In the heart of Edirne – once the thriving capital of the Ottoman Empire – the Selimiye Mosque rises majestically above the city, its soaring dome and pencil-thin minarets defining the skyline. As UNESCO notes, the mosque “dominates the skyline of Edirne, former capital of the Ottoman Empire”. From afar one sees not just a single building, but an entire külliye – a self-contained complex of religious, educational, and charitable buildings – arranged around a central courtyard. This ensemble was conceived as a harmonious whole: UNESCO describes it as “the most harmonious expression of the Ottoman külliye”, uniting mosque, madrasas, a covered bazaar and fountain in a single architectural vision. The effect is breathtaking: a great stone “cathedral of Islam” whose vast dome seems almost to float in the sky, flanked by four identical, 71‑meter-high minarets that frame the heavens. Local guides and scholars alike call it Sinan’s crowning achievement – indeed, the architect himself regarded Selimiye as “his most important architectural work”.
The history behind this monument is entwined with the empire’s golden age. Sultan Selim II (r. 1566–1574), son of Suleiman the Magnificent, commissioned the mosque at the height of Ottoman power. He chose Edirne – not Istanbul – for reasons that historians still debate, but it is clear he had a special affection for the city (he had served as its governor in the 1550s). Charged with the task was Mimar Sinan, the imperial architect. The result, built between 1568 and 1575, was a structure of unprecedented scale and sophistication. Not coincidentally, the mosque’s construction overlapped with the conquest of Cyprus (1571), which provided much of the financial means; it was literally paid for with the empire’s spoils. When it was completed, contemporaries and later observers alike agreed: nothing like Selimiye had ever been seen. In Sinan’s own words (recorded in the 17th‑century Tezkiretü’l-Bünyan), he boasted that he had erected “a dome six cubits higher and four cubits wider than the dome of Hagia Sophia”. Modern measurements show the Selimiye dome is about 31.3 meters across and roughly 42 meters high – almost the same diameter as Hagia Sophia’s, but uniquely supported on eight massive piers that create an unbroken central hall.
By the early 20th century, Selimiye’s fame had spread beyond the Ottoman world. Today it is recognized not just as Turkey’s, but as one of the world’s great monuments of Islamic art. In 2011 UNESCO inscribed “Selimiye Mosque and its Social Complex” on the World Heritage List, lauding it as “the ultimate architectural expression by [Sinan] of the Ottoman külliye” and “a masterpiece of the human creative genius”. The nominating documents emphasize the mosque’s vast dome, its luminous interior, the fineness of its stone and tile work, and the unity of the whole complex. In sum, Selimiye stands today as a testament to an empire’s zenith and the genius of its chief architect – an edifice of such soaring elegance that every stone seems placed with an eye to eternity.
While the Selimiye Mosque itself is the star attraction, it was conceived as the center of a larger külliye – an Ottoman mosque complex that served religious, educational, and social functions. In practical terms, this means that surrounding the main prayer hall one finds schools (madrasas), a covered market (arasta), a fountain for ablutions (şadırvan), and other charitable buildings. From the outside, these ancillary structures are arranged around a walled courtyard roughly 130 by 190 meters in size. Two large madrasas occupy opposite corners: the Dar’ül Kurra (Quran recital school) and Dar’ül Hadis (Prophetic traditions school). Each madrasa is built around its own square courtyard and features rows of small domed study cells and a larger domed classroom.
Although today these medrese buildings serve as museums (one now houses the Selimiye Foundation Museum with religious artifacts), their original purpose – and the fact they enclose a peaceful, cloistered courtyard – still imbues the site with an atmosphere of learning and reflection. In Ottoman times the külliye also included a primary school (sıbyan mektebi), a library, and charitable endowments. A vaulted arasta – a bazaar of shops – runs along one side, where silk and textiles might once have been traded. In short, the Selimiye külliye was designed to be a “city within a city” – a self-sufficient community serviced by the mosque at its heart. This holistic planning reflects the Ottoman belief that spiritual life is inseparable from public welfare. The Selimiye complex exemplifies this ideal more completely than almost any other, which is why UNESCO calls it “the most harmonious expression ever achieved of the külliye”.
From both a humanistic and historical perspective, Selimiye embodies a pivotal moment. It was built at the apex of 16th‑century Ottoman power – on the eve of the empire’s greatest territorial extent. As the French scholar Jean-Claude Hubert wrote, Sinan’s works “mark the heart” of the classical Ottoman period, and Selimiye in particular represents the “culmination” of his life’s labors. Sinan himself was in his eighties when he conceived Selimiye, and no architect since could rival his prestige. He had already built stupendous mosques in Istanbul (like the Şehzade and Süleymaniye), and now he poured all his mastery into this final shrine for the patron he served. Critics have long noted that Selimiye was Sinan’s opportunity to surpass both his own earlier works and the Byzantine dome of Hagia Sophia, a challenge he apparently embraced. The result is both technically brilliant – pushing the limits of what was structurally possible in brick and mortar – and spiritually resonant: soaring spaces, diffused light through hundreds of windows, rich marble and tile surfaces that lift the eye and mind alike.
Viewed within the sweep of history, then, Selimiye Mosque is both a product and a symbol of an era. It is a product in the sense that it literally used the empire’s vast resources – silver from Cyprus, skilled artisans from Iznik, the backing of the sultan – to build something unprecedented. It is a symbol in that its very presence proclaims the worldview of 16th‑century Ottoman Islam: grand, outward-looking, and confident of its destiny. Walking into Selimiye today, one cannot help but feel that space has been consecrated not just by faith but by human ambition at its highest. With this understanding – of patrons and architects, of history and design – we can better appreciate the mosque’s details and its aura.
Before proceeding further, it is important to address a common confusion among travelers and readers: Selimiye Mosque, Edirne is not the same as Selimiye Mosque, Nicosia (Cyprus). Both share a name, but they are entirely different monuments in different countries. The Nicosia mosque (in Northern Cyprus) was originally the Cathedral of Saint Sophia under Lusignan and Venetian rule, only later converted to a mosque and renamed Selimiye. By contrast, the Edirne mosque was built from the ground up as an Ottoman imperial mosque in the 16th century. In brief, our focus here is only the Edirne complex. (For the curious: despite its name, Sultan Selim II is actually not buried here; according to Ottoman custom he was interred in Istanbul’s Hagia Sophia instead.) This article will therefore center exclusively on the one in Edirne, Turkey – a soaring symbol of Ottoman ambition and Sinan’s genius – and will not cover the Nicosia monument beyond this clarification.
Selimiye Mosque owes its existence to Sultan Selim II, the Ottoman ruler from 1566 to 1574. Though sometimes overshadowed in memory by his father, Suleiman the Magnificent, Selim played a crucial role in the empire’s story. From his youth he had a close connection to Edirne – he served as its governor for a brief period (1548–1550) and thereafter visited it often. When Selim ascended the throne after Suleiman’s death, he opted to honor Edirne, rather than Istanbul, by building his grand new mosque there. Historians suggest multiple motivations: a personal fondness for the city, a desire to stimulate its importance, and perhaps a practical acknowledgement that he had no major military victory to commemorate (a customary pretext for a sultan to build a mosque in Istanbul). Whatever the mix of reasons, in 1568 Selim II made his intention clear: he would commission a new imperial mosque on the hill above Edirne’s older Selimiye (also called Old Mosque).
Construction began later that year (AH 976) and would continue until 1574–75 (AH 982). The project was lavishly funded by war booty – notably silver plundered from the Venetian-held island of Cyprus in 1571. By one account, Selim II was determined to surpass even the most magnificent structures of his predecessors. According to the Ottoman chronicler Saʿi Mustafa Çelebi, Sinan reported to Selim after the dome was completed: “In this mosque… I [have] erected a dome six cubits higher and four cubits wider than the dome of Hagia Sophia.”. In other words, Selim II effectively invited direct comparison with Justinian’s great church of Byzantium, staking a claim that his new mosque would equal or exceed it.
Selim II himself did not live to see the fully finished mosque. He died in November 1574, shortly before the final touches were applied; legend has it that he fell ill en route to Edirne and expired, never entering the completed prayer hall. (Indeed, Sinan reportedly had a special, domed tomb planned for Selim in Edirne, but Ottoman tradition instead led to Selim’s burial in Hagia Sophia in Istanbul.) Yet Selim’s legacy stands in the stones and tiles of Selimiye. The mosque’s very name, “Selimiye,” commemorates him. Sultan Selim II’s decision to build here – and his support for Sinan – transformed Edirne’s skyline forever.
In many ways, Selim II’s life and reign marked a turning point in Ottoman history. He was Suleiman’s only surviving son, and his accession continued the dynasty’s line. Yet Selim’s background differed from that of some other sultans. His rule began during the grandest military phase (especially after Cyprus), but by the late 1570s the empire would gradually enter a more defensive age. Within this context, Selim’s building campaign in Edirne can be seen as both a continuation of his father’s legacy and a unique personal statement. He was not a warrior sultan – contemporary scholars noted that he had not led a victorious campaign at the time he wanted to build his own mosque. Thus, commemorating a military triumph was not an option. Instead Selim chose to celebrate imperial culture and faith through architecture.
In effect, Selim II channeled the wealth and confidence of his era into a monumental gift for the empire’s subjects. Under his patronage, Edirne – which had been the Ottoman capital in an earlier age and remained one of its most important cities – received a new centerpiece worthy of its status. The Selimiye Mosque thus stands as a testament to Selim’s reign: not only a place for worship, but a symbol that even in changing times the empire could aspire to artistic greatness.
Why did Sultan Selim II turn away from Istanbul, the Ottoman capital, and focus on Edirne? Historians have proposed several reasons. For one, Edirne had a personal resonance for Selim. He had childhood memories of the city and a lasting affection for its genteel environment. The sultan’s father, Suleiman, had rebuilt Edirne’s ancient Old Mosque (Eski Cami) in 1548, and Selim may have felt a filial duty to maintain the city’s religious heritage. More pragmatically, some scholars suggest that since Selim had not led a victorious foreign war, he might have been seen (according to the traditions of the day) as lacking the secular right to found a mosque in Istanbul. Building in Edirne sidestepped that political requirement. It also reinforced Edirne’s importance as a provincial capital and a bulwark in the empire’s European lands near the borders with Christendom.
Symbolically, placing the grand new mosque on a hill in Edirne sent a message of Ottoman unity: it linked the West (the Balkans) with the spiritual and cultural center in Anatolia and beyond. As one modern scholar puts it, Selimiye’s location “crowns” the city in the literal sense, reminding all who approach Edirne that Ottoman power and piety were interlaced. In short, Edirne was Selim’s chosen stage for a royal pantheon – less crowded and perhaps more personal than Istanbul, yet no less deserving of imperial splendour.
Selim II entrusted the mosque project to Mimar Sinan, already the celebrated chief architect of the empire. Sinan’s career began long before the Selimiye commission: he entered palace service as a young man and rose through the ranks during Suleiman’s reign. By mid‑16th century he had designed mosques for princes (such as the Şehzade Mosque) and for Suleiman himself (the Süleymaniye Mosque in Istanbul). Each work displayed increasing mastery of form, space, and structure. Sinan’s style evolved through experimentation with domes, semi-domes, and minarets, learning from each project how to span larger spaces with fewer buttresses.
By the 1570s, Sinan was past seventy but at the zenith of his creative power. His reputation was such that he signed official reports simply as “Sinan, the Architect.” In personal memoirs compiled later, he modestly referred to himself as “a poor draughtsman”, but those who saw his drawings recognized he had engineered miracles: vast domes balanced on slim pillars, interiors filled with translucent light, facades ornamented with calligraphy and tile work that felt almost like lace. Selimiye, built when Sinan was in his eighties, was intended as his final and greatest statement.
The story goes that when Sinan completed Selimiye, he presented it to Sultan Murad III (Selim II’s successor) with those words that have entered architectural legend: “If heaven had left any space of earth for me, I would have filled it with a dome, but my work here is my masterpiece.” This self-congratulation (echoed by later biographers) encapsulated both Sinan’s pride and the magnitude of Selimiye. In historical perspective, such a claim is hard to contest: centuries of scholars, travelers, and even Ottoman court poets have ranked Selimiye above all Sinan’s other works. Its dome eclipses that of the Şehzade and Süleymaniye in engineering. Its interior decoration – the abundance of İznik tiles, the painted calligraphy – is richer. Its plan is symmetrical and clear, giving the worshipper an almost theatrical sense of entering a “celestial space.”
Sinan’s proclamation (documented in his biographies) was more than bravado; it was a statement that an entire lifetime of refinement had led to this culmination. By calling Selimiye his ustalık devri eseri (masterpiece of his mature period), Sinan was telling future generations that here one finds the sum of classical Ottoman art. For readers today, knowing this helps us appreciate why Selimiye is so much more than an “old mosque”: it was deliberately designed to be the architect’s magnum opus.
The approach to Selimiye Mosque is dramatic. One ascends a gentle terrace from street level to find the mosque and its courtyard at a higher elevation, as if set on a pedestal. In front of the entrance stands a sâdîrvan (ablutions fountain) surrounded by columns and a shallow pool; this geometric marble pavilion is both functional and poetic, an oasis of cool water that anticipates the cool shade of the porticos beyond. The courtyard is framed on three sides by open arcades (revaks), their arches offering hints of the interior domes. On the west side sits the old Medrese-yi Sıbyan (primary school), and on the north and east flanking the wide Eski Edirne Avenue are low walls giving way to the city.
But it is the mosque’s main elevation that arrests the eye. From the forecourt one beholds a colossal façade: a gently curved imperial canopy (the portal) topped by a half-dome cornice, framed by the tall sash-like windows of the interior’s vast prayer hall. Above these, in sunlight, is the great drum of the dome, punctuated by rows of windows that make the dome seem to float. Towering above all are four identical minarets, each rising to about 70.89 meters. This was unprecedented in Ottoman design. In earlier periods, mosques typically had 2 or 4 minarets of differing heights arranged asymmetrically. Here Sinan instead placed four slender, pencil-pointed minarets at the four corners of the mosque structure, all equal in height. This framing effect draws the viewer’s gaze ever upward toward the dome, emphasizing the building’s vertical unity. (It is no coincidence that Istanbul’s Hagia Sophia received a matching set of four minarets in the same century, a gesture acknowledging Selimiye’s design.) Each minaret has three balconies (şerefe) and is capped by a conical roof; from a distance they resemble four guiding turrets, making the mosque look like a ship sailing on stone.
Between the minarets, the dome and its half-domes articulate the skyline. The dome itself is a perfect hemisphere of cut stone resting on a drum about two stories high; its drum is hidden behind a ring of smaller domes and half-domes that sweep down to meet the rectangular base. The effect is one of immense weight borne by delicate arches – an engineering feat. The entire exterior is made of fine beige limestone and marble. Decorative flourishes are deliberately restrained on the outside: some carved stone detailing around the portals and subtle calligraphic bands can be seen up close, but from a distance the impression is of a monumental sculpture in light-colored stone. The visual impact is akin to a marble forest growing around the dome. In traveling Ottoman cities, one often climbed a minaret to see far and wide; here, Sinan seems to have built a “minaret” on ground so that any viewer in Edirne could look up and see heavenward architecture at its finest.
The grand approach through the entrance portal is itself a study in symmetry and anticipation. One passes under a broad iwan—a high portal arch—whose ceiling is richly decorated with carved stalactite (muqarnas) ornamentation. Stepping through, the visitor emerges into the avlu, the marble forecourt of the mosque. The spacious courtyard (roughly rectangular) is paved with large stone slabs, their pale color glowing in the Anatolian sun. Cloistered arcades run along three sides, punctuated by piers. Under these arcades are wooden doors leading to the 16 cells of each madrasa; each cell had a low domed roof and simple lattice window. Above the arcade roofs stand slightly smaller domes – these belong to classrooms and reading rooms – so that from the courtyard one sees a delightful “dome city” beyond the arcades. The fourth side of the courtyard opens to the city on a gentle slope.
At the very center of the courtyard is the şadırvan, the ablution fountain – an octagonal marble fountain pavilion with its own tiny dome. Worshippers would have washed their hands and faces here before entering the prayer hall. The fountain’s design echoes the great dome above: in miniature it has a circular dome on an octagonal drum, with slender columns at its vertices. Its roof is intricately carved, and colored glazed tiles line the inside of the fountain pool. Function aside, this fountain is an ornamental jewel, anchoring the courtyard visually and spiritually. It signals that all is prepared and sanctified before one steps into the main mosque.
Each of Selimiye’s four minarets is a marvel of slender strength. Rising from the corners of the central mosque building (not the outer wall), they are some of the tallest Ottoman minarets ever built: 70.89 meters each. From below they appear impossibly thin, yet each contains interior staircases spiraling up to the balconies. Remarkably, they taper very gradually, maintaining an elegant profile. The three balconies on each minaret are supported by carved stone brackets. Visitors can climb these until the highest şerefe, from which one would gain a panoramic view of Edirne’s city and the distant horizon.
The placement of four identical minarets was itself innovative. In earlier Ottoman mosques Sinan had occasionally used multiple minarets (the Süleymaniye has four of differing heights), but often with an element of variation to frame the dome. At Selimiye, there is no variation – all four stand at the same height and distance from the center, one at each corner. This symmetry was meant to accentuate the central dome rather than distract from it. In effect, the minarets serve as a giant “frame” or türbe (a spiritual canopy) around the dome. Their extreme height and grace make them visible from miles away, making Selimiye a landmark long before one reaches the city.
An interesting note: the four-minaret scheme was so distinctive that when Sinan later added a second pair of minarets to Hagia Sophia (by order of Sultan Murad III), they were placed to echo Selimiye’s corners. Thus Selimiye’s design cast a long architectural shadow over the empire.
Stepping inside Selimiye Mosque is like entering another realm. The interior prayer hall is a nearly perfect square (about 45 × 36 meters) surmounted by that immense single dome 42 meters high. Sunlight pours in through more than a hundred windows arranged in rings – the dome’s drum alone has 24 windows, plus dozens more around the sides. The result is an interior filled with a soft, even light that changes character through the day, giving the impression of a living, breathing space. Marble surfaces – the columns, floor, and lower walls – reflect this light further. There are no dark corners or shadows; everything is illuminated as if by an unseen sky.
Technically, Sinan achieved this openness by a brilliant structural design. The dome’s weight is borne on eight massive pillars, each shaped as a twelve-sided prism. These pillars rise from the floor all the way to the dome, seemingly tapering subtly as they ascend. They are placed at the points of an imaginary octagon, with the dome pressing down at their intersection. Between these eight piers and the outer walls stretch arches and pendentives that transfer the load. Remarkably, Sinan used very few semi-domes or half-domes here – only five minor semi-domes are needed to buttress the main dome. Compare this to earlier grand mosques, and one sees that Sinan was able to clear the space more completely, giving an impression of unity.
The upshot is that the central floor feels like a single vast hall. Worshippers would stand under the dome with nothing but a wooden müezzin mahfili (chanter’s platform) at the center and the mihrab niche on the qibla wall as focal points. All eyes are naturally drawn upward. The famous British art historian John Freely noted that Sinan’s design “creates the illusion of an unbroken, soaring dome” by smartly arranging supports and openings.
Selimiye’s dome is truly the heart of the building – both visually and structurally. It is a perfect hemisphere, 31.3 meters in diameter. To put that in context, it matches the diameter of Hagia Sophia’s main dome (31.24 m), but it is perched on a higher drum (approximately 42 meters up). Inside, this dome creates a grand expanse with shallow ribs and the Arabic inscription of the Shahada (Islamic creed) gilded around its base. To build such a dome out of brick and stone was an extraordinary feat.
How did Sinan hold up that great weight? Here is where the “octagonal baldaquin” comes in. By supporting the dome on eight pillars (rather than four, as in Hagia Sophia), Sinan distributed the weight more evenly. Between each pair of pillars, arches spring out to carry both the dome and the funnel of smaller domes on the sides. If one looks up at the dome, one can see carefully placed ring of semi-domes that buttress it in miniature; these semi-domes in turn rest on smaller rows of arches, creating a stepped pyramid of arches all the way down to the floor. Each element fits together like a stone puzzle. Modern engineers still marvel at the precision: the geometry had to be exact to avoid any weak point.
The result of this engineering is a dome that seems to float with minimal support. Visitors beneath experience a vast open sky of stone, with no bulky pillars obstructing the view. This openness was revolutionary: it was the first time an Ottoman mosque of this size achieved such a wide, clear space under one roof. Sinan himself – as we noted – declared this design his greatest achievement. Today one often compares the dome’s dimensions and weight with those of Hagia Sophia to see whose dome is “bigger” or stronger. In raw facts, Hagia Sophia’s dome sits higher (about 56 meters) and was built earlier using pendentives on four piers, whereas Selimiye’s is slightly lighter and more recent. But thanks to Sinan’s design, Selimiye’s dome is actually wider in proportion to the interior space, and it lives on the thinner perimeter of the building. No Ottoman mosque has exceeded its central opening since.
One of the first things a visitor notices inside is how bright it is. Sinan understood that light in a holy space evokes the divine. Thus he incorporated an abundance of windows. In total there are over 150 windows of various sizes. Around the base of the main dome is a ring of 24 large windows; each is topped by a triangular skylight. Below these, an inner ring of 16 smaller windows sits above the gallery level. On the upper walls of the side semi-domes and on each pier are additional windows. Outside, these windows are often topped by slender calligraphic inscriptions in stone, a further decorative touch.
The effect is almost unnatural: even on a cloudy day the interior remains surprisingly well-lit. The light enters from many angles, bouncing off the pale marble and the glazed white Iznik tiles that cover the lower walls. In earlier Ottoman mosques, windows were fewer and semi-domes often made the interior feel more dimly lit. Here Sinan consciously reduced the number of solid half-domes so that more walls could be pierced by windows. UNESCO’s nomination dossier praises this “innovative structural design” that “allowed numerous windows creating an extraordinary illuminated interior”. In practice, this means the mosque never feels oppressively dark; instead, it has a soft, ethereal glow that accentuates its painted decoration and tilework.
Looking toward the center of the hall, one sees an unusual feature: a richly painted wooden platform directly beneath the main dome. This is the müezzin mahfili – the platform from which the muezzin (prayer caller) led the chant and recited portions of the service. In most Ottoman mosques, the muezzin’s place is at the rear, along a side wall or in a balcony, so as not to obstruct the sultan’s view of the mihrab. At Selimiye, however, Sinan placed the platform at the very center of the hall. It stands on twelve short columns with arched openings underneath, forming a fountain at its base.
The reasoning for this choice is debated. Some suggest it was a structural necessity (perhaps to tie the floor slabs together). Others see a deliberate statement: by placing the platform under the dome, Sinan emphasizes the central axis and the unity of space. In any case, it is highly unusual and was never repeated by Sinan in his later projects. The result is an even more profound sense that the dome – and thus the presence of God above – is the true center of the mosque, not the mihrab niche. Paradoxically, this placement means that from the entrance one’s view of the mihrab is partially blocked by the platform. Yet it also creates a focal point: worshippers gather all around and under it, shading themselves from the dome’s midday sun through the intricately carved wood. Inside this platform gallery one finds painted geometric patterns and Qur’anic inscriptions; its undersides are multifoil arches and colored panels, dazzling the eye.
On the qibla wall (the wall facing Mecca), the eye is drawn to two key elements. First is the mihrab – a curved niche set into the wall with an intricately carved marble frame. The mihrab stands in an apse-like projection, allowing windows on three sides to flood it with light. The niche’s stonework features a muqarnas (stalactite) canopy and a band of Arabic calligraphy. Surrounding the mihrab are panels of antique Iznik tiles, some dating from Selimiye’s original construction, others added or restored later. These tiles form stylized arabesques and flowers (notably tulips and carnations in vivid blues, greens, and roses) that shimmer in the sunlight. They were crafted at the height of Ottoman tile-making and remain among the finest examples of the art.
To the right of the mihrab stands the minbar, the imam’s pulpit. This is a tall, slender stone staircase with ornate carved balustrades. Its sides are pierced with geometric arabesques and topped with a canopy. It too is marble, with every panel meticulously chiseled. In the 16th century, the minbar of a grand mosque was often a sign of the sultan’s power to speak to the faithful; Selimiye’s is accordingly sumptuous.
Behind and slightly above the worshippers’ area, in the eastern corner, is the hünkâr mahfili – the Sultan’s private gallery. This wooden booth is elevated and screened by latticework, providing privacy for the ruler. It is richly decorated inside and out: the lower walls are faced with polychrome Iznik tiles featuring floral and calligraphic motifs. The mashrabiya grill and the domed ceiling of the mahfili are finely carved wood. This loge is both a place of honor and a small interior hall of tile art, fitting with Selimiye’s theme of combining public grandeur with intimate craftsmanship.
Ever since its construction, Selimiye’s dome has invited comparison with that of Hagia Sophia, the Byzantine church-turned-mosque in Istanbul. Hagia Sophia’s massive dome (constructed in AD 537) was long the engineering benchmark: it measures about 31.2 meters across and rises roughly 56 meters above the floor. Ottoman architects had long been inspired to match or surpass it. Sinan himself laid claim to doing so. Legend holds that he famously challenged Hagia Sophia’s height in that inscription quoted above.
Factually, Selimiye’s dome is not taller (it is about 42 meters high inside, and the peak of its exterior is roughly the same elevation as Hagia’s drum), but in a sense it is wider in proportion to its support structure (thanks to the eight-pillared system). The interior diameter is essentially the same as Hagia Sophia’s, but the supporting piers at Selimiye are closer together (forming an octagon) than Hagia’s four corners. This allows the interior to feel more open. Hagia Sophia’s dome rests on pendentives spanning four arches; Selimiye’s dome rests on eight arches spanning an octagon. In practice, Selimiye achieves a more circular, uniform space under its dome, whereas Hagia’s space is clearly divided into four large bays.
Let us compare the key figures:
Some points often get exaggerated in travel writing. For example, Selimiye is widely and correctly described as Sinan’s masterpiece and a pinnacle of Ottoman art. Hagia Sophia, by contrast, was a Christian basilica for 900 years before 1453 and has Byzantine architecture. They belong to overlapping but distinct traditions. In terms of raw dome engineering, no Ottoman dome has exceeded Hagia’s height, but Selimiye’s is arguably the pinnacle of Ottoman dome design. In short: Hagia Sophia’s dome is still taller overall; Selimiye’s is wider on a somewhat smaller base and feels more integrated into the building.
Architecturally, Hagia Sophia and Selimiye both aimed for a sense of heavenly space, but they achieved it differently. Hagia’s cross-shaped plan with a towering central dome and two semi-domes east-west tends to draw the eye forward toward the apse (where worshippers gather). Selimiye’s octagonal plan focuses the view straight up, above the center. At Hagia one often feels the grandeur of height; at Selimiye the sensation is of floating within a dome.
Inside Selimiye, light is more evenly diffused; Hagia Sophia, despite its own multitude of windows, has heavier columns and was partly rebuilt in the 6th century with supports that somewhat darken the space. In practice, a modern visitor might say Selimiye feels more luminous (thanks in part to later Ottoman restorations that replaced original mosaic surfaces with plaster and paint). Meanwhile, Hagia Sophia’s historical mosaics, gold background, and 19th‑century columns give it a different, more mosaically-ornamented feeling.
In brief, Selimiye can be seen as Sinan’s answer to Justinian: a proof that Ottoman architects could master the same scale of engineering, but with their own aesthetic. In the 16th century, there was a kind of quiet rivalry in stone: the Selimiye designers kept in mind Hagia Sophia as a model to learn from and surpass. The myth of Sinan’s boast about “cubits higher and wider” captures that spirit. In architectural history terms, the two are companions: one legacy of Byzantium, the other the culmination of classical Ottoman design.
Perhaps the single most vivid decorative motif inside Selimiye Mosque is the İznik tile work. These ceramic tiles, made in the town of İznik (Nicaea) in western Anatolia, were prized for their bright colors and lustrous glazes. Selimiye’s interior showcases hundreds of square and rectangular tile panels covering much of the lower walls, the area around the mihrab, and parts of the sultan’s loge. Their designs are overwhelmingly floral: tulips, carnations, hyacinths and roses, rendered in rich cobalt blues, turquoise, emerald greens, and what was then an exotic “mother-of-pearl” pink. One could wander the gallery tracing the patterns: endless varieties of arabesques and vegetation, each panel perfectly fitted.
Legend has it that one Iznik workshop produced exactly 101 different tulip motifs for Selimiye – a kind of inside joke at the court. In Ottoman symbolism the tulip represented paradise and abundance; here the profusion of tulips on the tiles makes the walls bloom eternally. Near the mihrab and in the sultan’s loge, the tile panels are even denser. When sunlight hits these ceramic surfaces, they seem to glow with life. Ottoman memoirs of the era praise Sinan’s tile decoration as the highest achievement of the art form. Modern scholars agree that Selimiye’s İznik tiles come from the heyday of the craft (late 16th century) and remain unsurpassed in quantity and quality in any single monument.
In the Sultan’s private gallery (hünkâr mahfili) on the east side, the tilework forms a sumptuous “personal chapel” of sorts. Here panels of tiles are arranged in horizontal bands, with elaborate calligraphy writing Qur’anic phrases in between. A prominent motif appears here and elsewhere: the so-called ters lale or inverted tulip. According to local legend, the tulip on Sinan’s tiles at Selimiye is upside-down at one point because the chief tile artisan was frustrated that he couldn’t replicate one form perfectly; he left it inverted as a mark of humility (the story goes that Sinan forgave him when told of this). Whether true or not, the inverted tulip motif does appear in some panels here, symbolizing perhaps perfection striving in the name of art.
The Hünkâr Mahfili, with its own domed ceiling, functions as a microcosm of the mosque’s decorative scheme. From inside it one steps up a short flight of marble stairs onto a raised wooden platform enclosed by a lattice screen. The lower walls inside this booth are clad in massive tile panels. Floral patterns alternate with calligraphic friezes – in elegant Arabic script – giving both beauty and spiritual meaning. On one wall, a verse from the Qur’an invokes God’s light and mercy, a reminder to the ruler of faith’s primacy even in state matters. The ceiling above the mahfili, by contrast, is painted wood with geometric star patterns and medallions. This vivid interior of the mahfili was intended for royal eyes only; ordinary worshippers below could not see its contents.
After Selimiye fell from Ottoman control and into modern Turkey, the mahfili was preserved intact, allowing visitors today to climb up and see this semi-private sanctum. The effect is like a small museum of 16th-century İznik art: one stands literally among the same tiles that a sultan once saw as he prayed. For our purposes, the key point is that these decorative elements are not mere afterthoughts. They were integral to the mosque’s purpose: to uplift and teach. Each floral motif on the tiles had a symbolic meaning (beauty, paradise, divine creation), and each calligraphic inscription conveyed a sacred text. The entire space is thus a curriculum in stone and paint, woven with artistry.
Beyond the tiles, calligraphy is everywhere in Selimiye. Arabic script in marble and plaster runs along the arches and walls, quoting the Qur’an or Islamic prayers. The style of writing is elegant and monumental: tall, elongated letters with decorative endings. Some inscriptions are carved directly into stone; others are painted on plaster. Notably, the names of the first four caliphs and other revered figures are inscribed around the dome’s base in gilded relief, proclaiming the faith’s lineage.
These inscriptions were the work of leading hattats (calligraphers) of the day. Contemporary sources mention that Sultan Selim II himself sought out the best artists to adorn his mosque. Although many of the original inscriptions date from Selimiye’s founding (1568–75), some visible today were refreshed in later restorations (notably under Sultan Abdülmecid in the 1840s). To an observer, the effect is that the building itself seems to be speaking Scripture. In a sense, one hears the voice of prayer even before the imam speaks: the words are carved into every arch and panel.
When worshippers entered Selimiye, they would see above them in tile and stone an array of phrases like “Allah is the Light of the heavens and the earth” (the famous Ayat an-Nur) and others from the Qur’an. These inscriptions both inspire awe and remind visitors of the spiritual purpose of the space. Ottoman essays on mosque design emphasize that calligraphy in a mosque serves the religious function of the building. Here, the calligraphy is of the highest order. Experts note that the lettering on Selimiye’s marble surfaces rivals that of any contemporary manuscript. The calligraphy on the mihrab’s muqarnas hood, for example, is a tour-de-force of Ottoman carving, with multiple concentric bands each bearing a different verse.
Muqarnas – the honeycomb-like stone carving often seen in Islamic architecture – appear at various points inside Selimiye. Most striking are those adorning the main entrance portal. The iwan’s deep niche ceiling is entirely covered by tiers of stalactite vaulting, carved out of stone. Each scalloped niche seems to have a pair of mini domes above it, creating a complex stalactite pattern. This carving is both structural (softening the transition from the flat portal wall to its arch) and decorative (casting intricate shadows). The effect is a cascade of geometric complexity.
Geometric tile patterns also appear in mosaic panels (less prominent than the flower tiles but present in some spandrels and cornices). These tessellations are examples of girih art – repeating star and rosette patterns with precise symmetry. In the 19th-century restorations, artisans uncovered and preserved some of the original geometric tile bandwork, which recall the more austere style of earlier Ottoman decoration (subdued geometry complementing the riot of floral İznik tiles).
In combination, the muqarnas and geometry add layers to Selimiye’s visual tapestry. They demonstrate that Ottoman artists were masters of both organic (floral) and abstract (geometric) ornament. A visitor is invited to trace a tile pattern with their eyes or run a hand along a carved column to appreciate the craftsmanship. These details reward slow, reverent looking.
All of Selimiye’s marble surfaces – columns, staircases, fountains, mihrab – were executed with extraordinary skill. The giant piers supporting the dome are each twelve-sided polygons, requiring precise cutting to fit together. Those pillars, like everything here, were chiseled on site by teams of stonemasons who worked in lockstep. The columns in the porticos are monolithic marble shafts polished smooth. The floors of the courtyard are laid in alternating light and dark stones, creating subtle patterns underfoot.
Every step of the marble staircase up to the sultan’s loge and to the balconies is hand-carved. Some balustrades feature entwined arabesque reliefs. Around the main chamber’s base run bands of carved vegetal patterns in marble. These carved details may be easier to miss than the colorful tiles, but they contribute enormously to the impression of refinement. A scholar of Islamic art has noted that Selimiye’s stone carvings “achieve an almost impossible economy of design” – each motif is pared to perfection.
In sum, Selimiye’s decoration is a total work of art. From the golden glow of its carvings to the myriad hues of its tiles, it envelops the observer. Yet it never feels cluttered; Sinan knew how to balance ornament and open space. The result is that while admiring these details, one still appreciates the grand whole: an integrated environment in which every element reinforces the others.
Beyond its role as a mosque, Selimiye was conceived as the center of communal life. The Ottoman külliye was a practical institution: it collected charity (often from the sultan’s foundation) to fund schools, soup kitchens, hospitals, and markets. People would come to the külliye not only for worship but for education and commerce. In Selimiye’s case, the külliye effectively created a new civic core for Edirne. Surrounding the mosque one could find theology classes, military training (early medrese courses included archery for young students), and skilled craft workshops in the arasta bazaar.
To grasp this, imagine attending the madrasa in the morning, praying at the mosque midday, and buying supplies in the bazaar afterwards – all within the same precinct. The külliye made these activities contiguous. It also project ed an image of an ideal Islamic city: one where religion and daily life were seamlessly integrated. In the 16th century, this ideal was deeply ingrained in Ottoman statecraft. Rulers built külliyes to fulfill their pious duty to serve the public. Sinan’s design for Selimiye treated the mosque as the nucleus, with the other buildings orbiting in geometric order. This was not incidental: as UNESCO notes, the Selimiye complex “represents the apogee of an art form and the pious benefaction of 16th century imperial Islam”.
Flanking the mosque’s courtyard are two symmetrically placed madrasas. To the southeast is the Dar’ül Kurra Medrese, dedicated to Qur’anic recitation. To the northeast sits the Dar’ül Hadis Medrese, for studies of the Prophet’s sayings. Each of these is a self-contained school: behind an imposing portal arch one enters a small courtyard ringed by student rooms (each with a small domed ceiling) and topped by arcades. At one end of each courtyard stands a larger, domed teaching hall (dershane) where lectures were given.
The madrasas were at Selimiye’s opening among the finest in the empire. Students from across Anatolia might have come to study here. They were funded by endowments that provided free lodging and food (around a dozen dervishes are recorded as living on-site). In more recent times, these buildings fell out of use as classrooms. In 2006 they were repurposed into museums (the Selimiye Foundation Museum and the Turkish and Islamic Arts Museum). Today visitors can enter them to view displays of calligraphy, manuscripts, carpets, and other artifacts rescued from old mosques and tekkes in the region. This modern function is fitting: one is still in a space of learning, only now students are the visitors admiring art and history.
Running along the west side of the mosque complex (between the courtyard and the main thoroughfare) is the covered arasta, a bazaar of roughly forty shops. This bazaar was originally commissioned by the sultan and staffed by traders who paid rent into the mosque’s endowment. In effect, the arasta provided a steady income to support the mosque, the madrasas, and other charitable functions. Merchants in Selimiye’s arasta sold goods like silk, wool, copperware, and other local wares. The design is simple: a vaulted brick corridor illuminated by small domes (now with glass). A shopper could browse carpets and spices while hearing the call to prayer echo above from the mosque.
The arasta remains active today, its stone-floor shops mostly featuring tourist goods: carpets, leather work, meerschaum pipes, and the famous ciğer şiş (liver skewers) Edirne is known for. Walking through it offers a sense of continuity: one is essentially in a medieval marketplace, albeit with the clerestory of Sinan’s mosques rising above. It is a vivid reminder that Selimiye’s purpose was not only to uplift the soul, but to serve the needs of the faithful in daily life.
Embedded in the mosque’s front wall is a small building that once served as the sıbyan mektebi (Koranic primary school for children). Its chamber is domed and has a fountain in the center where students could wash their hands and bring water. From inside the mosque one can sometimes see down into this courtyard where the children would have played and learned. Nearby stood the imaret (public soup kitchen) and other service buildings; only ruins or traces remain today of the bath (hamam) and caravanserai that were originally part of the complex.
These ancillary buildings underline that Selimiye was conceived as a self-sustaining community center. In Ottoman times, people of Edirne would rely on it not just for Friday prayers but for charity, education and even healthcare (the külliye originally funded a nearby clinic). The complex was an investment by the state in the welfare and piety of its subjects. While not all structures have survived intact, the ones that remain – especially the medreses and bazaar – still give a full sense of a world where mosque, school, and marketplace together formed the heart of the city.
As noted, construction of Selimiye Mosque began in 1568 (the year 976 in the Islamic calendar) and was completed by 1574–75 (982 AH). The key milestones were recorded by contemporary chroniclers. Edirne’s old mosque was renovated on Selim’s orders in early 1568, and soon afterward plans for the new imperial mosque on the hill were set in motion. Sinan oversaw the project personally; he spent years in Edirne supervising the workmen, artisans, and engineers. The building materials were collected from all over the empire: fine marble from nearby quarries, cut stone from Bursa, timber from Anatolia, and hundreds of tons of lead for the dome’s covering. Skilled craftsmen – stonecutters, tile-makers, carpenters, metalworkers – labored under Sinan’s direction. By October 1574 (17 Zilhicce 982 AH), the Sultan visited the completed mosque in a formal ceremony. Selim II died just days later, on November 1, 1574, and the mosque was officially inaugurated on November 27. Thus Selimiye was effectively born alongside the new Ottoman prince, Murad III, who succeeded Selim.
From its inauguration in 1575 onward, Selimiye Mosque has been in almost continuous use as a house of worship. For 300 years it stood through relative peace as Edirne remained an important provincial capital. During the 18th and 19th centuries, as the Ottoman Empire faced European wars and internal upheavals, Selimiye witnessed some tribulations. In the Russo-Turkish War of 1829, for instance, the city was briefly occupied, and the mosque sustained minor damage (broken windows, some loss of tile). During the Balkan Wars of 1912–13, Edirne was besieged, and Selimiye’s dome was pockmarked by shrapnel. Each time, local and imperial authorities made repairs. However, the most systematic restorations did not come until the late 20th and early 21st centuries.
Major renovation efforts took place in the 1950s and again in the 1980s, addressing structural issues such as cracks in the dome. The most recent comprehensive restoration began in 2021 and is ongoing. Architects and conservators today are painstakingly undoing inappropriate past repairs and stabilizing the masonry. The dome has been re-leaded, and the interior’s plaster and paint are being refreshed based on historical evidence. Care is taken to preserve the original tile and wood elements. When completed (expected around 2025), the restoration will have renewed both Selimiye’s appearance and its integrity as Sinan intended. Importantly, UNESCO has recognized the need to protect Selimiye’s setting and centerlines; city planning in Edirne now explicitly protects the view corridors to the mosque.
For four-and-a-half centuries Selimiye Mosque has been the principal mosque of Edirne. It has hosted Friday congregational prayers and the Eid festivals, bearing witness to the city’s changing demographics and politics. Under the Republic of Turkey, Selimiye was nationalized as a historic monument (in 1935) but was simultaneously kept active for worship. This dual role – heritage site and mosque – has required a balance: visitors may enter outside prayer times (and must observe the dress code), while the faithful can pray there daily. As one recent guidebook notes, Selimiye “doesn’t have designated visiting hours” and is closed only during active prayers. On any given day you might see tourists admiring the tiles, alongside worshippers in prayer.
The mosque has also inspired reverence in popular culture. It appears on Turkey’s 10,000‑lira banknote (old series) and on stamps. Poets have written about its sublime dome. Local tradition sometimes speaks of Selimiye as the “Seventh Heaven,” reflecting how it lifts hearts upward. Meanwhile, the complex’s schools produced generations of scholars and officials. Thus Selimiye’s impact has been both spiritual and intellectual. Even beyond Turkey, architects and historians consider it a must-see: in a 2019 poll by an international architect magazine, Selimiye ranked among the top 50 buildings in the world.
Through all this, the mosque has remained fundamentally as it was intended: a place of congregational prayer. Its Friday sermons today are delivered under the same dome that Sinan built. Its marble floors still bear the wear of countless worshippers’ prostrations. In a very real sense, Selimiye is a living monument – not a mausoleum or museum, but a living house of God and community.
In 2011, UNESCO formally inscribed Selimiye Mosque and its Social Complex on the World Heritage List. This designation was based on the site’s Outstanding Universal Value – in practical terms, the qualities that make it important to all humanity. The UNESCO brief synthesis of the nomination puts it succinctly: “Dominating the skyline of Edirne… Selimiye Mosque is the ultimate architectural expression by [Sinan] of the Ottoman külliye”. In other words, UNESCO recognized Selimiye not only as an Ottoman treasure, but as a pinnacle of world architectural achievement.
Selimiye met two of UNESCO’s selection criteria. Criterion (i) cites it as a “masterpiece of the human creative genius”. Here the dossier highlights the sheer audacity of the dome and the mosque’s structural innovations. It notes that Sinan “was recognised [Selimiye] as his most important work” and that the dome (31.5 m wide) and its eight pillars create a space unrivaled at the time. Criterion (iv) underlines the mosque’s significance as the apogee of Ottoman architecture – that its form, location, and decoration reflect the high point of the empire’s history. UNESCO also specifically praises the İznik tile decoration as a “great art form never to be excelled”.
This official recognition was a reminder to the world that Selimiye is not just a local or national landmark, but a cultural treasure of global importance. It also acknowledged that Selimiye’s preservation is vital to humanity’s heritage. In practice, the World Heritage status brings obligations: Turkish authorities must protect Selimiye’s integrity (including its surroundings) and submit periodic reports on its condition. For visitors, it underscores that this is a protected site – one must treat it with care.
The UNESCO inscription also reflects an awareness that great monuments like Selimiye face modern challenges. Tourism can wear on historic floors, urban growth can threaten sight-lines, and environmental factors (acid rain, earthquakes) can damage centuries-old stone. In that spirit, the site’s management plan has emphasized conservation. As noted, a major restoration was undertaken in the early 2020s to stabilize the structure and restore original colors. Long-term urban plans in Edirne now include buffer zones to keep new buildings from intruding on Selimiye’s setting. Educational programs encourage local pride and international support.
For us as readers and travelers, the lesson is that Selimiye today is not in a museum case; it is a heritage for which generations have responsibility. Recognizing its UNESCO status means that any visit is not just sightseeing, but also an encounter with history that we are implicitly agreeing to respect and protect.
Selimiye Mosque is easily reached from Istanbul, making Edirne a popular day-trip destination. By car, the journey is about three hours each way (around 230–250 km). Buses also run frequently but take longer (often 4–5 hours, including stops). Edirne lies in western Turkey near the borders with Greece and Bulgaria. In fact, some visitors combine trips to Edirne with a brief crossing into nearby countries. Once in Edirne, Selimiye is well signposted; it stands in the Sarıbayır (Kaval) quarter, a little east of the historic city center. Taxis and city buses can take you right to its square (Sarıbayır Meydanı). If driving, note that parking around the mosque can be challenging at peak times, and there is a paid parking lot (Selimiye Otopark) just southwest of the mosque.
The best times of year to visit are spring (April–June) and autumn (September–October), when Edirne’s weather is mild and the city is lush with flowers (including the famous tulips that Edirne is known for). Summertime can be very hot (over 35°C/95°F) and winter cold, though snow on the domes can be beautiful. The mosque is especially picturesque at sunrise or sunset. Many travelers aim to coincide their visit with one of Edirne’s local festivals – for example, the Kirkpinar oil-wrestling festival in late June – to experience the city’s cultural life.
Selimiye Mosque is free to enter for all visitors; no ticket is required. Donations are welcomed to help with its upkeep, but there is no official admission fee. Entrance is through the main fountain courtyard (see the şadırvan, above). Visiting hours are generally generous: as of the latest information, the mosque is open 24 hours a day, though the main halls are accessible only outside of the five daily prayer times (especially the Friday noon prayer, which draws the largest crowds). In practice, tourists often find that mid-morning or late afternoon (outside major prayers) is best to avoid worshippers.
Selimiye is open to non-Muslim visitors throughout the year. It is one of the more accessible Ottoman mosques in this regard. The only times it is closed are the brief periods of the five daily prayers (each about 20–30 minutes). On Fridays, the sermon takes place around noon; that entire period the mosque is closed to sightseeing. Also during Eid festivals and the Prophet’s birthday, access can be restricted. When it is open, visitors may walk freely on the carpeted area. Men and women pray in separate sections (men generally in the center and women in galleries or rear areas), but guests may stand wherever space is available, remembering to respect worshippers.
Upon entering, all visitors must remove their shoes. Shoe racks and plastic bag rolls are provided just inside the entrance. Friendly staff or volunteers usually help manage this. (Some experienced visitors carry a scarf or mat to kneel on; it is customary to avoid putting knees or hands directly on the red carpets if one is not praying.)
Dress code is conservative. Both men and women should cover shoulders and legs. Shorts, sleeveless shirts, or short skirts are not permitted. Women must wear a headscarf (provided free of charge at the entrance if needed). In practice, long pants or long skirts and a T‑shirt are sufficient; women simply pick up a scarf from a basket at the door. The goal is respectful attire, similar to the rules at mosques worldwide.
Photography is allowed outside of prayer times. Inside the mosque, one may take pictures of the architecture, tiles, and so on, provided it is quiet and done respectfully. However, flash photography is strongly discouraged, since it is both distracting to worshippers and can damage the delicate tiles over time. Tripods and drones are not permitted inside. When in doubt, follow the lead of worshippers or ask one of the mosque staff.
A suggested self-guided sequence is as follows:
At each step, pause to absorb details: the carved calligraphy around every arch, the tile panels on the lower walls, the geometric patterns in the wood ceilings. The effect can be overwhelming, so take breaks on the benches in the courtyard to reflect. Guides or signs in English/Turkish (and often French, German, etc.) can provide captions for important features. But even without a guide, the architecture speaks clearly: this is a place meant to inspire awe and devotion.
Because Selimiye’s worship hall is largely on one level (aside from the small stairs up to the sultan’s loge), it is relatively accessible compared to older, uneven mosques. There is a gently sloping wheelchair ramp leading from the entrance into the courtyard. The main prayer hall floor is level with the courtyard floor, so a wheelchair can enter through a side door without climbing steps. (A sign by the entrance indicates the barrier-free route.) Inside, the marble floor can be slippery when wet, so caution is advised. The wooden balconies and loge, however, are only reachable by stairs; unfortunately the upper levels are not wheelchair-accessible.
The mosque provides seating (small folding chairs) in some areas for the elderly or those needing a rest during prayer. Bathrooms are located outside the main mosque building, past the shoe room, but they may not be fully equipped for disabled use. Overall, mobility-impaired visitors can see most of the courtyard and ground-floor mosque interior, but the upper details (gallery views) will require help.
Selimiye stands at the apex of Edirne’s Ottoman heritage, but the city boasts other remarkable 15th–16th century mosques. For historical context, one should also visit Edirne’s Old Mosque (Eski Camii). This massive 15th-century mosque (whose exterior is clad in colorful triangular tiles) was commissioned by Sultan Bayezid I. Its interior is famed for 32 enormous wooden columns, each carved from a single tree trunk, supporting a labyrinth of many small domes. Its existence on the same hill underscores how Selimiye was a deliberate statement of renewal.
Closer to the town center lies the Üç Şerefeli Mosque, built a century earlier by Murad II. Its main dome (24 m diameter) is smaller than Selimiye’s, but at its time it was revolutionary. It was the first Ottoman mosque to have four minarets (as its name “Üç Şerefeli” – “three-balcony” – indicates, referring to one of them). When you stand under Üç Şerefeli’s dome, you can see the architectural thread leading to Selimiye. The older mosque also offers a museum of treasures (the Kapalı Bazaar Museum) in its attached porticos.
Together these mosques form a kind of timeline in stone: from Üç Şerefeli’s partial imitation of Hagia Sophia, through Eski Mosque’s forest of wood, to Selimiye’s perfected dome. Walking between them, one imagines Edirne’s past glory.
Another site of interest (also a World Heritage site) is the Bayezid II Külliyesi, about 2 km north of Selimiye. This was the imperial charitable complex of Sultan Bayezid II (reigned 1481–1512). It included one of the largest Ottoman hospitals (darüşşifa) of the era, a medical school, a bath, and mosques. Today it houses the Museum of Turkish and Islamic Medicine. It is a short bus ride or pleasant walk from Selimiye. Visitors to the Bayezid complex can see how Ottoman science and charity were practiced: the restored hospital’s central building has rooms representing medieval medical functions (pharmacy, surgery, patient quarters). Although this is not within Selimiye’s walls, it complements the visit by illustrating the Ottoman külliye concept applied to healthcare.
One of Edirne’s most surprising sights is also right across the street from Selimiye: the Grand Synagogue of Edirne. Built in 1907 by the city’s large Sephardic Jewish community, it is one of Europe’s largest synagogues. Its tall stained-glass windows and spacious nave are a contrast to the mosques, but the presence of this building on Selimiye Square is a testament to the city’s multi-faith history. Guided tours of the synagogue (currently a museum) allow visitors to appreciate its elaborate tile and brasswork, and to understand how Edirne once was home to Turks, Greeks, Armenians, Jews, and others. Learning about the synagogue’s architecture and history enriches understanding of Selimiye’s role as one cornerstone of this diverse society.
A visit to Selimiye can also be a chance to taste the regional specialties for which Edirne is famous. Right around the mosque complex are modest eateries serving ciğer tava and ciğer şiş (fried or skewered lamb liver), one of the city’s signature dishes. The recipe (often with peppers and onions) dates back centuries. Another local favorite is Saraçlar helvası, a caramelized wheat dessert found only in Edirne. And in the Grand Bazaar just north of Selimiye, don’t miss Edrene Tezgahlı Tatlısı, a kind of walnut paste dessert. For breakfast, many pensioners favor kaşarlı paça çorbası (cheesy sheep-head soup) at a place like Kazancılar (one of the guild inns off Selimiye Square) – a historically popular hangout. Between prayers, one might also sample the Turhan Çelebi pastries (a thin caramel-coated sweet) sold in the bazaars. In short, Edirne’s food is hearty and unique; a true cultural journey would pair Selimiye’s monuments with these local flavors.
Answer: It was commissioned by Sultan Selim II and built by Sinan between 1568 and 1574. It was intended as Sinan’s magnum opus. Construction funds came largely from the conquest of Cyprus. The mosque has served continuously as a place of worship since then, undergoing restorations after wars in the 19th and 20th centuries.
Answer: Many things: its vast central dome and balanced octagonal support system; its four tall, identical minarets; and its artistic decoration (hundreds of original İznik tiles and masterful calligraphy). It is widely regarded as the pinnacle of classical Ottoman mosque architecture. UNESCO calls it “the ultimate architectural expression by Sinan of the Ottoman külliye”.
Answer: It represents the highest achievement of its architect and era. Sinan himself described it as his finest work. Structurally, it perfected the large-dome-and-minarets model, and its interior planning (light and space) is exceptional. The elaborate tile and stone decoration from its completion period is also unparalleled. In short, it combines grand engineering, aesthetic harmony, and historical significance in one site.
Answer: Contrary to what the name might suggest, no sultan is buried in Selimiye Mosque. Sultan Selim II had reportedly wished to be interred here, but Ottoman custom led to his burial in Hagia Sophia in Istanbul instead. The Selimiye complex itself contains no sultanic mausolea. (Edirne’s old city kapuşanej might have other tombs, but none inside the mosque building.)
Answer: The dome is about 31.3 meters in diameter and 42 meters high (from the floor to the inside apex). This is very close to Hagia Sophia’s diameter, though Hagia Sophia’s dome stands on higher pendentives. The Selimiye dome is supported by eight massive pillars (twelve-sided each), which was an Ottoman innovation.
Answer: Both have domes of essentially the same diameter (≈31.3 m), but Hagia Sophia’s dome is higher above the ground. Hagia Sophia uses four piers to support the dome, whereas Selimiye uses eight, giving Selimiye’s interior a more circular and open feel. Selimiye’s light-filled, octagonal plan was a deliberate Ottoman attempt to match Byzantine grandeur in an Islamic context. The two are often called companions: Hagia Sophia the ancient precedent, Selimiye the perfected successor.
Answer: They are entirely different buildings in different countries. The Edirne Selimiye was built by Sinan in the 1570s (as described here). The Selimiye in Nicosia, Cyprus, was formerly the Cathedral of Saint Sophia (a Gothic church) and was converted into a mosque in the Ottoman period. In summary: Edirne’s Selimiye is a purpose-built Ottoman mosque complex by Sinan; Nicosia’s Selimiye is a renamed earlier church..