In 1824, Lord George Gordon Byron died in what is now the Greek town of Missolonghi. At the time, it and the surrounding area were being fought over in the Greek War of Independence, and Byron had come there to support the Greeks in this struggle. Rather than a heroic death in battle, though, a fever caught in the insalubrious environment killed him. With his death at the age of only 36, he was the last of the second generation of English Romantic poets, following John Keats and Percy Bysshe Shelley, who all died young in the Mediterranean region, outlived by once radical poets of William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge from the first generation of Romantics who had by then had safely and securely settled into their middle-aged conservatism.

Since he had traveled east in 1823 to fight the Ottomans and as he remains today honored by the Greeks for whom he took up arms – Vyron, the Greek form of Byron, is still a popular male name in Greece today – it might be imagined that Byron is what the Turks call "a Türk düşmanı," a term that can be rendered into English as Turcophobe.

Thus for his 1810 trip, it might be wondered whether, for the sixth in this series of famous travelers to Türkiye, Byron is to be the first representative who disliked the country. As far as Istanbul goes, the answer is a qualified yes. Of course, there is undoubtedly no strong reason why a series on travelers to Türkiye or any other country should only contain people who find the place agreeable. Yet Byron is not included here as the first "Türk düşmanı" of the series. The general attitude of Byron toward Turks and Türkiye is, as shall be seen, a positive one.

Indeed, Byron’s indubitable Hellenophilia does not mean he was, or ought to have been, anti-Turkish, for there is no compelling reason why a foreign traveler should assume the traditional enmities of places they like. For a visitor to this region, a fondness for Türkiye or Greece need not be mutually exclusive any more than it would be expected that an Ottoman visitor to England in Byron’s time need take on a hatred of France.

Byron and the Albanians

Byron came to Türkiye in 1810 as part of a much longer journey through the Mediterranean. By the time he reached what were then Ottoman domains in the eastern part of this vast region, he had already undergone numerous exploratory and romantic adventures in Portugal, Spain and Malta. However, his first proper encounter with Ottoman culture was in the domain of Ali Pasha in Epirus and Albania. It is the key to understanding Byron’s attitude toward Turks and Türkiye. In a letter, Byron relates to his mother that when he first arrived in Yanina, today spelled Ioannina, Ali Pasha’s capital, the governor was absent on campaign. Nevertheless:

"He had heard that an Englishman of rank was in his dominions and had left orders in Yanina with a commandant to provide a house and supply me with every kind of necessary gratis; and, though I have been allowed to make presents to the slaves etc., I have not been permitted to pay for a single article of household consumption."

This traditional hospitality deeply touched him. Then when he finally met Ali Pasha, having traveled further north to do so, he relates that he "told me to consider him as a father while I was in Türkiye and said he looked on me as his son." Indeed, he enthuses Ali Pasha, claiming that "he is considered a man of the first abilities" and that "he is one of the most powerful men in the Ottoman empire."

This admiration for Ali Pasha came to encompass the Albanian people in general. In his autobiographical poem "Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage," published in 1812, not long after his return to England, Byron compares Albanian hospitality favorably with that of his native country. Uncorrupted by modern civilization, Ali Pasha and the Albanians appeal to Byron’s Romantic sensibilities. He avers that:

"Fierce are Albania’s children, yet they lack

Not virtues were those virtues more mature.

Where is the foe that ever saw their back?

Who can so well the toil of war endure?

Their native fastnesses are not more secure

Then they, in an uncertain time of troublous need:

Their wrath, how deadly! but their friendship sure,

When Gratitude or Valour bids them bleed,

Unshaken rushing on where’er their chief may lead."

He is also thrilled to see the Albanians dance, being in "gaping wonderment" to watch "the native revels" as "bounding hand in hand, the man linked to man, Yelling their uncouth dirge, long danced the kirtled clan." For Byron, this way of life is superior to what he sees as a hypocritical system of manners and formalized dancing back home in high society.

'Turk' to 19th-century Englishman

Whether or not there is any traveler today who is passionate about the Albanians on the one hand and a staunch Turcophobe on the other, such a person is at least technically conceivable. In Byron’s time, though, this could not have been the case. This is because Byron and his contemporaries did not understand the term "Turk" as what is understood today. The word then carried more the meaning of "Muslim," at least a Muslim of the Ottoman Empire, as of an ethnicity. For instance, the expression "to turn Turk" did not mean to take Turkish nationality, but rather it meant to convert to Islam.

As such, the Albanians themselves would also have been deemed Turks. That Bryon certainly saw the Muslim Albanians as Turks are clear from a letter stating, "I like the Albanians much; they are not all Turks; some tribes are Christians." Hence, for Byron, while Ali Pasha was an Albanian, he was also a Turk. In expressing his regard for him and his Albanians, Byron could not have distinguished them in any meaningful sense from the empire’s Turkish or other Muslim peoples. As shall be seen, what differed Ali Pasha for Byron from the ruling class in Istanbul was not ethnicity or religious culture, but rather what he saw as the less refined and more forthright nature of their more local culture combined with the way he felt he was treated in the different settings. With its high court culture, Istanbul would be an uncomfortable setting for Byron’s fragile ego, which had been invigorated in the more primitive conditions existing on the Epirote coast.

Byron is a compassionate individual who is quick to take offense. The reason for this is sure to be found in his highly unusual childhood. In character, he closely resembles Wilhelm II, and he, too, was born with a physical disability. In Byron’s case, it was his foot. This remained a fixation with Byron, who constantly sought to compensate for it by attempting actions to surpass others.

Additionally, his upbringing included the early loss of a dissolute father and a demanding yet tricky mother. Along with his unexpected ennoblement, all these factors heightened his sense of differentness and, thus, his touchiness, and also bred in him an inclination to cynicism. Like Wilhelm II, he was fine when at the center of attention but could not abide feeling peripheral or slighted. This explains his numerous love affairs, and if it is borne in mind when looking at his trip to Türkiye, the trip itself will make far more sense.

On the Aegean Coast of today’s Türkiye

Ephesus was one of the first places in what is now the Turkish republic to be visited by Byron. Unlike Hadrian, it was not a particularly enlightening experience for Byron, as the city had passed through many centuries of decay since Roman times. Like many other travelers in this series, Byron also visited the straits at Çanakkale. For his most famous feat there, it was not Homer as with Schliemann, but rather a more romantic ancient tale that he was inspired by. Legend tells of Leander, a young man from the Asian city of Abydos, who would swim across the strait nightly to see his beloved Hero in European Sestus, where she was Aphrodite’s priestess. One night, however, he failed to complete the crossing, and his lifeless body was washed up on the coast. Hero, in her grief, leaped to her watery death. Byron, at this site, felt the need to prove himself by copying Leander. The crossing took him one hour and ten minutes to achieve. Byron cynically reveals that:

"I swam from Sestos to Abydos. The direct distance is not above a mile, but the current render it hazardous; – so much so that I doubt whether Leander’s conjugal affection must not have been a little chilled in his passage to Paradise."

Six days later, he composed the following poem imbued with the same cynicism entitled "Written after Swimming from Sestos to Abydos":

"If, in the month of dark December,

Leander, who was nightly, won’t

(What maid will not the tale remember?)

To cross the stream, broad Hellespont!

If, when the wintry tempest roared,

He sped to Hero, nothing loth,

And thus of old thy current pour,

Fair Venus! How I pity both!

For me, degenerate modern wretch,

Though in the genial month of May,

My dripping limbs, I faintly stretch,

And I think I’ve done a feat today.

But since he crossed the rapid tide,

According to the doubtful story,

To woo, – and – Lord knows what beside,

And swam for Love, as I for Glory;

’ Twere hard to say who fared the best:

Sad mortals! Thus the Gods still plague you!

He lost his labor, I my jest:

For he was drowned, and I have the ague."

Byron in Istanbul

From the strait, Byron headed on to Istanbul, but as has already been implied, he did not come to care for it very much. During his two-month stay in this significant capital, he was only one among several well-born locals and foreigners. In addition, he took part in an ambassadorial visit to the palace, which was a far grander marvel than that of Ali Pasha. Yet, his biographer Leslie A. Marchand concludes that the reason it "failed to touch" Byron "in the same way" is "because he was only one of a crowd and not the principle actor."

Indeed, Byron had unreasonably expected to be honored on a par with the British ambassador himself, regardless of the official status of the latter. On being informed of his inferior standing, Byron went into a mood lasting for three days. Similarly, Byron wanted protocol to be upended so he could have an audience alone with the sultan. While this was a ridiculous desire, it is worth comparing Byron again with Wilhelm II. Had the kaiser not been given an enthusiastic welcome in Istanbul that his fragile ego required, it is unlikely that he would have become such a Turcophile. Byron and Wilhelm are men for whom internal need determines their attitude to the outer world.

Yet, Byron’s moodiness and caprice did not completely blind him to the city’s beauty. As well as visiting the place Mary Montagu had lived, Byron saw and was awestruck by the remains of the city walls, which stretch from the fortress of Yedikule, meaning "the Seven Towers," by the Marmara Sea to the Golden Horn, with their ruined condition adding to their romantic luster. He declares that: "I have seen the ruins of Athens, of Ephesus, and Delphi. I have traversed a great part of Turkey and many other parts of Europe and some of Asia, but I never beheld a work of nature or art that yielded an impression like the prospect on each side from the Seven Towers to the end of the Golden Horn."

Then, as now, though undoubtedly much narrower and less crowded with traffic, a road ran along the length of the walls on the western side. On the other side of this road were graveyards, such as the one at Edirnekapı, which still exist today. In the West, cemeteries are often associated with fear and terror, but Byron saw the graveyards of Istanbul for what they undoubtedly are – places of peace and repose. He stated that "Turkish burying grounds" are "the loveliest spots on earth" being "full of enormous cypresses." Those who have visited Turkish graveyards might agree with Byron on this point. I know that I do.

As for the people of Istanbul, he speaks positively of them, describing them as "inoffensive and kind." Indeed, he manifests a kind of evolution in the peoples’ character from one end of the Mediterranean world to the other. In a letter to his mother, he avers that "the principle Greeks" of the Peloponnese "and Livadia" are "inferior to the Turks." However, they "are better than the Spaniards, who, in their turn, excel the Portuguese." He said, "I like the Greeks, who are plausible rascals – with all the Turkish vices, without their courage." These inexplicable evaluations of Byron as a Turcophobic Hellenophile.

Byron 'On the Turks'

Byron also supplied his poem "Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage" with notes, and there is one note which reveals, in the final analysis, Byron’s feelings toward Türkiye and the Turks. In it, he once again expresses the difference he sees between the high culture of Istanbul with the more natural simplicity of the provinces, in which he avers "there does not exist a more honorable, friendly, and high-spirited character than the true Turkish provincial Aga."

Also, he is humble enough to admit that, despite his extensive travels, he has insufficient experience with the Turks to have formed a complete picture of them. Thus, he does not feel qualified to speak authoritatively about them. Yet, he declares:

"If it is difficult to pronounce what they are, we can at least say what they are not: they are not treacherous, they are not cowardly, they do not burn heretics, they are not assassins, nor has an enemy advanced to their capital. On the contrary, they are faithful to their Sultan till he becomes unfit to govern and devout to their God without an inquisition."

He also does reveal positive aspects of Turkish manners and culture. One is their financial honesty. He states, "in all money transactions with the Moslems, I ever found the strictest honor, the highest disinterestedness." Moreover, he finds them to be generous gift-givers. He is also impressed by the Turkish education system and even affirms that the method of religious toleration in the Ottoman Empire is slightly superior to that of Great Britain.

To interpret his views as the deprecations of a Turcophobe takes a hermeneutical skill that far surpasses mine. I read them straightforwardly for the praise that they indeed are.