AT the outbreak of hostilities in the Balkan Peninsula we had it from the lips of a king that this is a crusade, a holy war, a war against the Pagan intruder into Europe, which must end in his subjection and eviction from our Christian continent.

Such sentiments from a monarch who, brought up in one Christian dogma, has chosen another variant of our Faith for his children, can have no other effect than to raise the present war to a much higher level than the wars of former days, which were waged unblushingly to gain some national advantage, to acquire territory, or even merely to flatter national vanity. No, this is a very different war, and informed of the same spirit, so we are told, which moved the Crusaders in their thousands down the Danube to the Holy Land. Those pious warriors passed through Constantinople, honoured the place with a lengthy stay, and, I regret to say, were not sufficiently appreciated by the Eastern Emperors and their people. The same spirit, called forth by Johann Capistran, led noble Hungarians, the chivalry of Servia, and hosts of Bulgarians to meet the Crescent on the Amselfeld at Kossovo, and Eastern Europe went under in a sea of blood. Now this latest crusade is drawing to a close, and the rejuvenated nations of the Balkans have in their turn humbled the Crescent and brought the Cross back to before the walls of Constantinople. What matter that there are numbers of Christians in the ranks of the Ottoman Army? The war is a crusade—we have it on the best authority.

Those Christians in the ranks of the Ottoman Army have also suffered for their faith, for invidious Moslems have been inclined to attribute the disaster which overtook the Sultan’s Army to the fact that he had been induced to make soldiers of them, whereas, as every true follower of the Prophet knows, Islam is the only creed for a warrior. Again and again those Christian soldiers of the Sultan have been accused of cowardice, of deserting to the enemy in great numbers; no ingenious calumny has been spared to prove that they gave the reason for the debacle, and that but for their presence the Crescent would be gleaming over Sofia again, and again facing Austria-Hungary across Danube and Save. As a matter of fact, reliable informants have told me, the Christian soldiers of the Sultan did uncommonly well, and were even from time to time deserted by their Moslem comrades. If religious matters had to do with the defeats sustained by the Turkish Army, it is more probably the case that pious Moslems felt the authority of the Sultan, the head of their faith, undermined by recent changes, by the admission of non-believers into offices of state, and this led to a despondency which from time to time broke out in panic. One night, it was told me, a Turkish soldier awoke from a nightmare and fled, crying, “The Bulgars are on us!” though there were none in the immediate neighbourhood. The men of his section took alarm and followed him; the company followed—the battalion—brigade, till the whole division was running away in nameless terror before a purely imaginary enemy.

Religion has ever played a leading part in the history of Constantinople, may even be said to have been responsible for its existence, for Byzas, in carrying out the Oracle’s dark instructions, merely followed his religious instincts. Of Constantine the Great it is not necessary to say much; the beautiful story of his conversion to Christianity is one of the earliest of such apocryphal addenda to the story of the Church of Christ as taught us in our infancy.

The Aqueduct of Valens Valens the Emperor was killed in battle by the Goths at Adrianople. His aqueduct stands out strangely among wooden houses, connecting the seven hills on which stands Stamboul.
The Aqueduct of Valens
Valens the Emperor was killed in battle by the Goths at Adrianople. His aqueduct stands out strangely among wooden houses, connecting the seven hills on which stands Stamboul.

Constantine was the first Augustus to be baptized, and he was followed by Valens, who, as far as is known, worshipped the fast-fading deities of ancient Rome. We shall meet Valens again at Adrianople—there are few traces left of him here in Constantinople, only the aqueduct he built. It stands out strangely among wooden houses, connecting the seven hills on which stands Stamboul. Valens was followed by another great Emperor, Theodosius I. Theodosius, though born of Christian parents, did not embrace Christianity until towards the end of the first year of his reign, when a severe illness carried conviction to the Imperial mind. Before he took the field against the Goths, Acholius, Bishop of Thessalonica, baptized him, and so Theodosius became a Christian—a stout, full-blooded one at that. Once convinced of the beauty of the faith, and sure of the unfailing aid the Church afforded, Theodosius acted as a soldier and a convert would. He had found the sure haven of his soul, and all his people must also be led into the right way. There was no room for “saucy doubts and fears” in the breast of Emperor Theodosius. On ascending from the font he issued an edict to his people which is worth giving word for word: “It is our pleasure that all the nations which are governed by our clemency and moderation should steadfastly adhere to the religion which was taught by St. Peter to the Romans, which faithful tradition has preserved, and which is now professed by the Pontiff of Damascus, and by Peter, Bishop of Alexandria, a man of apostolic holiness. According to the discipline of the Apostles and the doctrine of the Gospel, let us believe the sole Deity of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, under an equal Majesty and a pious Trinity. We authorize the followers of this doctrine to assume the title of Catholic Christians, and as we judge that all others are extravagant madmen, we brand them with the infamous name of heretics, and declare that their conventicles shall no longer usurp the respectable appellation of churches. Besides the condemnation of Divine Justice, they must expect to suffer the severe penalties which our authority, guided by heavenly wisdom, shall think proper to inflict upon them.” So we find little encouragement in Constantinople of those days of any kind of nonconformity, or any doxy save that of the Emperor himself.

Nevertheless, in matters of religion, Constantinople may be said to have done more than any other centre of national life. For forty years, from 340-380, this was the centre of Arianism, and was also open to all manner of strange doctrines, coming from every province of the Empire, and this worried Theodosius very much. The polemics that raged round the name and nature of Holy Trinity exasperated the soldier Theodosius, so he determined to settle the matter once and for all. He convened a synod of one hundred and fifty bishops to complete the theological system established in the Council of NicÆa. The council managed, wisely, to arrive at a conclusion satisfactory to the Emperor, so at least his mind was set at rest on a vexed question.

Peace was not, for with a people like the Greeks and others who lived in Constantinople, fond of all manner of disputations, any idea of uniformity was hopeless; nevertheless there were endless councils, conferences, synods, which probably only served to aggravate the many controversies. Out of the chaos of ideas and ideals one form or another would rise and stand out above his fellows; of these, perhaps, no one is better known than John, called by the people “Golden Mouth,” Chrysostom. He came from Antioch with a great reputation as a preacher, and that under somewhat unusual circumstances. Eutropius, Prime Minister of Arcadius, the young Emperor, had heard and admired the sermons of John Chrysostom when on a journey in the East. Fearful lest the flock at Antioch might be unwilling to resign their favourite preacher, the minister sent a private order to the Governor of Syria, and the divine was transported with great speed and secrecy to Constantinople.

The new Archbishop made his influence felt at once, and his teachings gave rise to several factions, some in his favour, others against him, all delighted at new food for controversy. Chrysostom was hot-tempered, which led him to express disapproval of wrong-doing in unmeasured terms, unsociable, in consequence of which he lost touch with his surroundings. So it came about that he was surprised by an ecclesiastical conspiracy. Theophilus, Archbishop of Alexandria, had arrived by invitation of the Empress Eudoxia, and had brought with him a number of independent bishops sufficient to secure him a majority in the synod. Theophilus had taken the further precaution of bringing with him a strong escort of Egyptian sailors to keep the refractory populace in order. The synod brought various charges against Chrysostom, who declined to attend the meeting, and was therefore condemned in default for contumacious disobedience and sentenced to be deposed by this august body. Chrysostom was hurriedly conveyed into exile at the entrance of the Black Sea, but was recalled before many days had passed, for his faithful flock had risen, slain without mercy the crowd of monks and Egyptian mariners in the streets of the City, roared and rioted round the palace gates in waves of sedition, that Chrysostom had to be recalled to restore order. He returned in triumph; but he was no courtier, and his zeal outran discretion, so the Empress had him banished again, this time to Mount Taurus, and then further away to the desert of Pityas, but he died on his way thither in his sixtieth year. Thirty years later, in 438, Theodosius II went over to Chalcedon to meet the remains of John Chrysostom, which were being brought from the first obscure burial-place to Constantinople. Falling prostrate on the coffin, the Emperor implored forgiveness for his guilty parents, Arcadius and Eudoxia.

Of the many sects thrown up by religious controversy few have survived to this day, but of these one is remarkable in many ways—the Armenian Church. The Armenians are an Indo-European people, living in Great and Little Armenia, an elevated plateau, from which the principal mountains, rivers, and valleys of Western Asia diverge, a plateau some 7000 feet above the sea in places, and rising to its greatest height of 17,260 feet in Mount Ararat, now in Russian territory.

No doubt it is a great satisfaction to the Armenians to have that holy mountain in their native land, though I do not think that undue pride over this interesting feature has kept them apart from others of the Christian faith. They took to it very readily during the reign of Constantius, and during the years when the Eastern Empire was still mighty in Asia maintained their connection with the See at Constantinople. But their country was peculiarly liable to be swamped by alien races, and constant disorders during the many centuries when the Eastern Empire was falling to pieces alienated them from the original fold. Again, their clergy were generally ignorant of the Greek tongue, so they ceased attending synods, and thus widened the rift, so that, as they did not attend the Council of Chalcedon, they came to be considered as schismatics, and have long had a Patriarch in Constantinople, who watches over the interests of his flock. His is a very difficult position, for ever since there has been an Armenian problem no other means of solving it has ever suggested itself to the Porte than that of wholesale massacre—there is an Armenian problem, therefore kill the Armenians; simple, thoroughly Oriental, and not to the taste of Europe, whose protests, however, have never been as loud over Armenian outrages as when some national trade interest is affected. Nevertheless Armenians have stayed on as useful citizens and subjects of Sultans who showed to them less consideration than to any others of the numerous races which live under the Porte’s peculiar jurisdiction; they are advancing in wealth, education, and political importance, and are likely to play an important part in the future of Asia Minor. It is said that the Armenians might have made common cause with the Greeks, and thus assisted towards the deliverance from Turkish yoke which seems to have been brought at last by the arms of the twentieth-century crusaders, who swarmed over the passes of the Balkans and down the Valley of the Maritza only a month or so ago. The Armenians, instead of accomplishing unity by means of their synod, seem to have frittered away their strength in small committees, probably discussing side issues with great earnestness and leaving great questions unsolved, as is frequently the case in the deliberations of such bodies.

On the way to the Phanar A picturesque street thronged with the usual crowd of leisurely wayfarers.
On the way to the Phanar
A picturesque street thronged with the usual crowd of leisurely wayfarers.

Ever since the earliest days of Christianity Constantinople has been the seat of a Father of the Church. His importance increased as the Empire flourished, and he soon was styled Patriarch, a title which has never been relinquished, an office which has never been in abeyance but for those few days between the triumphal entry of Mohammed the Conqueror and the Patriarch’s reinstatement by that monarch.

The buildings which serve as head-quarters for the Patriarch of Greek Orthodoxy in Constantinople stand overlooking the upper reaches of the Golden Horn at the Phanar, and have no great beauty to distinguish them from their surroundings. The cathedral church is small, and the only thing which impressed me in it is the cathedra itself. Not long ago I had the honour of being presented to His Holiness the late Patriarch. A friend and I made our way to the Phanar, through picturesque streets, thronged with the usual crowd of leisurely wayfarers; vines festooned from one side to the other, and in places affording shade from the searching rays of the sun, but at the same time condensing the mingled, varied odours inseparable from life in the East, and which, no doubt, contribute to its indefinable charm. The Phanar is a quarter formerly occupied by those Greeks whose duties brought them in closer contact with the Imperial Court of Byzant; they lived in stone houses that clustered round the Phanar, the lighthouse, at the foot of the heights, where stood palaces of princes, churches, and barracks of the Imperial Guards, and whence the walls defending the City from attack by land draw their rugged lines down to the Golden Horn. We were shown into a long room, hung round with indifferent portraits of former Patriarchs, and introduced by one of the most prominent lay members of the Holy Synod, a gentleman to whom, I fancy, the Greeks of Turkey in Europe owe a debt of gratitude. His Holiness received us most graciously, conversed amiably on many questions, and all went very well till he had a look at the sketch I had taken of him. “As it has not succeeded I will give you a photograph of myself,” said His Holiness, and I am the proud possessor of a signed photograph of this the latest successor of a long line of ecclesiastical potentates. Nevertheless, I consider my sketch a good likeness, and my opinion is not based on conceit alone, but is endorsed by others qualified to judge.

His Holiness Joachim III Patriarch of the Orthodox Church at Constantinople.
His Holiness Joachim III
Patriarch of the Orthodox Church at Constantinople.

It is sad to reflect that Christianity, even from the earliest days, has strayed so far from the leading precept of its Founder. The Church in all ages, among all nations, proclaimed Him “Prince of Peace,” then incited her followers to take up arms in defence of dogma, ritual, never dreamt of by the Christ. The different peoples which were enabled to divide into groups in accord with racial ambition were used as tools by prelates of the East and West to add to their own importance, to enhance their own prestige. The West drew to it strong Germanic races who, sword in hand, helped to gather the broken remnants of the Latin races into the fold of the Western See; these subtler Latin races, never quite freed from the worship of their forebears, never entirely abandoning the worship of the gods of old, of Isis and Osiris, gained for a space ascendancy over the simpler, purer Teutons, and made the power of the Roman Pontiff possible. Revolts there were many, when the strong, persistent Germanic intellect developed, and tried to free itself from spiritual thraldom. Until the days of Luther, such stirrings were countered by a short shrift and a blazing pyre for the offender. Luther’s theses, nailed to the door of Wittenberg Cathedral, marked the straining of the cords that bound northern races to the Southern See, and led nations to give rein to their ambitions, striving to attain them throughout a war of thirty years. Even then the fight was indecisive, and the “Kultur Kampf,” against which Bismarck, the Iron Chancellor, battled with but qualified success, occupies the mind and tends to check the spiritual development of modern Germany.

The people of the Eastern Empire centred in Constantinople in those days, far beyond the intellectual limitations of the West, could not be expected to submit to the spiritual authority of a Roman Pontiff, especially as the Roman Empire of the West had gone under before its barbarian foes, whereas the Roman Empire of the East yet held sway over many distant provinces conquered by Roman arms. The Eastern and the Western world were seldom in complete accord; the bonds that united them in earliest days were frail, and could only be made to hold when in the hands of a strong man like Constantine the Great. The Western Empire’s fall enhanced the greatness of the Eastern Empire, and thus was paved the way to separation in matters of religion. The intellectual pride of the Greeks would not submit to any dictation on the subject of Christian doctrine from the West, and Roman ambition would not allow outlying communities to formulate new doctrines nor to revise old ones. It needed a small pretext to bring about schism, and that pretext was not long wanting. About the middle of the ninth century Photius, a layman, Captain of the Guards, was promoted by merit and favour to the office of Patriarch of Constantinople. In ecclesiastical knowledge and purity of morals he was equally well qualified for this high office. But Ignatius, his predecessor, who had abdicated, still had many supporters, and these appealed to Pope Nicholas I, one of the proudest, most ambitious of the Roman Pontiffs, who welcomed an opportunity of judging and condemning his rival of the East. But the Greeks resented the interference, and after many intrigues Photius emerged triumphant, and reconciliation between the two Churches was made more difficult than ever. After about two centuries of unseemly wrangling and bitter recriminations, Papal legates came to Constantinople in 1054 and laid a bull of excommunication against the Patriarch upon the altar of St. Sophia.

It will be readily understood that the Crusades, organized under the auspices of the Church of Rome, were not looked upon with favour by the Eastern Emperors and Patriarchs who, however much they bickered between themselves, showed a united front to outsiders. It is therefore not surprising that the Eastern Empire lent but half-hearted support to the crusading Western nations, and that, when that Empire was in turn threatened from the East, its appeals to Western Christianity fell on deaf ears. This made the path of Osmanli conquerors all the smoother. To-day we are faced with a new crusade, Eastern Christians, members of the Orthodox Church, carrying the Cross against the Crescent. They have met with hardly any but that somewhat overrated “moral” support from Western Christians. Montenegrins came down from their Black Mountains, all available fighting men of a population of some 250,000, and fiercely fought for an ideal. Servia, out of a population of about 3,000,000, sent an army as strong and as well-found as the much-vaunted expeditionary force of Great Britain over the mountain-passes into Macedonia. Meeting with stubborn resistance, suffering checks, they pressed on, and now hold lands which once formed part of Servia when, for a short time, it was a great Empire, and had its capital at ÜskÜb, which King Peter’s army entered in triumph some short time ago. Then the Hellenes, under the Crown Prince Constantinos, name borne by several Greek Emperors, came up from the south, and smarting under the memory of former reverses, fought their way over the mountains into Macedonia, and have occupied Saloniki. Here, again, is a small nation of barely 3,000,000 sending an army of near 100,000 into the field. Then from the north, in irresistible force, came the hosts of Ferdinand, Tsar of all the Bulgarians. His forces were reckoned at 300,000 when they crossed over the border, and this number was taken from an industrious, thriving population of little more than 4,000,000 souls. Numbers as yet untold have fallen in battle, others have succumbed to disease and the hardships of war, but what remains are loudly clamouring for admission to Tsarigrad, the Castle of CÆsar, where all these sons of the Greek Orthodoxy, though of different nations, hope to reunite in worship at Santa Sophia.

And while these deeds have been doing, Eastern and Western Christianity have been gazing unfriendly at each other. A great Power which adheres to the Church of Rome is looking with disfavour upon the successes gained by these young nations, and diplomacy, which has hitherto failed woefully in its endeavours to maintain peace, is now put to it to prevent another appeal to the arbitrament of arms, and this time of a nature that will make the present war seem but an advanced-guard action. In the meanwhile, with this danger threatening, the part played by Turkey in Europe seems almost incidental only, albeit this great Power is passing from Europe to its native Asia, shorn by a sudden, violent storm of all its old possessions but that narrow corner, fenced off from the onslaught by the lines of Chatalja.