Masterpieces and miracles

By John Julius Norwich

Published: August 22 2008 17:22 | Last updated: August 22 2008 17:22

Crossroads – figuratively, the word is full of promise: a meeting place, but also a place of parting; a turning point, in one’s life perhaps, or in human relationships; an opportunity for fateful decisions, or for cultural exchange. Over the centuries, where were the most important crossroads? Alexandria and Beirut, perhaps, where the Mediterranean traffic connected with the African and central Asian caravans; Petra, where – thanks to a tiny fissure in two parallel mountain ranges – the east-west trade route could meet up with that which ran from north to south; medieval Sicily or 15th-century Venice, thronged with merchants from all the known world. Or, above all, Istanbul.

First, its position. Lying – as Robert Byron somewhat over-fragrantly put it – at the thwarted kiss of two continents, halfway between two great seas but separated from the Mediterranean by the Dardanelles and from the Black Sea by the Bosphorus, it constitutes the perfect crossroads between north and south, east and west, Europe and Asia, Christianity and Islam. No wonder that Constantine the Great chose it in AD330 for the new capital of the Roman Empire; no wonder that, 1,123 years later, after its fall to the Turks, the conquering Sultan Mehmet II adopted it – after a simple change of name – as that of the Ottoman.

The building that symbolises that moment of transition better than any other is the Great Church – it was never the Cathedral – of the Holy Wisdom, St Sophia. After nine centuries as a Christian church and another five as a mosque, it is now a secular museum and perhaps a little lifeless as a result; some people, seeing it for the first time, confess to a feeling of disappointment. How wrong they are: here, surely, is one of the most breathtaking buildings in the world. Look up at that astonishing enclosure of space; remember that it was built by the Emperor Justinian in the early sixth century, when it was given a dome of virtually the same diameter as that of St Paul’s in London, 1,100 years later; note that the dome is not a hemisphere but the shallowest of saucers – infinitely harder to construct – and that nobody had ever dared to build one even a quarter the size, and that they then dared to pierce the circumference with no fewer than 40 windows. Finally, remember that the whole gigantic edifice was completed less than six years after it was begun, and the masterpiece becomes a miracle.

Mosques, castles, churches and museums

Great Church of the Holy Wisdom (also known as Hagia Sophia)
Aya Sofya Square, Sultanahmet
To get there: take the tram to Sultanahmet

Church of St. Saviour in Chora, or Kariye Camii (Anastasis fresco)
Kariye Meydani, Edirnekapi
To get there: buses leave from a station near the Beyazit mosque (destination Karagümlük).

Archaeological museum
Osman Hamdi Bey Yokuu, Gülhane
To get there: take the tram to Gülhane

Süleymaniye mosque
Prof Siddik Sami Onar Caddesi, Bazaar district
To get there: take the tram to Beyazit

Rumeli Hisari fortress
Eastern side of Bosphorus. To get there: take the Bosphorus ferry to Belek

Eyüp Sultan mosque
Camii Kebir Sokak, Eyüp
To get there: take the bus or ferry to Eyüp

It was in this church that the people of Constantinople gathered to pray on the night of Monday, May 28, 1453, knowing that their city and their empire had only hours left to live; and it was to it, the following afternoon, that the Sultan rode. Alighting from his horse, he picked up a handful of earth and sprinkled it on his turban as a gesture of humility; then he gave orders that it was henceforth to be a mosque.

Another, rather more frequent, cause for complaint is the series of huge green medallions hung around the upper walls, bearing Arabic monograms in gold of Allah, Mohammed and the first six caliphs. Over the years I have become rather fond of them, and of the rest of the Islamic furniture remaining (the four minarets outside are a positive improvement). I certainly find the medallions less offensive than the vast Christian cathedral that has been built inside the loveliest mosque in Europe, the Mesquita in Cordoba. In any case, they have to be accepted: Turkish religious susceptibilities would never permit their removal. We are lucky indeed that in the 1930s Kemal Ataturk gave permission for the uncovering of the mosaics – one of which, the Deësis in the south gallery, is – with the Pantocrator at Cefalù in Sicily – the most beautiful Byzantine mosaic in the world.

It is fascinating to compare those mosaics with those at the other three-star Christian site, the Church of St Saviour in Chora (better known by its Turkish name of Kariye Cami). These are later – early 14th-century – by which time the influence of Giotto is clearly evident. Gone, or almost gone, is the intense, formalised, hieratic quality of St Sophia. Now we have stories – the “flight into Egypt”, the “marriage at Cana” – with architectural backdrops: the whole thing is on a smaller, more intimate scale.

But the pièce de résistance of this little treasure is not a mosaic but a fresco. You will find it in the parekklesion – the outer aisle on the south side – a relatively unimportant corner in which the cheaper medium was probably considered good enough. What could not have been foreseen was that the painter – whose name is, alas, unknown – was a genius. His vision of the Anastasis – what we know as the “harrowing of hell” – occupies the whole apse.

Against a night sky like dark blue velvet, Christ rises again in a star-spattered white mandorla – a halo surrounding his whole body – bursting his cerements and trampling the chains, fetters and other symbols of captivity underfoot. With his right hand he grasps the wrist of Adam, with his left that of Eve, dragging them forcibly from their tombs, both of them clearly terrified. Kings, saints and prophets look on. Forget the Sistine Chapel: here, for me, is the masterpiece of all Christian art.

Forget, too, the Elgin Marbles; in the Archaeological Museum, just behind and below St Eirene, you will find something that you will remember for the rest of your life. It is known as the Alexander Sarcophagus, not because it contained the body of Alexander the Great but because of the two great scenes in which he features – one of battle, one of the chase – carved on the longer sides.

Here once again we are confronted with genius. Everything is there: the fear and fury of the soldiers, the blazing determination in Alexander’s eye, the panic in those of the horses. Because this astonishing object has lain buried for more than 2,000 years in the sand near Sidon, the carving is as clean and crisp as ever: the sculptor might just have lain down his chisel.

Among the Islamic monuments of the city, most visitors content themselves with the Blue Mosque; standing as it does opposite St Sophia, it is the obvious one to go for. I would recommend the Süleymaniye – far more majestic. If you are looking for something smaller and more intimate, seek out the tile-hung Rüstem Pasha near the Spice Bazaar (not easy to find, but worth the search) or Sokollu Mehmet Pasha, just below the western end of the Hippodrome.

And then, of course, there is the city itself. It’s no good just going for a wander, as you would in Venice; apart from anything else, Istanbul is more than 200 times the size. Instead concentrate on the extraordinary geography. Take a boat up the Bosphorus (avoiding the maddeningly narrow road along the side), or watch its constant traffic from one of the several hilltop restaurants; here is one of the most consistently fascinating waterways of the world.

You might stop off at Rumeli Hisar – the castle built on the European shore by Sultan Mehmet in five months in 1452. (Körfez, a superb hostelry on the Asiatic side, will send a boat across to collect you before giving you a marvellous sea-bass baked in a brick of salt). Or take a taxi up to Eyüp, and, after visiting the holiest mosque in the country, have your sunset glass of raki looking down over the Golden Horn. Finally, don’t miss the Land Walls; you might drive south along their entire length when you leave Kariye Cami. They were built in the early fifth century. They look battered today, as all such walls should, but they preserved Constantinople for a millennium.

And even then the story wasn’t finished, because the Turks took over. Thanks to them, the city is the only one on earth to have been an imperial capital for 15 centuries. Salute it – and enjoy it.

John Julius Norwich is the author most recently of a memoir, ‘Trying to Please’ (Dovecote Press) and ‘The Middle Sea: a History of the Mediterranean’ (Chatto & Windus)

Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2008