The Street of the Dwarf’s Fountain is one of the most picturesque in Stamboul, wandering, as it does, through the venerable district of Şehzadebaşı. If we stroll along this ancient street we come across a fascinating variety of structures from different periods in the city’s past. The Street of the Dwarf’s Fountain begins in the square outside the Byzantine church of the Kyriotissa, whose origins go back as far as the sixth century. It then passes an old Turkish graveyard which centres around the tomb of a Turkish warrior-saint who was killed during the siege of Constantinople in 1453. The street then runs beside the Roman aqueduct of Valens, built in the second half of the fourth century. Under the lower arches of the aqueduct we see some of the most imaginative of those wooden shanties built by the folk-architects of Stamboul. One, a modern stylite, has even perched his shack high above the street in the former watercourse of the aqueduct itself. Another has built a veritable sliver of a shanty atop a tapering ruin – a house so narrow that the owner must needs sleep on his side, and if he has a fat wife she must seek shelter elsewhere. Walking along this wondrous street we pass in turn a ruined mosque, an abandoned medrese, or school of Islamic theology, a cat and dog hospital, and a coffin-maker’s shop, all standing side-by-side under the arches of the Roman aqueduct. Then finally we come to the wall-fountain after which the street is named. This fountain was constructed in 1590 by one Mehmet Ağa, a minor functionary in the court of Sultan Murat III. The inscription on the fountain reads: ‘The dwarf Mehmet Ağa, that lucky fellow of good fortune, has commissioned this fountain and made it flow for God’s sake.’ Nearby is the fountain of his colleague, Süleyman Ağa the Mute. The inscription here reads: ‘Süleyman Ağa, an esteemed person, the favourite mute of Sultan Murat, built this fountain for the good of others, and Sai the poet commemorated the date when its waters began to flow (AH994, or AD1586).’

The fountains of the Dwarf and the Mute are examples of the minor pious foundations which were established by well-off Osmanlis, for the good of their souls and the benefit of their fellow Stamboullus. The picturesque appearance of Şehzadebaşı. owes much to the various pious foundations with which the neighbourhood is richly endowed, many of them still serving the people of Stamboul as they have for centuries past. Perhaps the most beautiful of these is to be found on the Avenue of Dede Efendi, which intersects the Street of the Dwarf’s Fountain about midway along its course. This is the foundation of Damat İbrahim Paşa, built in the first half of the eighteenth century. This little complex consists only of a dar-ül-hadis, or school of tradition, now used as an eye-clinic, a small mosque, and the tomb of the founder, who is buried in the garden beside his school. Outside his graveyard the founder has left one additional benefaction for the people of Stamboul. This is a sebil, or enclosed water-fountain, which is set into the graveyard wall at the corner of the street. These sebils were once used to distribute water free to thirsty passers-by. Sebil means literally ‘way’ or ‘path’, and to construct a sebil was to build a path for oneself to paradise. These sebils were usually extremely attractive, with ornate gilded bronze grilles and carved and sculptured marble façades. The sebil of Damat İbrahim Paşa is semi-circular in form, with four windows framed in engaged marble columns and screened with gilded bronze grilles, all curving gracefully around the corner; it was a favourite with romantic etchers of the last century. The sebil was in service up until a generation ago, but now it is being used as a fruit seller’s stall. The colourful piles of apples and oranges artistically stacked on the marble steps of the sebil provide a striking contrast with the marble fruit and flowers in the baroque relief-work behind them. The effect would surely have delighted Damat İbrahim Paşa, the founder. İbrahim Paşa was the son-in-law (damat) of Sultan Ahmet III and served as his Grand Vezir from 1718 until 1730, those golden years of the Tulip Age, when the Sultan and his court patterned themselves on a garden of flowers. That delightful epoch ended on September 20th, 1730, when Sultan Ahmet was deposed by the Janissaries and İbrahim Paşa was strangled by the Chief Executioner. The beautiful sebil standing outside his tomb is a fitting monument to the chief minister of the Tulip King. Although his sebil no longer distributes free water, it still gratifies passers-by with its beauty. For that reason alone it should provide a path to paradise for its departed donor.

Fountains and sebils such as these are to be found by the hundreds in all parts of the city. In his Seyahatname Evliya lists scores of the most important street-fountains and sebil of his day, and nearly all of them are still in existence. None of the sebil are now functioning, but almost all of the fountains, or çeşme are still in use. For centuries these çeşme were the only source of water for the common people of Stamboul, and even now there are many sections of the city which still depend mainly upon them. They have probably been of more real service to Stamboullus than all of the other pious foundations taken together.

The fountains of Istanbul are totally different from those of Rome. Here there are no dramatic sculptured figures, no allegorical river gods and spouting cherubs, no elaborate cascades and pools. The fountains of Istanbul are simple and utilitarian, but nonetheless they are often quite beautiful. In their most basic form they consist of merely a niche set into a wall, with water flowing from a spout into a marble basin. The water-spout is set into a marble tablet called the mirror-stone, which is often decorated with floral or geometrical designs in low relief. The niche is usually framed in an arch and the façade of the surrounding wall is sheathed in marble which is decorated in the same design as is the mirror-stone. At the top of this façade there is always a calligraphic inscription giving the name of the donor and the date of construction. These inscriptions are often in the form of chronograms, where the numerical value of the Arabic letters gives the pertinent information. A typical example of such a chronogram can be seen on the fountain of Ahi Durmuş Baba near Beyazıt Square. The first part of the inscription informs us that the donor of the fountain was Ahi Durmuş Baba, who served as a water-carrier in the army of Sultan Beyazıt II. The chronogram appears in the last phrase of the inscription, which reads: ‘Heaven will be his place’. A clever Arabic scholar equipped with a slide rule can then compute the date of the construction as AH916, or AD1511. Many of these inscriptions are much more elaborate, containing references to the Four Fountains of Paradise and the pool Kevser into which they flow; the sacred well of Zemzem in Mecca, which the angel Gabriel opened for the wife of Abraham; the Fountain of Life, discovered by the fabulous Hızırilyas; or the battle of Kerbala, where Hüseyin and his companions died of thirst. An example of such an elaborate chronogram is the one which appears on the baroque fountain which stands in the Square of the White Moustache: ‘When the mother of Ali Paşa, Vezir in the reign of Sultan Mahmut I, quenched the thirst of the people with the pure and clear water of her charity, Riza of Beşiktaş, a Nakşibendi dervish, uttered the following epigram: “Come and drink the water of eternal life from this fountain”’ (AH1157, or AD1741). These chronograms became a favourite art form for Ottomam poets and they vied with one another in composing clever and original epigrams. The ideal chronogram, as far as they were concerned, would not only give the name of the donor and the date of the construction, but would also advertise the poetic talents of the composer. An example of this sort of epigram is found on the monumental street-fountain of Sultan Ahmet III. The inscription is by the celebrated poet Sayit Wehbi; in ornate golden letters he praises the fountain and compares its waters with those of the holy spring Zemzem and of the sacred selsebil of paradise. The inscription then ends with these modest lines: ‘Seyit Wehbi Efendi, the most distinguished among the word-wizards of the age, strung these pearls on the thread of his verse and joined together the two lines of the chronographic distich, like two sweet almonds, breast to breast: “With what a wall has Sultan Ahmet dammed the waters! For of astonishment stops the flood in the midst of its course”’ (AH1139, or AD1728). Other chronographers managed to do their job in true epigrammatic style without boasting or elaboration; as, for example, on the fountain of Semiz Ali Paşa. The chronogram on this fountain refers to the historic river Şatt al Arap, the confluence of the Tigris and the Euphrates. It reads: ‘The water of this fountain flows like the waters of Şatt. When Baghdad hears the sound its mouth waters!’ (AH965, or AD1558). One of my favourite inscriptions is the one which appears on a simple little fountain which stands in the market area near the Galata Bridge. It makes no pretence to wit or poetry, but gives only this common-sense admonition to those who make use of its waters: ‘Never quarrel nor argue with your neighbour over this water; let him take some and you some too!’

What is perhaps the oldest of all the street-fountains in Istanbul is to be found just outside the Belgrade Gate. This is the Kazlı Çeşme, or Goose Fountain, so named because it is decorated with the figure in low relief of a rather gay-looking, long-necked goose. The Goose Fountain, which gives its name to the surrounding neighbourhood, is believed to date back to the days of Byzantium. An inscription tells us that the fountain was restored in the year 1546 by a certain Mehmet Bey. This poetic inscription concludes with a cheery greeting from the benefactor: ‘Good health to friends who drink here!’

One of the loveliest street-fountains in Stamboul stands in the district of the White Moustache, a picturesque quarter rarely if ever visited by tourists, although it is just behind the Blue Mosque. The fountain stands in the village square and is the principal source of water for this impoverished but happy neighbourhood. Although it might seem just an ordinary çeşme, of the type seen all over town, this fountain is distinguished by its exceedingly beautiful decorations in low relief, all in the finest baroque style. The mirror-stone is decorated with the silhouettes of wind-bent cypresses; beside and above them are represented bowls of fruit and flowering plants, all framed in a frieze of intertwined vines. The beauty of the fountain is enhanced by the accidental artistry of two centuries of human use; the stone flowers highlighted by the soot of supper fires; the marble seats beside the fountain worn into familiar saddle shapes by generations of gossiping women; the hollow in the mirror-stone into which your hand fits when you stoop to take a drink. This fountain has been the focus of life in the square since the day it was built in the year 1745. For this is one of those fortunate Stamboul neighbourhoods which has not yet been ruined by progress. And although it is inconvenient not to have running water in the house, the fountain in the square compensates for it, serving as a laundry and ladies’ forum, children’s bath, restaurant-sink, horse-trough and ablution fountain. One must sit for a few hours in one of the cafés on the square to appreciate how vital is this fountain to the life of the quarter; to see the children who stop there to drink during their games in the square; the women who chat there while waiting for their water-jars to fill; the exhausted pedlars who cool themselves under the water-tap and then sit back with their wet heads resting against the baroque vine-leaves and count the pitiful handful of coins which they have earned in their long day’s labour. When we sit in the square, sipping our rakı, we think about all the timeless activities nourished by this old fountain. We consider, too, the countless other ways in which this old town has managed to retain some of the rich and humane qualities which have been lost in modern cities. We were talking of these things one afternoon, in the Square of the White Moustache, when we noticed a young girl standing beside the fountain. She had paused for a moment to speak to a friend and stood there with one hand on her hip and the other curving in a graceful bow to hold the amphora she was bearing on her shoulder, in the archaic posture reminiscent of an Attic frieze – classic beauty at the well, here in rough old Stamboul.