"We Are The Undying"

The following is an interview with a longtime resident of Constantinople, the city formerly known in the Islamic world as Istanbul. In our time, we have known the city as the shining beacon of the Mediterranean, and the resuscitated heart of the Greek world. For Mr. Sidiropoulos, the subject of our interview, it was a city under constant evolution, building- or as he says rebuilding, an imperial capital like none other. We here at the Commonwealth Correspondence would like to thank both Mr. Sidiropoulos, and our correspondent Dimitar Papadakis, for allowing us such a special look at the Great City of the Bosphorus.

“We Are The Undying”

Constantinople has had its most transformative century. To the average world citizen, the only evidence of this is its name change in 1833, following its recapture from the Ottomans after four centuries of occupation. Not much else is known internationally about the ancient city’s recent decades, the Greek-led coalition being a reclusive one that is comfortable with scant advertisement of its inner workings. To local observers however, the city is not what it used to be by any stretch of the imagination. Constantinople puts the Neo in Byzantium, in a quest for the ancient roots of its civilization.

Vasileios Sidiropoulos is one of those observers. The Constantinople native, born in 1841, has just celebrated his ninety-ninth birthday. He is an invaluable witness of historic events too often overlooked. We are thrilled that he has agreed to share his story with us, and have carefully translated from Greek for our readers’ enjoyment.

I will start by asking Vasileios what his earlier memories are. My intention is to start the conversation on a light-hearted topic, but as I will realize upon seeing the amused expression on his face, I have accidentally gotten to the heart of the matter already. His answer will take me aback.

“Turks beaten in the street.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I could see them from my bedroom window. It was a small group of them, cowering under the punches of a dozen guys or so.”

“How do you know they were Turks?”

“It was always Turks. There weren’t that many of them, but some insisted on living westside in those days. So when we decided to show them their place, it was always easy to rally some guys and have the upper hand. My brother and I would have too, if they had still been around as we grew up.”

“This must have been before 1847 and the Constantinople Protocols?”

“I could not tell you the exact year, but I suppose so. Going to and from school was always scary when we were boys. Our streets didn’t feel safe. Our mother was concerned that we would get caught in a brawl and not come home one day. But when I was around ten, this was not a worry anymore. All the Turks were in Fanari by then.”

Fanari, also known as Fener in Turkish or Phanar in English, was the Greek district in Ottoman Istanbul. With the recapture of the city, it had been repurposed as the opposite: a home for Turks in Greek Constantinople. Factually, Phanar was now a buffer zone where Turks were, at best, treated as non-citizens awaiting deportation. Phanar’s piers on the Golden Horn, a waterway which fed into the Bosphorus, were dedicated to that purpose. The newly-established Turkish embassy, housed in a former church, was found in Fanari. Facilities there also processed the requests for conversion to Orthodoxy, as well as the applications for voluntary 15-year military service, which sometimes resulted in approval for ethnic Turks to stay in Byzantium. Fewer and fewer such requests would be made as discrimination against them became too brutal of an obstacle. Being called a Fanarikos was not a good thing, contrasting with the prestige that prominent Greeks had enjoyed as Fanariots.

Vasileios paused, then quickly lightened the mood by answering my question differently.

“A lot of my childhood memories are with the cats, of course!”

“Ah, of course! A true story of Constantinople isn’t complete without a mention of its cats, is it?

“Absolutely.”

“Tell me about your family. What took them to Constantinople from… Crete, was it?”

“Work. Work and education prospects. The fact that so many Turks left the city caused its population to shrink by thousands, which was a big obstacle to its ambitions as a capital. So the long-term plan was to repopulate it with pureblooded, culturally suitable Greeks as quickly as possible. A lot of incentives existed to achieve this, which targeted people like our father and mother. They had to work small jobs and it was hard, but the pay was attractive, at least compared to the hard work in the Cretan fields. And that was enough for my sister and I to be admitted to the university growing up.”

“The university which opened…”

“…The year I came of age. ‘59. People say it was lucky timing, but really it just made sense. At the time, the nation invested primarily in defining its identity, which meant shaping the minds of the younger generation that was just moving in.”

“And of course you and your brother were part of that generation. Although, the Sidiropoulos missed the early transformation stages of the city.”

“The situation was much more dire before the family moved in. Ridding the city of its Islamic roots was a violent process, but it took more time than most people assume. And there was more to it than just blowing up the minarets around the Church of Justinian, or the Hagia Sophia as people still called it. That was a statement, and it became a symbol of a people asserting its place in the world. It’s what was talked about and remembered the most. But over the years, that took many more insidious forms. For one, not only the Hagia Sophia went through this, but all the other mosques as well. All the minarets in the city were destroyed. The Blue Mosque was emptied, rid of all of its religious apparatus. Many of us wanted it outright levelled, and several fires were started there. The rest of the mosques were converted into administrative buildings. Ah, and the Muslim artifacts were reclaimed, especially those from the Top Kapi Palace. The Top Kapi dagger, the Spoonmaker’s diamond, the swords of the prophets… All of that became Greek property.”

“What happened to those artifacts?”

“Some of them are still on display. Others were dismantled or disposed of. Of course the palace is not the vibrant, rich place it used to be. The most beautiful chambers have been scraped to leave no trace of the tiling, inscriptions, or decorations. The furniture, ceramics, carpets, and chandeliers were sold. Occasionally you see them reappear in auction houses in London, Paris, Edo… It was partly refurbished with decoration elements brought over from Athens, but in a much more modest way. The stained-glass windows were replaced with plain, opaque glass. It’s all empty, barren halls nowadays, which is perfect for hosting our Department of Justice and other ministries.”

Vasileios knows the history of his homeland quite well, yet I remark that he is not free of the shaping of the minds that he himself mentioned. In my journalism career, I had become used to describing those events in terms such as purge, sack, vandalism, arson, or theft. Maybe he is just being sensitive, but I could not help his euphemisms catching my attention.

“So, what was your experience growing up in Constantinople at the time? The university itself took years to build, but you must have witnessed many such projects.”

He smiled.

“Ah! I must stop you there. We say: we rebuilt the university – not built. It doesn’t matter that we had to destroy buildings and start over to make it happen. The university was always there, we had simply… forgotten about it. It takes many tricks of the mind to think of the Ottomans as less than a bad memory, you see.”

I laugh and let him continue the story.

“It was disorienting. They tore up buildings and rebuilt new ones constantly. Every year the city looked a bit different, or the street layout changed. Our school moved on three occasions; the first time because they reserved the building for offices, the second time because the whole street was being moved, and the third time because construction nearby damaged water pipes and caused flooding. You couldn’t say that it became any easier or harder to navigate, it just transformed for reasons you couldn’t understand as someone simply living there. The university wasn’t even so much a distinct project, but rather a part of an enormous construction site spanning from the Blue Mosque to the Top Kapi Palace. You know what else they were rebuilding around there.”

“The Hippodrome.”

“Yes, and don’t forget the bathhouses and the forums. Now that was a sight to behold. Acres upon acres of ground turned, hundreds of workers, the constant and awful noise. And of course the cavorite-powered machines. Cavorite had been around for years since the Russian trade agreements, but it hadn’t been used much. For a lot of us, it was our first time seeing machines float into the air, so the construction site was a spectacle in its own right. For years we would go to the hippodrome under construction on Sunday walks, and watch the platforms lift tons of materials onto the site, machines and workers going up and down the structure. We saw it come into shape.”

“When was this?”

“The construction of the hippodrome took between ‘46 and ‘54. I was thirteen when it opened.”

“And naturally your family went to see one of the inaugural spectacles.”

“The whole city did. It was only natural to witness the rebirth of our culture. And those shows were free! I mean, it was practically mandatory to go.”

Of course “rebirth” in this sense is relative, and Vasileios knows it. However, the hippodrome was destined to be a staple of the new Byzantine culture, and instrumental in the determination of its new architectural aspirations. Though its external appearance was recognizably antique and Colosseum-like, the interior was designed in a much more modern and brutalist fashion. The arena itself was surrounded with walls 39-feet tall (12 meters), giving off an impression of grandeur and impregnability. The tiers were atop them, separated at regular intervals by series of square pillars. Further up, the pillars angled backwards, connecting with the outer walls and giving the structure a monumental, yet elegant outline. The southern end was fitted with extra piers, called the sphendone, allowing for the conversion of the hippodrome into a circus for non-racing events. On the western side was the Justinian Tower, culminating at a total height of 310ft (94m); the tower was named after Justinian the 1st, a Byzantine emperor who, in the 6th century, had regained territories from Germanic invaders. On the eastern side was the tier of dignitaries, overlooked by the Basileus’ box and its marble throne, which was said to have been built – or rebuilt – from the very stones of the Hagia Sophia minarets. The overall design was sober, massive and angular.

The hippodrome showed stereotypical characteristics of what was becoming Neo Byzantine architecture. Namely, it shunned cupolas and domes due to their usage in Ottoman and Russian orthodox styles. In general, elements and symbols associated with the occupant (even wrongly) fell into disuse. Crescents, for instance.

“Do you recall what those shows were like?”

“For the most part, yes, since we talked about them so much afterwards. First they had a marching band walk the arena to perform traditional Greek themes, and some new ones in honor of the Basileus, or the Byzantine nation. This is where the anthem of the Olympic games originated from, did you know that? Few people do.”

He briefly hums the beginning of the anthem’s lyrics before moving on.

Eímaste oi athánatoi pou gnorízoume akóma ton palió trópo zoís… We are the undying who still know the old way of life.

“It was all very grandiose, very loud. Then they brought out the parade horses. After that came the races.”

“Chariot racing was, of course, the early form of the games. Can you tell us what you recall of their evolution?”

“Oh, dear, can I? I’m afraid I don’t have the chronology in mind, but they added disciplines over time. Archery, shooting, wrestling… The circus became the most prestigious venue around the Mediterranean for festivals or theater. The monomachy events didn’t happen until ‘65, it had its opponents at the time who saw it as barbarian. When the time came, automobile races debuted there too.”

Monomachy: modern-day gladiator combat. Initially restricted so that the fighting would come to an end when one of the participants was wounded, the tremendous success of the discipline soon led to a wider range of events being organized. While casual fighting remained the popular preference, competitive monomachy gained traction in the 1870s, in essence becoming the national sport. It allowed maiming your opponent, while killing was neither expressly allowed, nor forbidden.

Although most monomachoi – and the most talented – have been Byzantine, the discipline has attracted athletes from all over the world. This is with the exception of Turks, who are barred from the competition so as to avoid the legal liability of veiled assassination attempts. Some see monomachy as a personal challenge, others as a way to remain military-ready. Notable contestants include Giorgios Antoniadis, seven times world champion until a leg wound forced him to retire in 1889; Panagiotis Chatzi, for a record kill count of twelve, but no international titles; André Pelletier, both famous and infamous for decapitating his opponent Giannis Kontos on the finals of the European Cup of 1894; Simeon Stipić, who successfully earned his family Greek citizenship by fighting as a monomachos; and more recently, the Russian athlete Fyodor Skvortsov, who caused a turmoil when, in 1925, Technik augments allowed him to continue fighting after injuries had led to the amputation of a foot and a hand.

“Do you have a favorite monomachos?”

“Indeed, I even have his autographed picture on the wall behind you. Artan Xhumari. That man looked like a dancer in a fight. Never going for the easy strike, rarely deceptive, but deeply elegant in his style. He didn’t win much, but I saw him for the first time in ‘71 and never missed one of his matches since. Including his last. He was one of Chatzi’s… casualties. What a savage, that one. Not an ounce of elegance, just pure force and rage. It is a shame that contestants like him have embodied the cult of the physique in the last few decades. It didn’t start out like that, you know. When I was a boy, we were encouraged to be fit and healthy, not animals. Nowadays with all that power armor, it’s become impossible to tell who’s the better fighter. It’s become gruesome and gratuitous violence, because wounding the augments doesn’t achieve anything, the fight just goes on until someone is maimed or killed. That always used to happen, of course, but not nearly as much. Monomachy was supposed to be about the elegance of men fighting, not the brutality of machines. But I’m sorry, this is rather distant from the story you wanted to hear of the city…”

“As a matter of fact, I think it is quite relevant. If I’m not mistaken, the cult of the physique you were talking about is also what ultimately gave rise to the new Olympic Games. It also influenced the new age of Byzantine sculpture.”

“Oh, yes, like I said, the anthem was born with the hippodrome. It was only a matter of time until they dragged other nations into their self-elevating show.”

Vasileios seems to enjoy monomachy more than the Olympic Games, and so I choose not to push the matter. Yet the Games, which would take place in Constantinople every four years starting as of restoration in 1884, would contribute much to the Byzantine influence worldwide, contrasting with its usual isolationism by providing a relatively safe haven for international sportsmanship. As for sculpture, it was one of the art forms most favored by the state, as it let artists create an ideal form of the human body which left a strong impression on the onlooker’s mind. Statues lined parks and buildings throughout the city, often but not necessarily representing one of the Byzantine emperors, always with perfect physique and salient musculature. As such, sculpture was included in a program of the state-sponsored creative disciplines, which aimed to spread the Greco-Byzantine aspirations and expression.

I will add that this is best understood in the context of Constantinople thinking of itself as more than the Byzantine capital, but also that of the Greek world. Though the provinces of Bulgaria, Wallachia and Albania shared strong bonds with Greece as territories formerly oppressed by the Ottomans, the planned and deliberate metamorphosis of the city was also a clear marker that Greek culture was to prevail in all of the Byzantine area of influence. But perhaps Vasileios is right, and the time has come to cover the final few topics.

“You mentioned earlier that streets were… moving. What was that about?”

“Oh, they transformed the city’s road network entirely. At the time, there was talk of building a coastal road, alongside the old sea walls and the railway. That probably would have been efficient, but they wanted something better. A primary street, Niki Avenue, cutting the city in half along the forums. So they rebuilt them, and added a victory arch at the midway point between the city gate – the Golden Gate, at the southern end of the walls, which they reopened – and the hippodrome. Further, the avenue connects with the Galata bridge that crosses over the Golden Horn, then goes past the former Russian naval base and the Galata Tower. That required the displacement of hundreds of families. They were generally happy to relocate us in the meantime, but they also didn’t give a choice, and the living conditions were generally pretty poor. Our own home was not a palace, you know, but I’m thankful we didn’t have to move as much as others at least.”

“All of this took place at the same time as Haussmann’s renovation of Paris. As a matter of fact, wasn’t he consulted for this?”

“Yes he was, and I know you want me to tell that anecdote again, of how they couldn’t name a street or a plaza after him, because his name sounds like the Turkish name Osman in Greek, and so they sent an obelisk to Paris as a token of gratitude instead! They kept him behind closed doors for the most part, but he did contribute a lot, particularly to rethink the sewage system, and public transit.”

It is a fact that, by wandering the streets of Constantinople nowadays, the keen observer will be struck by decisions reminiscent of French architecture, though they are sometimes vandalized these days due to the anti-religious position of the communist republic. A slight beaux-arts influence, discreet masonry ornaments, balconies and enclosed residential courtyards have quietly become the norm in the city. It has also slowly taken other urban centers of the dominion such as Bucharest, Sofia, and Tirana, while newly constructed buildings in Athens and Thessaloniki have adopted them in the 1880s onwards.

“What about the east side? It was also connected to the city with a bridge, in 1892 if my memory serves me well.”

Here, Vasileios clicked his tongue.

“Skoutari is the… population reserve of Constantinople. What allows it to grow freely. Not many people consider it one and the same around here.”

“How come?”

“The Turks lingered there too long, and by the time we moved past the Bosphorus in ‘47, the investment had already gone to the noble quarters. Not only in financial terms, but from a cultural perspective, too. The east side just isn’t going to feel like home as much. Not before long.”

“I think we’re nearing the end of this interview now, but I would like to know, what is it like living in Constantinople these days? What makes it different from the city of your childhood?”

“A lot of things. But at the same time, I feel privileged to have seen it come to fruition. In my lifetime, I have seen the rebirth of a city, and my people rise up for its place in this world. I’ve sat in the center of it this whole time, witnessing it grow and perfect itself, and a city ruined and depopulated by invaders bloom into a unified and prosperous center of civilization once again. Most people in this world will only be exposed to this from history books, you know. I feel like I have known a golden age, that I have been given to see the land of our ancestors. I am immensely thankful to God for that.”

God, of course. A single one, for the ancient pantheon is scarcely remembered. The one exception in a nation otherwise consumed with restoring its glorious past. The Ecumenical Patriarch, Cyril VIII, sits in a Hagia Sophia made into a church again, directing Constantinople’s path practically on par with the mayor. The cleric’s picture is visible in Vasileios’ home too, not far from that of Artan the monomachos.

“You don’t resent the direction the world is going?”

“Not really. I think a lot of good will come of it. It will put people in their place, like we have the Fanarikoi in their time. The world will be cleaner when it’s over.”