On the road to the Mevlévé Teké, which is outside the walls of Constantinople, beyond the famous Adrianople gate, is a strange looking fountain, perfect in its construction, but with no obtainable water. Few know the history of this fountain, which has never given water to man, beast, or bird; though the style of construction would lead one to conclude that the builder intended it to quench the thirst of all who pined for water on the dusty road.

The history of this deceptive fountain, which is known as "Hier-sis," was told me many years ago, by an old Turk. It runs as follows:

"Long, long ago, there lived in Constantinople a khoja, Sari Chismeli Mehmed Agha, whose learning was profound, and who had travelled far and wide in the Ottoman Empire. Contrary to the invariable practice of the Mohammedans, clergymen as well as laymen, this pious man neglected during his youth and his early manhood to get married. The result was that, at a late age, when he should have been thinking of the pleasures in store for him in another world, Sari Chismeli Mehmed Agha took unto himself a wife – a wife possessing youth and beauty and family connexions. The newly married pair did not harmonize however. Their ages differed. Their sentiments, aspirations, and aims in life pointed in opposite directions.

The khoja did all in his power to return his wife's affections, but the two drifted further apart every day, till, finally, they hardly ever spoke to one another, though they continued to live in the same house. The khoja, pious man, omitted not, however, to pray every day for the salvation of them both. Finally the khoja and his wife rarely even met one another. He was greatly occupied in the "Selamlik" (men's quarter) praying, teaching, and studying. She was just as occupied in her own portion of the house, the "Haremlik" (ladies' quarter) with her female relations and friends.

In this manner Ramazans and Baïrams came and went; but, beyond the prescribed salutation at the given hour, she did not intrude on him. The khoja could have taken another wife, but he refrained from doing so.

Finally, she became ill even unto death. The breath of Allah was on her and mortal man could not save her. This, she herself soon knew. She knew it by the great fever of the last thirst that will one day come to all. Realizing then, that the inevitable end was near, she implored the khoja to do her one last favour. She pined to be well thought of after she had passed away; she wished that the khoja whom she had so persistently ignored, should think well of her; she desired to do some deed of kindness to man, beast, or bird. She had missed her opportunities, while it was yet day, to do it herself; but she wished that others should do in her name something she had never done.

"Oh, khoja effendi!" said she – her tongue parched by the fever of death – "Oh, khoja effendi, the dust and beat of summer are so great that I feel for every man, bird, or beast that comes along this weary road. I feel their suffering in my own parched throat, in my own, alas! unquenchable thirst."

Poor creatures, indeed! Often had she looked at them, yet never had she seen that the men's lips were cracked with the sun's rays beating down on them, that the beasts' tongues hung out parched and painful, or that the birds panted with open beaks, their wings drooping from weakness.

"Certainly," said the wife, "I have been both good and kind; and, above all, khoja effendi, I have been faithful to you! Erect, then, in my name, a fountain, that my memory may remain, and that those who pass this way may bless my name, as I trust you, khoja effendi, will always bless me."

The pious khoja forgave her: he wished her no ill, but he wished her relief. Men should forgive, men should help even their enemies in that dread moment, and so the khoja promised to build a fountain in her name.

He built it, and it stands there to this day. The water was brought from a great distance in pipes most carefully laid; and the quality of the water was much appreciated by waterdrinkers, for it was water that would dissolve stone (Tash-delen). This name the Turks, for some reason or other, give to the best kind of drinking water. There was a marble fountain; there were taps and drinking goblets attached to chains, for the wayfarer. There was a drinking trough for beasts and cattle; and also, high on the fountain, places for the birds of the air to quench their thirst. But never a drop of water entered any of these receptacles.

The thirsty could hear the water rushing through the ground underneath the fountain, but the destination of this water was never discovered, and no thirst was ever quenched at that fountain. On the front of the fountain was engraven a few words about the khoja's wife to whom the fountain was dedicated. They had been written by the khoja; they were engraven under his direction; and they were to the following effect. "As she was in life, so is she in death, sterile. Her mission and object in life as well as the destination of her blessing were as unknown to man, beast, or bird as the destination of the water which flows under the fountain and which you so clearly hear. The refreshing sound of that water promises great comfort but does not fulfil that promise. It is the mirage seen by the caravan leader dying of thirst in the desert –the vision of oases and of houris bringing gourds of life-giving water."