Post by Sublime Porte on Oct 27, 2016 21:10:58 GMT
Ahmet looked down upon the latest designs. He had toyed with building a classically-inspired basilica-mosque for the graveyard outside Bratislava, but he was convinced by his advisers to respect the historical sensibilities associated with Ottoman imperialism, and to mark the extent of Ottoman campaigning with a more traditional build. A single-domed modest structure, made of bricks echoing those of Roman Constantinople, but with a lead roof topped with a golden pinnacle marked with a crescent moon. It will be accompanied by a single slender minaret. The mosque itself is to be modestly small, as it is not to be a grand display of imperial power, but a site of sombre commemoration.
Ahmet was determined, however, that the grounds of the mosque be grander than its chief resident. Mirror still pools of fresh water, tree-lined walkways, and adequate parkland, were to be encompassed by an outer perimeter wall. Then, ascending steps to a higher level and an inner courtyard, the entrance to the mosque and an imperial Ottoman baroque Çeşme fountain are to be enclosed within the inner coutyard, with colonnaded sides providing some shade or shelter from rain. Around the back, parralel to this courtyard, shall be the Martyr’s cemetary, devoted to those who fell in the Battle of March. They are all to be given marble tombstones, regardless of their social station, but the usual sculpted headgear will still distinguish the esteemed from the base. The tombstones are to be made to the height of their subject, to bring home the reality of their loss. Outside of the courtyard and gaveyard, however, is to be a great extent of parkland, woods, and pools of still clear water. The intention is to mirror paradise on earth, and to provide a place for the people of Bratislava and the surrounding districts to enjoy their life in a world made better by the suffering of those entombed within the graveyard nearby. The Ottoman tradition of picnicking in the grounds of Mosque complexes is to be encouraged in Bratislava, at the one Ottoman mosque in the country.
This atmosphere is to be further encouraged by the construction of a small rectilinear Church in the outer grounds of the outer courtyard. It is to be built following the pattern of a Roman basilica, and is to be of pious simplicity. The Church will be handed over to administration by Phanariot Greeks, so that Orthodox merchants will have a place to worship in Bratislava. The rest of the grounds and the mosque shall be governed by a charitable Vakif institution. This shall be open to participation from Ottomans and non-Ottomans alike, providing that they are Muslims. A small madrasa school and a soup kitchen are also set up in blocks of buildings to be constructed around the outer courtyard. All of this construction is outside of any existing town, and within the territory of Slovakia. The charitable foundation is to receive endowments from the Sultan, who shall favour it enough to make it a fashionable choice for the charity of old widows and wealthy merchants alike.
“Çok güzel, very beautiful,” Ahmet smiled. “But what of the Jews? I would hate for them to be left out.”
“Padishah, the Jews are already well established in Europe, and have their own residences, their own history. While a Ibadat Khana to rival that of past Mughals would be nice, there is simply no demand for it as there is for houses for Ottoman faiths,” stated Bonneval openly. He had been taking his new task seriously, ever since the Sultan had informed him of his new role training and advising Hungarian garrisons as he had previously trained and advised Janissaries.
“True, true, but there is more we must discuss. Have the higher Ulema been informed of our plans?”
“Yes, hunkarum...”
“And?...”
“There are a few eager to help, but they are almost all of the more eccentric kind. Those with a love of healing are naturally put off by becoming military advisers, when there is medicine to dispense in the cities... But, some are more curious than generous, and are eager to experiment. I am sure they are up to the task, but, to me, they seem like godless men.”
Ahmet laughed as the Frankish convert decried Muslim doctors for atheism. Then again, what had Mehmed Pasha once told him? ‘Do not trust those who have been turned, they never fully arrive, but can never return. They are shades.’ No, no, that wasn’t it. It must have been Seyit Ali. ‘These converts come for two reasons, and two reasons only: sensuality and spirituality. When they arrive they find us to be too temperate and too agnostic. They want sufi sheikhs on magic carpets, and divinations by opium, dusky maidens and unrepentent sex with a multitude of silk-veiled tempresses. When all we can offer them is to wash their feet before they pray, a cup of sherbert, and an obsessively monogomous nag, they will eventually become disillusioned.’
Perhaps Bonneval was of this second sort, Ahmet thought. The zeal of the convert had always bewildered him. Converts study with such ferocity as if they feel they are about to fail the Muslim test, when his own Turkish civil servants openly announced their lack of belief in any god, yet still marked themselves as Muslims by occasional attendance of Friday prayers.
In any case, the man was a capable educator of soldiers, and had a mind for drill and discipline. He would do well at putting steel into the defenders of Macaristan.
And so the Sultan continued. He worked with relentless energy on studying scouts’ reports, the lay of the land, the dispositions of enemy soldiers, the teachings of Bektashi guides, the plans for the Bratislava mosque, he even worked on his poems. All to avoid the terror that had possessed him of late. He had vowed to expel the infidels from the House of Peace, promising that he would return to Istanbul crowned with victory garlands, or wrapped in a shroud. That shroud now haunted his nights. The failures of Mustafa his brother, who had died the year before, taunted him. Mustafa, too, had been overcome by hubris, overtaking his deserved pride and leading him to end his days as a broken man. That’s it. That’s right. Better dead than broken. Ahmet remembered the origin of his promise. He feared death, but being broken on earth and sent to heaven was preferable to having one’s spirit broken, and one’s earth turned to hell.
Ahmet was determined, however, that the grounds of the mosque be grander than its chief resident. Mirror still pools of fresh water, tree-lined walkways, and adequate parkland, were to be encompassed by an outer perimeter wall. Then, ascending steps to a higher level and an inner courtyard, the entrance to the mosque and an imperial Ottoman baroque Çeşme fountain are to be enclosed within the inner coutyard, with colonnaded sides providing some shade or shelter from rain. Around the back, parralel to this courtyard, shall be the Martyr’s cemetary, devoted to those who fell in the Battle of March. They are all to be given marble tombstones, regardless of their social station, but the usual sculpted headgear will still distinguish the esteemed from the base. The tombstones are to be made to the height of their subject, to bring home the reality of their loss. Outside of the courtyard and gaveyard, however, is to be a great extent of parkland, woods, and pools of still clear water. The intention is to mirror paradise on earth, and to provide a place for the people of Bratislava and the surrounding districts to enjoy their life in a world made better by the suffering of those entombed within the graveyard nearby. The Ottoman tradition of picnicking in the grounds of Mosque complexes is to be encouraged in Bratislava, at the one Ottoman mosque in the country.
This atmosphere is to be further encouraged by the construction of a small rectilinear Church in the outer grounds of the outer courtyard. It is to be built following the pattern of a Roman basilica, and is to be of pious simplicity. The Church will be handed over to administration by Phanariot Greeks, so that Orthodox merchants will have a place to worship in Bratislava. The rest of the grounds and the mosque shall be governed by a charitable Vakif institution. This shall be open to participation from Ottomans and non-Ottomans alike, providing that they are Muslims. A small madrasa school and a soup kitchen are also set up in blocks of buildings to be constructed around the outer courtyard. All of this construction is outside of any existing town, and within the territory of Slovakia. The charitable foundation is to receive endowments from the Sultan, who shall favour it enough to make it a fashionable choice for the charity of old widows and wealthy merchants alike.
“Çok güzel, very beautiful,” Ahmet smiled. “But what of the Jews? I would hate for them to be left out.”
“Padishah, the Jews are already well established in Europe, and have their own residences, their own history. While a Ibadat Khana to rival that of past Mughals would be nice, there is simply no demand for it as there is for houses for Ottoman faiths,” stated Bonneval openly. He had been taking his new task seriously, ever since the Sultan had informed him of his new role training and advising Hungarian garrisons as he had previously trained and advised Janissaries.
“True, true, but there is more we must discuss. Have the higher Ulema been informed of our plans?”
“Yes, hunkarum...”
“And?...”
“There are a few eager to help, but they are almost all of the more eccentric kind. Those with a love of healing are naturally put off by becoming military advisers, when there is medicine to dispense in the cities... But, some are more curious than generous, and are eager to experiment. I am sure they are up to the task, but, to me, they seem like godless men.”
Ahmet laughed as the Frankish convert decried Muslim doctors for atheism. Then again, what had Mehmed Pasha once told him? ‘Do not trust those who have been turned, they never fully arrive, but can never return. They are shades.’ No, no, that wasn’t it. It must have been Seyit Ali. ‘These converts come for two reasons, and two reasons only: sensuality and spirituality. When they arrive they find us to be too temperate and too agnostic. They want sufi sheikhs on magic carpets, and divinations by opium, dusky maidens and unrepentent sex with a multitude of silk-veiled tempresses. When all we can offer them is to wash their feet before they pray, a cup of sherbert, and an obsessively monogomous nag, they will eventually become disillusioned.’
Perhaps Bonneval was of this second sort, Ahmet thought. The zeal of the convert had always bewildered him. Converts study with such ferocity as if they feel they are about to fail the Muslim test, when his own Turkish civil servants openly announced their lack of belief in any god, yet still marked themselves as Muslims by occasional attendance of Friday prayers.
In any case, the man was a capable educator of soldiers, and had a mind for drill and discipline. He would do well at putting steel into the defenders of Macaristan.
And so the Sultan continued. He worked with relentless energy on studying scouts’ reports, the lay of the land, the dispositions of enemy soldiers, the teachings of Bektashi guides, the plans for the Bratislava mosque, he even worked on his poems. All to avoid the terror that had possessed him of late. He had vowed to expel the infidels from the House of Peace, promising that he would return to Istanbul crowned with victory garlands, or wrapped in a shroud. That shroud now haunted his nights. The failures of Mustafa his brother, who had died the year before, taunted him. Mustafa, too, had been overcome by hubris, overtaking his deserved pride and leading him to end his days as a broken man. That’s it. That’s right. Better dead than broken. Ahmet remembered the origin of his promise. He feared death, but being broken on earth and sent to heaven was preferable to having one’s spirit broken, and one’s earth turned to hell.
