Column of Constantine

Listen first. A tram bell rings along the avenue. Shoes scuff on worn paving stones, and a simit seller calls out from a corner. Then look up. A tall column of dark, reddish-purple stone rises from the traffic. It is wrapped in thick metal bands, like a barrel held together by hoops. Pigeons rest on its ledges. Most people walk past it on the way to the Grand Bazaar. For a few minutes, let's stop and stand here instead.

This is the Column of Constantine. In Turkish it is called Çemberlitaş, which means roughly "the hooped stone." The name comes from those metal rings you can see. The tram stop, the square and the old Turkish bath nearby all carry the same name. So for centuries, the people of this city have described the column by its repairs. They did not name it after the emperor who raised it. That small detail says a lot about how long it has stood here.

Now go back to the year 330. The Roman emperor Constantine the Great has chosen an old Greek town called Byzantium as his new capital. He rebuilds it on a grand scale, and he gives it a new name: Constantinople. To mark its dedication, he raises this column. It is one of the oldest Roman monuments still standing in Istanbul. For context, it is about two centuries older than the Hagia Sophia that stands today, which you can reach in a few minutes on foot.

Look closely at the stone. It is porphyry, a hard volcanic rock with a deep purple colour. In the Roman world this colour belonged to emperors. The stone came from quarries in the desert of Egypt and was very difficult to cut and to move. The column is made of large drums of porphyry stacked one on top of another. Choosing this stone was a political message. It told everyone that this place belonged to imperial power.

Today the column stands in a narrow plaza with shops and traffic around it. In Constantine's time, the setting was very different. The column stood at the centre of the Forum of Constantine, a large oval public square lined with colonnades and statues. The city's main ceremonial street, known as the Mese, or "Middle Street," ran through it. The modern avenue beside you, Divanyolu, follows much of that old route. So the tram line still runs where emperors once rode in processions.

Here is the first surprise. On top of the column there once stood a bronze statue. According to ancient and medieval writers, it showed Constantine in the form of Apollo, the sun god, with a crown of rays around his head. This was a mix of old pagan imagery and a new imperial city. Constantine supported Christianity, but his monument also borrowed the language of the sun god. Historians still discuss what he meant by this. The statue itself is long gone.

The statue survived for centuries. In the early twelfth century, a strong storm brought it down. The emperor Manuel the First Komnenos later placed a cross on the top, and he left an inscription in his own name. So the column changed meaning over time. First it honoured a Roman emperor as a sun-like figure. Later it carried the main symbol of Byzantine Christianity. Today the top is empty, and the column has no statue and no cross.

Now for the stories that are told about the column. You should treat these as legends, not as proven history. Medieval tradition says that Constantine buried sacred objects beneath its base. One popular tale says the Palladium is there. This was an ancient wooden statue of the goddess Athena that was believed to protect Troy and later Rome. Other versions mention Christian relics, such as the remains of the loaves from Christ's miracle. No one has proven any of this.

The column's survival has not been easy. This city sits in an earthquake zone, and it has suffered many great fires. In the late eighteenth century, a major fire swept through this district. The intense heat damaged the porphyry. After that, the Ottoman authorities strengthened the base with heavy masonry and tightened the metal hoops around the drums. The column you see today is partly ancient and partly the result of repairs. That mix is part of its story.

Here is the second surprise. The street level today is much higher than it was in Constantine's time. Over sixteen centuries, rubble, ash and new buildings slowly raised the ground of the city. So part of the original base is now below the pavement. When you stand here, you are standing well above the Roman forum. The column was even taller in relation to the people who walked around it in the fourth century.

Walk slowly around the base. On one side the stone looks smooth and dark. On another side you can see cracks and burn marks, and parts look rougher, almost scorched. The metal bands are not all the same, because different repairs were made at different times. Look at where the porphyry meets the masonry below. That line marks the meeting point of Roman stone and later Ottoman repairs. You can read the history of the column in these changes of material.

Before you leave, look at what surrounds you. A short walk away is a Turkish bath, the Çemberlitaş Hamam, which has been in use since the sixteenth century. Nearby, the domes and minarets of the Nuruosmaniye Mosque rise above the rooftops, and its courtyard leads toward the Grand Bazaar. Shopkeepers stand in doorways and students hurry past to class. Tea glasses clink on small trays. The forum is gone, but this place is still busy, as it was in Roman times.

So take one more look up at the hooped stone. It was raised to mark the birth of a capital. It has outlasted the empire that built it and the empire that followed. It has also survived storms, fires and earthquakes. Now it stands among tram wires and shop signs. Notice the purple stone against the sky as you walk on. This is the same stone that people in this city have looked at for about sixteen centuries.