Constantinople, v. 2 (of 2) — Context and Discussion

First Impressions of Turkish Women

De Amicis's chapter on Turkish women begins with the paradox of visible yet secluded figures. He emphasizes that the women are always accompanied by other women or children, never by men, which gives the impression that they "seem not to belong to any one." The author's language oscillates between admiration and bewilderment, as he tries to reconcile the freedom of movement with the cultural norms of veiling. He describes their attire in detail—the feradjee (mantle) and yashmak (veil)—and notes how the veil sometimes reveals the eyes, which he finds expressive. The narrative does not claim to penetrate the inner lives of these women; instead, it records the external spectacle and the author's own evolving perceptions. This section establishes a pattern of careful observation that recurs throughout the volume.

The Old Seraglio and Its Layers of History

In the chapter on the Old Seraglio, De Amicis guides the reader through the courtyards and gates, each with its own history. He describes the second courtyard as "the diplomatic court of the Seraglio" and lingers on the Bâb-i-Sâdet, or Gate of Felicity, which for centuries remained closed to Christians except ambassadors. The author imagines the scenes that took place within: the Divân, where viziers deliberated under the gaze of the sultan hidden behind a gilded grating. He recounts executions with stark detail—"a cimeter would descend, cleaving the skull in twain"—and notes how the council would resume "with countenances unmoved" after the blood was wiped up. These passages blend architectural description with dramatic reconstruction, relying on historical accounts rather than personal witness. De Amicis acknowledges that much of what he relates comes from "wild and fantastic and romantic tales," yet he presents them with a novelist's flair.

The Walls: A Walk Through Time

The chapter on the Walls takes the reader on a physical tour of Constantinople's fortifications. De Amicis describes their condition, noting where they are ruined or intact, and connects them to specific historical events. He mentions the Aqueduct of Valens and the Mosque of the Chora as landmarks along the route. The narrative moves from the land walls to the sea walls, offering glimpses of the city's topography. The author's voice remains that of a guide, pointing out details that might escape a casual visitor. He does not dwell on his own reactions but lets the stones speak for themselves. This section demonstrates De Amicis's method of weaving together present observation and past significance, a technique that gives the travelogue its depth.

The Bosphorus: Scenery and Society

In the final chapter, De Amicis turns to the Bosphorus, describing its shores, villages, and the daily traffic of boats. He notes the contrast between the European and Asian sides, and the presence of both modern steamships and traditional caïques. The author observes the "Sweet Waters of Europe" and the "Sweet Waters of Asia," popular outing spots for Turkish families. He remarks on the Mosque of Validêh at Ok Serai and the Entrance to the Black Sea, blending scenic description with comments on the people who inhabit these shores. The tone is more relaxed than in earlier chapters, as if the author himself is enjoying a respite from the city's intensity. This section rounds out the volume by showing Constantinople not just as a historic city but as a living, bustling environment.

De Amicis's second volume rewards readers who pay attention to his method: he moves from initial surprise to detailed observation, then to historical excavation, and finally to a broader view of the city's life. The excerpts show a writer who is both a tourist and a historian, using his own eyes while drawing on the accounts of others. Readers may find it useful to note where De Amicis relies on hearsay—such as the dramatic scenes in the Seraglio—and where he reports what he actually saw. This distinction between firsthand experience and secondhand narrative is key to understanding the texture of his travelogue.

I remember wandering through De Amicis's Constantinople, watching women glide past ancient walls, their faces half-hidden like the city itself. It made me think of another place, glimpsed at twilight—the same ache of a world standing at the edge of change. The Last Days of Pekin — Inside the Classic shares that quiet, knowing look. Together, they whisper of empires that still breathe beneath our feet.