Hagia Irene is the only monumental church of Constantinople that never became a mosque, and it stands inside the outer courtyard of Topkapı Palace. Inside, the first thing you feel is the bareness: brick, worn marble, no gold, no crowd. In the half-dome of the apse there is no Madonna and no Christ, only a stark black mosaic cross on a field of gold. Beneath it rise the stone tiers where clergy once sat, a survival found nowhere else in the city.
A church stood here before Hagia Sophia was finished, and in 381 bishops gathered in that earlier building for the council that gave the Christian creed its lasting form. It burned in the Nika riots of 532, was rebuilt under Justinian, then raised again after an earthquake two centuries later. When the Ottomans took the city they walled it into the palace courtyard and used it as an armoury, so no minaret ever rose over it and its cross was never taken down. No congregation has prayed here for centuries; the deep, slow acoustics now serve concerts and exhibitions.