Laleli Mosque

Listen for a moment. Trams rattle along the avenue below, and shopkeepers call out over rolls of fabric and stacked cardboard boxes. Then you climb a flight of steps, and the noise drops away. The stone underfoot is cool and smooth. Above you, a grey lead dome sits on a raised terrace, lifted clear of the traffic. This is Laleli Mosque, in the Fatih district of Istanbul. It is one of the most interesting buildings of eighteenth-century Ottoman architecture.

The mosque was commissioned by Sultan Mustafa III, who ruled the Ottoman Empire in the middle of the eighteenth century. Work began around 1760 and finished a few years later. The architect usually credited is Mehmed Tahir Agha, a leading court builder of the period. By then the empire was looking west as well as east. Ideas from European art had begun to travel into Istanbul through trade, diplomacy, and printed books. This building shows that change in stone.

Historians call this style Ottoman Baroque. Baroque is the European style of curves, rich ornament, and dramatic movement, famous in the churches and palaces of Italy and France. Ottoman builders did not copy it directly. They took the curves, the scrolls, and the playful outlines, and they set them on the classical Ottoman plan of a domed prayer hall with a courtyard in front. The result feels familiar and new at the same time.

Now here is the first surprise. Look at the base of the terrace you just climbed. The mosque does not sit on solid ground. It stands on a raised platform with vaulted rooms underneath. Those lower spaces were designed as shops, and the rent from them helped pay for the mosque. Commerce below, prayer above. Few visitors notice this. Most people walk straight past the shops without realising they are standing under a mosque.

The name Laleli means, roughly, "with tulips" in Turkish. You might expect a story about tulip gardens. The tulip was indeed a beloved symbol in Ottoman culture. But the usual explanation is different. According to local tradition, a Sufi holy man known as Laleli Baba lived in this area long before the mosque was built. Sufis are the mystical branch of Islam, known for poetry and devotion. The neighbourhood, and later the mosque, carried his name.

Walk into the courtyard. It is surrounded by a covered arcade, a row of arches topped with small domes. In the centre stands a fountain for ritual washing before prayer. Look closely at the arches and window frames. The lines are softer than in older Ottoman mosques. Some arches curve in gentle waves, and the carved details have the rolling, leafy shapes that belong to the Baroque taste.

Above the courtyard rise a pair of slender minarets, the towers from which the call to prayer is sung. Five times a day, that call still drifts over this busy quarter. If you are here at prayer time, notice how the street sounds change. Some shopkeepers pause. Others keep working. The rhythm of the neighbourhood folds around the voice from the tower, as it has for more than two centuries.

Step inside, if the hall is open to visitors, and take off your shoes at the door. The second surprise is colour — but not from tiles. Earlier imperial mosques in Istanbul are known for their painted blue tiles from the town of Iznik. Here, the decoration relies much more on coloured marble and stone. Look for panels in yellow, red, and other warm tones, set into the walls and the prayer niche. The effect is richer and heavier, like polished jewellery.

The prayer niche, called the mihrab, points toward Mecca. Beside it stands the minbar, the tall stepped pulpit used for the Friday sermon. Notice the light, too. Rows of windows run around the hall and up into the base of the dome. On a sunny day, the light falls in soft bands across the carpet. The space feels compact and bright, more intimate than the giant mosques on the city's hills.

The building has not had an easy life. Istanbul is a city of earthquakes and fires, and this mosque suffered from both. A serious fire in the late eighteenth century damaged it badly, and it was repaired soon afterwards. Further restorations followed over the years. So what you see today is a mixture of original work and careful repair. The stone shows these layers if you look at changes in colour and texture.

Near the mosque stands the tomb of its founder, Sultan Mustafa III. His son, Sultan Selim III, is also buried here. Selim is remembered as a reforming ruler who tried to modernise the army and the state, and who paid for that ambition with his life. The tomb is a quiet place. People sometimes stop at the window to say a short prayer. It is a reminder that this was a family foundation as well as a public one.

Now look outward, toward the streets around the terrace. Laleli today is one of the city's great wholesale clothing districts. Since the 1990s, traders from Eastern Europe, Russia, Central Asia, and beyond have come here to buy goods in bulk. You will hear many languages on these pavements. Signs appear in Cyrillic letters as well as Turkish. In a way, the sultan's plan still works. Trade still flows beneath and around the house of prayer.

The mosque also sits on one of the oldest routes in the city. The avenue below follows, in part, the line of a main road from Byzantine times, when Istanbul was called Constantinople. The Grand Bazaar and Istanbul University are a short walk away. So this hill has carried merchants, soldiers, students, and pilgrims for many centuries. The mosque is one layer on top of many others.

Before you leave, stand at the edge of the terrace for a minute. Behind you, the dome and minarets hold their calm, curving lines. In front of you, the trams pass, the boxes move, and the bargaining goes on. As you walk down the steps, glance back at the vaulted shops under your feet. You are walking through the same mix of faith and trade that the builders planned... and the city is still using it every day.