Dolmabahce Palace: The Ottomans Try On the Architectural Costume of Europe

In Topkapi Palace we can read the essential identity of the Ottoman Sultans as it existed for most of the Empire's duration. It is inward-oriented, with plain, simple lines and modest exteriors, interior courtyards, and infused with geometric designs both inside (in the use of decorative tiles) and outside (in the lines and shapes of buildings). It is hierarchical in its organization of increasingly private and elite spaces. Dolmabahce turns away from this aesthetic to embrace the Western European vocabulary of palace architecture.

Built at a time when the Ottoman Empire was in a state of extreme flux, with territories moving out of its direct influence in an ongoing game of geopolitical moves involving Western European, Russian, and British powers as well as independence movements both within and just outside its (shifting) borders, the Dolmabahce Palace was a statement about the Sultan’s engagement with Europe. From the outside it could be mistaken for a French chateau with its formal, symmetrical gardens, elaborate baroque architectural ornamentation, and outward-oriented display

This outward-turning display is typical of the 18^th-19^th century, during  which lives both elite and ordinary were lived more in the public sphere. Socializing moved from exclusively within the home to public Coffee Houses. Inner courtyards gave way to ornate frontal faces and portals. Tombstones were inscribed with detailed accounts of the life of the person buried within. Public fountains displayed poetry that had formerly reserved for private reading. In keeping with this aesthetic, Dolmabahce is situated on the Bosphorus and has a gate and pier that connect directly to the water. Many large windows provide views of the Bosphorus and the surrounding garden.

Dolmabahce claims European taste as a source of legitimacy—in contrast to Topkapi’s adherence to traditional architectural traditions emphasizing a hierarchy of privacy, outward simplicity, and inward complexity of ornamentation.

On the outside, the Sultan’s Tughra is the only clear sign of Ottoman identity. Indoors, that identity is much stronger, as one sees from the provision of carved lattice-work screens for the women of the Harem and the rooms and corridors themselves that are for the Harem.  The Sultan’s aspirations for grandeur are evident in the size of his Ceremonial Hall, which is the largest in Europe. Likewise, the immense crystal chandelier is the largest in Europe.

I am wondering why this Palace struck me as essentially heavy, even clumsy in its use of European architectural tropes. I compare it with Fontainbleau, which I remember as being as densely ornamented as Dolmabahce. However, unlike Dolmabahce, the effect of Fontainbleau is exuberant, frothy, elegant—like a wedding cake that could dissolve into soap bubbles in a moment. Is it the preponderance of brown hues in Dolmabahce that makes it seem so different from this? Has it perhaps not been as well restored? (it is still used for ceremonial occasions, and the carpets are not the originals.) Have the preceding weeks of looking at the grand simplicity of Sinan’s mosques changed my eyes?

The Ottoman state became bankrupt only 20 years after the completion of Dolmabahce. It was not Dolmabahce alone that bankrupted the treasury, but it seems emblematic that this palace demonstrates a radical separation from the aesthetic legacy of Sinan.