ark foliage and light green planes,
white minarets and dark cypress trees rise to the sky. Vines climb up
the mighty trunks and attach themselves to the branches, whence they
droop again to earth, while Caprifolium plants and thriving creepers
superimpose themselves on the vines. Nowhere have I seen such a wide
and thoroughly green landscape, except from the tower of Luebbenau,
overlooking the woods along the Spree. But here you have in addition
the richer vegetation and the glorious mountains which surround the
plain. The abundance of water is surprising; everywhere brooks are
rushing along and springs are gushing from the rocks, ice cold and
boiling hot, side by side. In every part of the city, even in the
mosques, water is bubbling from countless fountains.

As is the case with all Turkish cities, the beautiful picture vanishes
the moment you enter Brussa. The smallest German town surpasses
Constantinople, Adrianople, or Brussa in the charm of its buildings
and still more in comfort. Only the mosques and the _Hanns_, or
caravansaries, the fountains and public baths are magnificent. In the
earlier times of the Ottoman monarchy no ruler was permitted to build
a mosque before he had won a battle against the infidels. The mosques
in Brussa are smaller and less beautiful than those which were built
later, but they possess the added interest of historical memories.
There you find such names as Orchan, Suliman, Murad, in short, all the
heroes of the victorious period of Islam.

The mosque of Bajasid attracted me most because of its excellent
architecture. Bajasid is the man whom the Turks call Ilderim, or the
Lightning. The monument of the mighty conqueror, who himself was
conquered and died in a cage according to the legend, stands alone in
the shadow of mighty cypress trees. The largest of the mosques used to
be a Christian cathedral. It is lighted from above, the middle vault
having been left open. The beautiful Asiatic starry sky itself has
become its vault. The opening is covered with a wire screen, and below
it in a wide basin a fountain is playing.

I will not say that even the largest mosques, the Sultan Selim, for
instance, in Adrianople, or Sulamanich in Constantinople, make the
same impression or inspire the same reverence as St. Stephan's in
Vienna, or the cathedrals of Freiburg and Strassburg. But every
mosque, even the smallest, is beautiful. There is nothing more
picturesque than the semi-circular, lead-co