Turkish Letters #11 -- A Day at the Palace #2 Topkapi and the Arcaeology Museum (Shiralee)

Topkapi is a kind of anti-palace, famously unimpressive to visiting Europeans who, after dismissing its architecture, would inevitably get all flushed and sweaty-palmed over the idea of the Harem and all that pent-up girl flesh. Where European monarchs sought to impress and awe through the sheer bulk and yardage of ornamentation on their residences, Ottomans (up until the 19 th century, anyway #1) concentrated on spiritual and civic monuments to their vanity. They littered every city, and much of the countryside, with impressive mosques, gorgeous fountains, monumental caravanserai, elegant bath-houses, schools, hospices and soup kitchens, all designed by top architects and decorated by the best artisans. Their own homes were often less attention seeking, even modest.

Topkapi is the prototype in this regard. It rambles across its park-like grounds like an encampment or an industrial campus, a scattering of mostly smallish one-storied buildings the most immediately striking of which is the kitchens. However its sprawl disguises a rigorous order that centred around the Sultan like a drupe around its stone. Founded by Mehmet I, Topkapi's individual building were constructed for discrete functions with some existing Byzantine structures (churches and the like) given new (ironical) roles as, for example, the armoury or the mint. A series of gates funnelled only officially permitted individuals through, functioning like virtual air locks, separating the public from the sultan's person. #2

The first gate, the Great Imperial Gate, separates the palace and its grounds from the rest of the city. It was through this gate that Süleyman and his retinue would process #3 every Friday to attend the Aya Sofia mosque, passing by Busbecq's house/prison and crowds of respectful citizens. Today it is guarded by a couple of bored adolescents brandishing automatic weapons and acne. They watch unmoved as huge tour buses zoom through like whales forcing their way through a needle's eye, coercing those entering on foot to fling themselves into tiny internal waiting areas or scamper ahead to avoid being pulped.

In Busbecq's time the vast area on the other side of the gate, the Court of the Janissaries, would be thronged with people, both petitioners and pragmatists turning a buck by selling them drinks, snacks, handicrafts and putative access to the ear of the Sultan. Of course there were also countless ne'er-do-wells idling, dogs lounging and on- and off-duty janissaries looking especially well dressed and pleased with themselves.

Contemporaneously, it is also usually thronged, although now it is with tourists, crocodiles of school children and more touts, postcard-purveyors, peddlers, tour-guides and souvenir-sellers than seems possible. Usually... but not in mid-winter on the last day of Bayram. A few die-hard peddlers and a couple of score visitors... we almost had the place to ourselves. Of course this didn't stop there being a ticket seller so inept that he managed to create a queue from the few people there were and then not only sell us the wrong tickets (I said 'Harem' he gave us 'Treasury' #4), but complain about having to give us change. #5

Anyway, through the second gate, 'The Gate of Salutation' which was once only opened to those on Imperial business, and even now is a chore to get through - x-ray machines, metal-detectors, armed guards and automatic turnstiles that require a special officer to insert your ticket before you finally get into the second courtyard. The second gate was built by Süleyman in 1524 and has a decidedly European air - perhaps because he used architects and workers brought back from his conquest of Hungary. They must have been a jolly bunch. The chopping block used by the head gardener in his alternate role as executioner is just inside.

A 16 th or 17 th century French ambassador #6, denied access because he refused to lay his sword aside, exhausted his fortune in useless bribes to the gatekeeper and presents to other officials. Determined to carry out his official duties - i.e. to be received by the Sultan and present his petitions via the viziers - but too proud to disarm as required, he waited outside this gate, standing rigidly to attention, everyday for several years. His clothes grew tattered, his sword rusted and he became a figure of fun. Eventually his king, not having heard from him for some years, sent a team to investigate. Finding the ambassador with his wits gone, they packed him off home in a straitjacket. He spent the rest of his, hopefully short, life standing to attention waiting to be admitted to the Sultan's presence.

If he'd got in he probably would have been unimpressed anyway. The court inside is large and flat, bordered by mostly low buildings and is today crisscrossed with pathways and avenues of old cypresses.

Frustrated in our attempts to see the harem #7 due to my inability to part with another 30 lira having already forked out YTL48 #8, we grumpily looked at the rest. What there is of it. Some remnants of Arabic inscriptions, a model of the complex, some 19 th century imperial carriages securely locked away from visitors and glimpsed through barred windows, and the kitchens which once prepared food for some 5000 people at every meal. Now they purportedly house a vast collection of Chinese, Ottoman and European china, glassware and silver - but only the Chinese ceramics were open to the public #9. And half of them seemed to have been removed if the empty shelves and pegs in the cases are anything to go by.

These jugs were my favourite things.

Through the third gate, the Gate of Felicity, which leads directly onto the Audience Chamber where heads of state and really very important ambassadors were received. Naturally visitors can't see into either it or the library behind, but it does have some very pretty tiles on the outside.

It was to this courtyard that the ambassadors were invited once a year to witness the rigid discipline that attended the janissaries' muster for their annual pay. Today it is the main access point to the other permanent exhibitions. These include portraits of some sultans, mostly painted long after they were dead and with some very dodgy 'Veronese School' copies whose authenticity on every level seems suspect. The exhibition includes a couple of illuminated, but under-lit, manuscripts that, I suspect, are included just to taunt the eager miniature enthusiast. Apparently Topkapi has a large library of illuminated manuscripts etc but these are jealously hoarded away from the public eye.

'Relics of the Prophet' is just that - it includes a particularly sacred room that you can peer into through a small opening to see his banner, cloak and archery set. There are other relics and sacred objects with people filing past reverently - it's all very like catholic saint-worship. There is an imam there constantly, chanting from the Koran, which would be very atmospheric except he had a cold the day we visited and kept sniffling.

'Costumes of the Sultans' is really the high point and includes gorgeously patterned textiles, super-cute children's wear and some really very nice padded kaftans that make it easy to understand Busbecq's enthusiasm for Ottoman dress #10. Mind you, 16 th century European dress was REALLY appalling - all puffy pants and saggy hose. The most interesting things were the talismanic underwear; articles of clothing made from fine cotton fabrics but sized like paper and with verses from the Koran etc minutely painted onto them. They were meant to protect the sultan from all harm... although I suspect that it was probably his brothers who really needed to be wearing them.

This and all the other exhibitions were blighted with appallingly bad exhibition design and, as with all Turkish museums, Topkapi has been hit hard by the international shortage of light. Except in the Treasury, where a selection of tasteless gewgaws is displayed with lights positioned to catch and maximise their every glitter and gleam. Encrusted with precious metals and jewels on every possible surface, these are obviously meant to impress through sheer sparkle-power. The labels are very big on details of size, weight and preciousness, but innocent of any information that would contextualise the objects socially or historically. Whilst a couple of things that turned out to have been Süleyman's were notable for their relative simplicity and restraint, most of were of truly hideous hideousness. I felt compelled, having accidentally and unwillingly paid for the tickets, to look at every single ghastly object. By the end I wanted to lead a violent retrospective revolution. Allah alone knows what took them so long to institute the republic.

Of course the main point of interest at Topkapi is really the buildings. Through the fourth gate you reach the inner sanctum which includes the historical access point for the harem (the private family apartments, the concubines' and the eunuchs' dormitories, etc), various leisure-time kiosks for the sultan to lounge in with his buddies, the gardens, fountains, circumcision hall, etc etc. Unfortunately, but inevitably, you can't actually go into any of the buildings - you admire the columns of multi-coloured stone, the Iznik tile decorations, try to peer in windows... and end up feeling distinctly underwhelmed.

This is not the case after a visit to the very fine archaeological collections held at the Archaeology Museum adjacent to Topkapi. The rather small but beautifully formed collection of Ancient Near Eastern finds is housed in a building that includes a 1960's extension out over Gülhane Park. I guess it was about all that was left over after the British, Germans and French stripped the country for their own museums.

The Tiled Pavilion, the oldest still extant example of non-religious Ottoman architecture in the city, purports to be a museum of ceramics. These really just serve as an excuse to wander about the building looking at the recent restorations and its décor of beautifully gold-printed deep blue, green and turquoise tiles.

A whack of left-overs - Greek, Roman and Byzantine tombs, pillars, inscribed things, carved reliefs, statues, etc etc -- decorate the grounds and tea gardens. The latter are full of prowling, lazing, watchful cats and are shaded by huge trees in summer. In winter they are stark and memento mori-esque. The statuary displayed in the tea-gardens are particularly poignant - all broken-limbed and with their faces melting in the rain - overwhelming even the most hardened pragmatist with reminders of transience.

The main show is a huge 19th century neo-classical building that shows everything ancient found more or less in Turkey itself. And, given that just about every civilisation worthy of the name had a crack at setting up in Turkey, there's a lot to show.

Most impressive is the very fine collection of Classical Greek and Roman sculptures. Among them is my favourite -- a gorgeous little horse's head that is always displayed to minimise its charms and the chances of taking a good photograph of it. Room after room has cliques of gossiping gods and goddesses (almost all missing significant limbs), galleries of rulers and their cohorts, bestiaries of fabulous animals. It is wonderful.

Of course, the entire complex suffers from the light bulb shortage that has caught so many Turkish museums unprepared. Many tourists make up for this by using their camera flashes. The security guards regard this behaviour with weary tolerance, only occasionally bothering to remonstrate. #11 Indeed little fazes them. Hundreds of children playing chasey among the displays of fragile ceramics - the perfect time to duck out for a cigarette. People with capacious bags loitering near the cases of small statuettes - the cases with the sophisticated security arrangements consisting of a bit of twisted wire holding the door catches and sealed with a tiny lead clamp -- time to discuss the view out the window in another room with your colleagues. And anytime is good for tea, chatting with friends or playing games on your mobile phone -- preferably out of sight of those pesky visitors. We were constantly amazed that there was anything left in most of these museums. The only time we saw the security guards stir away from their 2-bar heaters was when it came to clearing us all out of the buildings so they could go home.

#1 Then they completely lost the plot - witness, for example, Dolmanche Palace.

#2 The early history of the Ottomans suggests that they originally ruled like most other warlords, first through the consensus of their peers and later through the consent of their armies (or at least the military leaders). They ruled, dispensing judgements etc, in a very face-to-face manner. However, as the sultanship ossified into a hereditary position, albeit one that still depended heavily on the acquiescence of the military, individual sultans took steps to remove themselves from the physical administration of their kingdom. By the 16 th century, Süleyman was still viewable in audience but would almost never personally address a petitioner. All communication was channelled through the viziers. He also instituted the rule that there was to be silence in his presence in the inner court the rest of the time. His attendants used 'hand-talking', an early form of sign language, and his officials and troops were renowned for their uncanny silence in his presence. Busbecq commented on this very phenomena when he was called to Amasya: "What struck me as particularly praiseworthy in that great multitude was the silence and good discipline. There were none of the cries and murmurs which usually proceed from a motley concourse, and there was no crowding. Every man kept his appointed place... The most remarkable body of men were several thousand Janissaries, who stood in a long line apart from the rest and so motionless that, as they were at some distance from me, I was for a while doubtful whether they were living men or statues, until, being advised to follow the usual custom of saluting them, I saw them all bow their head in answer to my salutation." (p.62)

#3 I read somewhere that Süleyman's horse was suspended by a belly strap on Thursday nights so that its steps would be suitably slow and majestic on the way to Friday mosque. Süleyman was nothing if not aware of his own PR and went to great pains to ensure that his appearance was always suitably impressive. Busbecq reports that this included painting his face brick-red to give him the appearance of a healthy complexion in his less than healthy later years.

#4 Although to be fair, harem tickets are actually purchased inside the next gate - but he could have told us that, particularly as I REALLY didn't want to see the treasury stuff again.

#5 I've just found out why he was such a miserable bastard... the Turkish News reported that since security cameras had been installed at the entrances the door-take at Topkapi had increased threefold, although visitor numbers were about the same or even less... now he just takes home a wage.

#6 Okay, I'm a bit hazy on the details... and he might not have been from France either...

#7 i.e the sultan's private quarters. These included the valide sultana's rooms, the apartments of his brothers and sons, and the eunuchs and concubines cells. The tour is actually a hurried affair involving a bored guide squawking through some irrelevant facts and hustling you along. You only get to see a very few of the rooms although the harem actually extends over six floors down the hillside and has hundreds of rooms. Unfortunately there is no other way to get a glimpse of how people actually lived in the palace.

#8 Topkapi has to be one of the biggest rip-offs in Turkey. God alone knows what they do with the swags of money they take in everyday, it certainly doesn't seem to be spent on the exhibitions or even real maintenance.

#9 Although, come to think of it, there were a very few non-Chinese things...

#10 Insert quote

#11 Not us, of course, we're way too conditioned to ever even think of using our flashes.