, and easy to visit, evidently being considered by
the authorities a useful showpiece for modern Turkish architecture. Hence Thornton’s
1807 opinion that it “excels Sancta Sophia in magnificence, though not in Largeness.”
Humorous cartoons are frequent in

travelogues, and usually show diffi-
culties such as riding camels, nego-
tiating with the locals, or energetic
swabbing in baths. There are none
poking fun at Islam, but the Whirling
Dervishes (23: by Knox in 1879) were
a popular visit for tourists in several
cities. 24: Knox in 1879 captioned
this scene “A street in Constantino-
ple,” no doubt ensuring thereby that
23
many travellers would rest content
with viewing the city from a Euro-
pean vessel in the harbour.
24

354 Chapter 4. Constantinople III
25
25: Dallaway’s 1799 table of church and mosque dimensions, indicating that travellers knew of
the competition between architects, and were aware that such competition was continent-wide.
In 1598 Giuseppe Rosaccio visited Constantinople, and (26) portrayed an inaccurate rendering
of mosques, let alone minarets. This he has simply pirated from Pinargenti’s 1573 view (27).
26 27

Chapter 4. Constantinople IV: The Hippodrome 355
28
28: Pieter Coeck van Aelst’s 1553 print of the Sultan processing through the Hippodrome,
with some ancient monuments and make-believe mosques. 29: Marchebeus’ view of 1839. 30:
William Hogarth (1697–1764) illustrated de la Mottraye’s 1723–4 work with several prints of
Constantinople without leaving England.
29
30

356 Chapter 5. Asia Minor I: Konya
31 32
31: Sahib Atta Mosque, 1910 photo by Hartmann; and (32) today
33
33: Gertrude Bell’s photo of Konya’s walls in 1900, in
process of dismantling: only the rubble and mud core
remain. 34: Texier’s 1849 print of a standing city gate.
35: His view of the palace ruins. 34
35

Chapter 5. Asia Minor II: Konya 357
36: The thirteenth century Seljuk

Ince Minare Minaret (part-destroyed
in 1901), exhibits tiles admired by
enthusiastic visitors. We cannot know
whether travellers dug for souvenirs
around on the Alaeddin Hill, but
attractive tiles from the Seljuk palace
there (37, 38) are now to be found in the
Karatay Medrese Ceramic Museum.
36
Tiles, as we have seen in the text of this book, were conveniently small and colourful souvenirs,
and we may imagine that the locals soon learned to find and sell them, just as they did with
mosaic tesserae from Sancta Sophia in Constantinople.
37 38

358 Chapter 5. Asia Minor III: Ayasoluk
39 40
41
Ephesus was always popular, and by the 1860s was accessible by road and rail, along with the
nearby village of Ayasoluk, where the railway terminated. The village sported the Sultan Selim
Mosque, often confused with the church of Saint John.
39: Falkener’s print. 40: As seen today. 41: Early photo of the site.
42 43
42: Falkener has more than tidied up the ruins; he wrote of part of the mosque being in ruins,
but his interior view show how much he has resurrected. Cf 43: The same mosque in Texier’s
1862 print.

Chapter 5. Asia Minor IV 359
Ankara was rich in classical remains, and scholars

thirsted to transcribe the famous inscription in the
Temple of Augustus, taken over by a mosque, seen
in Texier’s 1839 print (44). Nobody was interested
in describing the mosque it contained. 45: Ankara,
view by Tournefort 1718. Note the cemeteries
outside the walls, providing rich pickings for the
classically inclined traveller.
44 45
46
46: The Ilyas Bey Mosque (1404) at Miletus, constructed from
marble spolia on the site, and photographed by Trémaux in 1858.
Chandler had visited in 1817, been impressed by its marble, and
wrote that it was still in use (i.e. for what was now a small village,
rather than a classical port).

360 Chapter 5. Asia Minor V
47
47: Erzerum: city view with imaret doorway by Texier in 1842.
48 49
48: Bursa, the Green Mosque (1391), in Texier’s 1839 view. 49: Aleppo, Ahmed Djemal
Pasha’s 1918 view of the Citadel, with the remains of a palace pictured below.

Chapter 6. India I 361
50: Sikandra, Tomb of Akbar,

in Peter Mundy’s 1632 view.
51: Sikandra, interior of the

Tomb of Akbar, printed by
Sleeman, 1844.
52: Agra, Fergusson’s 1869

photo of Itimad ud Dowla’s
mausoleum.
50 53: Delhi, Sleeman’s 1844

print of the Qutub Minar.
(Of its companion minaret,
he noted that “this has been
preserved and repaired by
the liberality of the British
government.”)
51
52 53

362 Chapter 6. India II
54
54: Fatehpur Sikri: Mosque in a print (after a photo) in Le Tour du Monde 1872. Nineteenth
century books and magazines were unable to print photos directly except at enormous cost, and
so photographs were handed over to an engraver.
55 56
55: Bijapur: the Gol Gumbaz (Tomb of Mohammed Shah), by Ireland in 1859.
56: Agra, China Tomb, “now in ruins,” in a print by Sleeman, 1844. Agra, now known for the Taj,
some mosques and the fort, once had its river lined with palaces, tombs and gardens, of which
few remnants survive today.
57: Aurangabad: stereo photos by Fergusson and Gill, 1864 – an indication, along with a
predilection for panoramas, that realism and accuracy were preferred by those able to afford the
purchase of such photographs.
57

Chapter 6. India III 363
58
58: Agra, Pfeiffer’s 1851 view of the Taj Mahal, seen from across the river, its accuracy to be
compared with a modern view, 59. She wrote:
Many travellers affirm that the Taj-Mehal produces a magical effect when lighted by the moon.
I saw it during a full moonshine, but was so little pleased, that I much regretted, by this sight,
having somewhat weakened my former impression of it. The moon’s light gives a magical effect
to old ruins or Gothic buildings, but not to a monument which consists of white brilliant marble.
59

364 Chapter 6. India IV: Bijapur
This once extensive city displayed by 1910

“only the vestiges of its former grandeur.”
Thankfully, these can be seen in Fergusson’s
1866 photographs.
60: But Fergusson’s “History of Indian

and Eastern Architecture” (1876), to be
affordable, had to manage with engravings,
as in that of Jumma Masjid.
60 61: The Gol Gumbaz (1626–56) has an outer

diameter exceeded only by Saint Peter’s
Basilica, Rome.
62: Bijapur, Roza Complex.
61
62

Chapter 6. Persia I: the work of Texier 365
63
63: Tabriz, Texier’s view of the Blue Mosque in his paper

reconstruction of the domed interior. Persia suffered
terribly from earthquakes (e.g. Tabriz in 1042, 1669 and
1780, and Shiraz in 1824 and 1853), hence the value of
Texier’s meticulous renditions.
65: Sultanieh, the mosque / mausoleum in Texier’s 1842

print; and 66, its elaborate interior decoration.
64
65 66
Compare Sarre’s 1901 photo of the Tabriz mosque (64), and see Persia II on the next page
Texier is an invaluable source for our knowledge of the (supposed) state of Islamic architecture
in Asia Minor and Persia, but his text has little to say about the exact state of the monuments.
He resurrected ruins into their original detail and beauty. How can we know how accurate his
reconstructions were?

366 Chapter 6. Persia II: Tabriz. The Blue Mosque and it ’ s tiles
67: A detail of the Blue Mosque

in Texier’s 1842 view. He also
made a paper reconstruction
(see previous page: Persia I)
68: A detail of Jules Laurens’

painting of 1846–48.
67
Is either of these roughly con-

temporary views accurate?
Texier shows much more tile-

work surviving within reach of
the ground than does Laurens.
We might suspect Texier’s is the
ideal view, and Laurens shows
how tiles in easy reach of the
ground were indeed filched by
collectors or sold by the locals to
tourists, as we know happened
to the mosaic tesserae in Sancta
Sophia in Constantinople.
68

Chapter 6. Persia III: MASHAD and Sarre ’ s loot 367
69
69: Fraser’s 1834 view of the Imam Riza Mausoleum. 71: Mashad, a tile from the same monument.
Sarre ventured further afield. 70: A tile from an unnamed monument in Samarcand. Both tiles,
with many others, were in Sarre’s collection, and published by him.
Should we praise such looting (and the museums they populated) as the only way for many to
study the East without a visit? If Friedrich Sarre had not formed a collection of Islamic art, would
those objects have survived on their original monuments?
70 71

368 Chapter 6. Persia iv: Ispahan and some make believe
72
73
Ispahan, 72: Part of Porter’s truthful 1821 panorama of the Meidan.
73: Daulier Deslandes’ 1673 view, evidently drawn from a third-party description, not from life.
His readers were therefore unable to study the most spectacular part of the complex. But its
features were well known.
74: Texier’s 1842 section of the mosque.
74

Chapter 6: Persia V: Ispahan in the popular press 369
75: This page is from L’Illustration, Journal Universel for 1846–7, showing people as well as
architecture.
This weekly appeared from 1843–1944. The prints were frequently taken from photographs, and
this journal became the first French newspaper to publish a photograph (and then, in 1907, one
in colour).
Adolphe Joanne (1813–81) was a co-founder, and the author of travel guides which were the
French equivalent to Murray and Baedeker.
75
370 Chapter 6. Persia vi
76: Fergusson’s 1840 view of one of the

Ghazni minarets, with its fellow to the rear.
The upper section was lost in an earthquake.
77: Vigne’s view of Babur’s white marble

mosque in Kabul.
78: Morier’s 1818 view of Ardebil.
76
77
78

Passim: Caravanserais 371
79
Caravanserais, usually one day’s march from each other, were a feature of the pre-rail East,
where people, animals and goods could overnight safely and were used and praised by travellers.
79: Sir Robert Ker Porter’s 1822 view of Nazirabad, in Persia: “a noble caravansary, the erection of
one of the inhabitants, at his own cost; and which, both for magnitude and accommodation, far
exceeded any I had hitherto seen.”
80: McMichael’s 1819 view of the ruined caravanserai at Hafsa Sultan, near Marmaris in
south-west Asia Minor, commissioned by Suleyman the Magnificent in 1545. It survives with a
different use.
80
372 Panoramas I: they continue in popularity
Panoramas give a better view of landscapes and their building than single shots. Even today,
except when using special cameras, they are stitched together just as they were in the nineteenth
century, when Girault made his view of Rome from the top of Trajan’s Column. (81).
Similar height (the Galata Tower) was needed for the later nineteenth century photograph of
Constantinople (82).
Panoramas could be the cinemas of the nineteenth century, and dedicate buildings were often
constructed to house them, as with Bapst’s photo of one being built (83).
Panoramas are still popular, witness 84: The Panorama 1453 Historical Museum in Istanbul,
which opened in 2009, showing the siege and breach of the city in that year. NB the enormous
siege guns and their stone/marble shot.
81
82
83 84

Panoramas II: Moving panoramas as nineteenth century cinema 373
85: Allom’s 1850 panorama as advertised, with variable entry fees, showed the East at a time
when, well before the Crimean War (1853–56), Europe was worried by Russian expansionism. As
we are told, the Turkish Ambassador expressed “high approval” of the paintings. Allom gathered
approvals for what he called his “Polyorama,” and printed them on his flysheet:
The painter has conveyed information at a glance which volumes wou’d have failed so vividly to
Describe. – Athenaeum, 21th July, 1850.
All may gather enlarged ideas from it, especially in the modern too exclusive love of Greek
architecture. The lightness, grace, and grandeur of Oriental architecture, may rebuke those bigoted
minds. – The Spectator, 21st July, 1850.
They who visit it may, with little effort of imagination, fancy themselves on a tour in the
neighbourhood of Constantinople. – Morning Herald, 22nd July, 1850.
85

374 Passim: Make-believe I
86
86: Athens in a 1674 view by Spon, inaccurate even for the Acropolis. Was there really an
enormous domed mosque in the centre of town?
87: Siege of Constantinople in 1453, by Jean Le Tavernier, from BN 9087.
88: One of Wrighte’s 1790 designs for a folly in England, perhaps demonstrating how little was
known or recorded about mosques, supposed motifs from which were used whimsically.
87 88

Passim: Make-believe – versus reality 375
89 90
89: Francis Hervé (1781–1850) was in the East from about 1833, but his views are make-believe.
His 1837 view of Constantinople looks like a stage set for Wagner’s Meistersinger. There was no
need for camels in Constantinople, where goods were carried through the narrow streets on
men’s backs.
90: An accurate if romanticised view of 1839 by Allom (1804–72) of a street in Smyrna, who
wrote, “our illustration, its dark and distant prospect terminated by the hill of the Acropolis,
and its narrow passage nearly obstructed by a single file of loaded camels, bringing to the Frank
quarters the produce of Persia and India, to be exchanged for that of Europe and America”.
91: The imagined Constantinople by Jaspar Isaac (1583–1624).
91

376 Chapter 7. Coda: Mecca, Medina, Koran
92 93
Niebuhr (1733–1815) went on expedition to Arabia (1761–7), but his engraved views of Mecca
(92) and Medina (93) are from hearsay, learned no doubt from Muslim pilgrims, often happy to
describe the sites to Christians.
94: The Great Mosque today, having undergone many alterations and refurbishments.
94
95: Bertrand de la Broquière, in the East

1432–33, offers a Koran to Duke Philip of
Burgundy, painting by Jean Le Tavernier.
Western rulers and scholars avidly collected
Eastern manuscripts, including the Koran,
and encouraged scholars to learn and teach
useful languages such as Turkish, Persian and
Arabic.
95


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Islamic Architecture through Western Eyes

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

The complete endnotes are available at https://doi.org/10.6084/10.6084/m9.figshare.21229334.

The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at https://catalog.loc.gov

isbn 978-90-04-52484-2 (hardback, vol. 1)

This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

Preface for the Three Volumes IX

2 Churches, Mosques and Travellers 9

4 Constantinople and Adrianople with a Note on Greece 84

10.2 Sultan Achmet (1609–1616) 156

5 Asia Minor 188

6 India and Persia 227

1.4 Bijapur 236

7 Coda: Mecca and Medina 293

Bibliography – Sources 297

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

Islamic Architecture through Western Eyes offers a commented anthology of

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

1 Boullaye le Gouz in Levantine dress 1653 347

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

38 Konya: Palace tiles, now Karatay Medrese Ceramic Museum 357

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

74 Charles Texier: Ispahan, section of the mosque 1842 368

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

© Michael Greenhalgh, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004524859_002Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

Religion must necessarily form a leitmotif throughout the volume because

2 EoI_II_1991 s.v. farman.

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

2 Crusades in East and West

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

3 Contacts through Trade Trigger Westernised Modernisation

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

5 Arrangement of the Book

The following chapters explore especially British and French engagement

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

After a chapter offering an overview of Churches, Mosques, and Travellers,

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

Churches, Mosques and Travellers

1 Westerners Travel around the East

it hath been the happy fortune of the Turk to be accounted barbarous

1 Mercurio 1995; Damiani 2002.

© Michael Greenhalgh, 2023 | doi:10.1163/9789004524859_003Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

1.1 Maps and Street Plans

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

But then lauded its two-in-one nature:

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

2 Ambassadors Study the Empire

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

Thus summarized the Venetian Costantino Garzoni, in 1573, in his report

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

Michael Greenhalgh - 978-90-04-52485-9

3 Viewing Mosque Architecture

Though Christians at present do not obtain access to the interior, you

In 1823 Ouseley wrote of Persian minarets, which were “sometimes richly