Ships in front of large city"IT LOOKED ALMOST LIKE A FAIRY CITY."
"Sweet Waters of Europe" is a good name for this part of the river. It was a pleasantplace, and everything about them looked fresh and inviting.
"Osman, let's see what that man is showing," cried Selim, after the boys had listened to some music and eaten the ices they had bought at a stand.
The children joined a crowd of people gathering around a showman.
It was a puppet-show, something like the Punch and Judy one sees in England and America. But the funny little figures acted out a very different play. It must have been amusing, for every one laughed heartily.
Before the day was over other showmen came along, each with a different exhibition of his own. Then there were men who performed tricks, and others who had candies and dainties to sell.
As for the ladies, you must not think they sat quietly on their mats all day long. Oh, no indeed! They laughed and romped,they sang and danced, they ate candies and cakes as freely as the children themselves. The serious ways of the city were quite forgotten.
But at last the shadows of evening began to fall.
"Come, come, we must start for home," cried Osman's mother. "I must certainly be home by sunset to greet my husband."
They made haste to start, and in a few minutes they had taken their places in the boats and were moving back toward the great city.
As it came into view once more, it looked almost like a fairy city. The soft light of the late afternoon bathed the tall spires and minarets, which reached up toward the sky like long, slender needles.
Here and there were grand buildings of white marble, while the whole place was dotted with groves of dark cypress-trees.
Yes, it looked very, very beautiful, but when the boats were left behind, and the narrow, dirty streets were reached again, it did not seem possible it could be the same place the party had seen from the water.
There was no likeness to fairy-land now. The hungry dogs, the ragged beggars, the tumble-down houses in the very midst of the fine buildings, make the stranger feel sad.
But Osman is so used to these sights, they do not trouble him. This city, the greatest one of his people, always seems grand and beautiful to him.
On the evening after the picnic, Osman's mother said to her husband, "I have invited a party of my friends to lunch with me to-morrow."
The Turks do little visiting after sunset. The ladies often spend the day with each other, but are seldom away from home at dinner-time.
The next morning, after their master had gone away for the day, and Osman had started for school, the servants began to make ready for the party.
As soon as the first guest arrived, a pair of shoes belonging to Osman's mother was placed outside the door of her room. If her husband should happen to come home during the day, he would see these shoes. He would know by this sign that his wife had lady visitors. It would not be polite for him to enter her rooms during their stay in the house.
The lunch-hour soon came. The hostess led her friends into the dining-room. They seated themselves on the soft cushions placed by the servants around the low stand.
There was a spoon, and also a piece of bread, at each lady's place. On the centre of the stand was a leather pad on which hot dishes would be set as they were brought in.But when the ladies sat down there was no food to be seen, except the pieces of bread, some saucers containing olives, bits of cucumber, melons, and radishes.
And now the slaves moved from one guest to another, bringing a basin of water and towels. Each one must bathe her hands before eating, as well as afterward, whether alone or in the grandest company.
It was a pleasure to watch them. As the stream of clear water fell slowly into the basin, each one rubbed her fingers gracefully and daintily, and then dried them on the fine linen towel held out by the watchful servant.
When this had been done by every one, Osman's mother clapped her hands, and a tureen of thick, creamy soup was brought in and set on the leather pad.
The hostess politely waved her hand toward her principal guest. She was inviting her to be the first one to dip her spoon into thesoup. After this, the other ladies joined in, all eating together from the same dish.
After a few mouthfuls, the hostess made a sign to the slave to remove the soup and bring in another dish. Before the meal was over there would be sixteen courses, at least, and, therefore, it would not be well to eat much of any one of them.
The guests ate a little of every course. But, between the courses, they nibbled at the olives, cucumbers, and different sweetmeats.
More than once, Osman's mother broke off a choice bit of food with her fingers, and held it up to the mouth of one of her friends. It was a very polite attention, and her visitor was pleased.
"How rude some people in the world are about eating," said one of the ladies. "They use the most clumsy things in their hands. They call them knives and forks. And besides,I have heard they do not wash before and after each meal. Ugh! It makes me shiver to think of their unclean ways."
"Yes, they are certainly not neat, and they are very awkward, if all I have heard about them be true," said another visitor. "They should study the ways of our people."
At last the luncheon was ended. The hostess led the way into the drawing-room, where coffee was now served.
They were having a merry time, laughing and chatting, when Osman entered the room. His face showed he had something he wished to tell. Making a low bow to the ladies, he turned to his mother and said:
"Oh, mamma, I just saw a cat fall ever so far. She was on the roof of that old building behind our house. She fell down, down to the ground. And, mamma, I thought she would be killed. But she came down softly on her feet and ran off as if she hadn't beenhurt the least bit. How is it that a cat can do such a thing? No other animal is like her, I'm sure."
His mother laughed, and turned to one of her friends. "Won't you tell my little boy the story of Mohammed and the cat?" she asked. "We should all be pleased to listen, and perhaps there are some here who do not know it."
The rest of the company nodded their heads. "Yes, do tell it," said one after another.
"Very well, little Osman," said the lady whom the boy's mother had asked. "You shall have the story. I trust you will remember it whenever you think of the Holy Prophet.
"Mohammed once travelled a long, long distance over the desert. He became very tired, and at last he stopped to rest. As he did so, he fell fast asleep.
"Then, sad am I to tell it, a wicked serpent glided out from among the rocks and drew near the Prophet. It was about to bite him, when a cat happened to come along. She saw the serpent and what it was about to do; she rushed upon it and struggled and fought. The serpent defended itself with all its strength and cunning, too. Great was the battle. But the cat killed the snake.
"As it was dying, the wicked creature hissed so horribly that the noise awakened Mohammed, and he saw at once that the cat had saved his life.
"'Come here,' he said. As the cat obeyed him, the holy man stroked her lovingly three times. Three times he blessed her, saying these words:
"'May peace be yours, O cat. I will reward you for your kindness to me this day. No enemy shall conquer thee. No creature that lives shall ever be able to throwthee on thy back. Thou art indeed thrice blessed.'"
"And is this the reason a cat always falls on her feet?" asked Osman.
"Even so, my little friend. Perhaps after this story you will feel more loving toward those soft-footed creatures," said the lady.
Osman made a low bow and thanked her for her kindness in telling the story. He was about to leave the room when another of the visitors reached out her hand and softly patted his shoulder.
"Sit down beside me, my child. I have a story to tell the company. Stay and hear it, if your dear mother is willing."
"May I, mamma?" he asked.
"Certainly, Osman, if you are good and quiet."
The little boy at once settled himself beside the lady who had asked him to stay. This is the story he heard.
THE WOOD-CUTTER AND FORTUNE
Once upon a time there was a wood-cutter who lived in the forest with his wife and two children. He was very poor. Day after day, and year after year, he went out into the midst of the wood and worked hard chopping down the trees and cutting them up for fire-wood.
After he had cut all the logs he could fasten upon the backs of his two mules, he went with them to the nearest town and sold his wood.
As each year came to an end, the poor wood-cutter was no richer than he was at the beginning. When twenty such years had passed by, he began to feel quite hopeless.
"What is the use of working so hard?" he said. "Perhaps if I stay in bed from morning until night, Fortune will take pity on me. I will try it, at any rate."
The next morning, therefore, the wood-cutter stayed in bed, as he had promised himself he would do. When his wife foundhe did not get up, she went to wake him.
"Come, come," she cried, "the cock crowed long since. You are late."
"Late for what?" asked her husband.
"Late for your work in the forest, to be sure."
"What is the use? I should only gain enough to keep us for one day."
"But, my dear husband, we must take what Fortune gives us. She has never been very kind to us, I must admit."
"I am tired and sick of the way she has treated us. If she wishes to find me now, she must come here. I will not go to the wood to seek her any more."
When she heard these words, the woodcutter's wife began to weep bitterly. She thought of the empty cupboard. She was afraid of hunger and cold.
Neither his wife's pleadings nor her tearshad any effect on the wood-cutter. He would not rise from the bed. In a little while a man came to the door of the cottage, and said:
"Friend Wood-cutter, will you help me with your mules? I have a load to move."
But the wood-cutter would not get up. "I have made a vow to stay in my bed, and here I shall stay," he answered.
"Then, will you let me take your mules?" asked the neighbour.
"Certainly, help yourself," said the wood-cutter.
The neighbour took the mules and went away. It happened that he had found a rich store of treasure in his field, and he needed the mules to carry it for him to his home.
But, alas for him! The animals were safely loaded and had nearly reached his house, when some armed policemen came that way. The man knew the law of the Sultan, by which he claimed all treasure-trove for himself.
There was only one thing for him to do, that is, if he did not wish to be killed for taking the treasure for himself. He must flee.
Away he ran as fast as he could move, leaving the mules to go where they chose.
You can easily guess they turned toward their own home. They soon reached it in safety.
When the wood-cutter's wife saw them standing in front of the door with their heavy loads, she rushed to her husband and begged him to get up and look into the matter.
But he still refused.
He had vowed to stay in bed till Fortune should visit him, and stay he would.
His wife, seeing something must be done, went out to the mules and began to cut the cords binding the sacks.
Of course you know what happened then. Out fell a perfect shower of gold pieces. Theground was soon covered with a golden carpet, richer than the most precious stores of the great East.
"A treasure! A treasure!" cried the woman, as she rushed to her husband's bedside. "Fortune has truly come to our home. Husband, you did right in waiting for her here. Look and see how rich we are now."
It was certainly time for the wood-cutter to get up, for he had kept his vow. As he looked at the piles of gold pieces, he said:
"I was quite right, dear wife. One must wait for Fortune. She is very fickle. You will never catch her if you run after her. But, if you wait for her, she will surely come to you."
When the story was ended, one of the ladies pointed to the clock.
"My dear friend," she said, turning toOsman's mother, "I have had a most delightful day. But it is now late in the afternoon. I must bid you farewell."
As she rose to go, the other ladies followed her example, each one thanking the hostess for the pleasant day spent with her.
GIPSIES
"I wishyou had been with me this afternoon, Osman," said his father, as his little boy ran to meet him.
"What did you see, papa? Please tell me all about it."
"I went to walk with a friend. We wandered on and on until we came to a large field near the city walls. The field was alive with gipsies, who were having some sort of a holiday. They were dressed in their gayest colours and were having a dance."
"Outdoors in that field, papa?"
"Yes, Osman, and it was a very pretty sight. A number of the men were squatting on the ground in a circle. Those were the musicians.They played on different kinds of instruments. There were drums, flutes, and mandolins.
"The players banged away with no kind of time, but the gipsies seemed to enjoy it, notwithstanding."
"How did they dance, papa?"
"The men kept by themselves, each one moving separately. But the women danced together. They all beat time with their hands. At the same time they kept saying, 'Oh, Oh, Oh,' as they moved about.
"When the dance was ended, the gipsies went over to a corner of the field where a feast was being prepared. Great fires had been kindled. Huge kettles of rice were boiling there, and whole sheep were being roasted.
"Many of the young gipsies were handsome. Their eyes were dark and sparkling, and their teeth were of a pearly white. But the old women were wrinkled and ugly. Their long, thin fingers made me think of witches."
"The gipsies dress in the old style of our country, don't they, papa?"
"Yes, you always see them with large, baggy trousers, short jackets, and turbans wound around their heads. The men wear bright-coloured waistbands, stuck full of pistols and daggers."
"I feel scared, papa, only to hear you speak of such things."
"How foolish that is, Osman. The gipsies would do you no harm. They mind their own affairs pretty well. To be sure, we do not love these people, but there is nothing to fear from them.
"They have chosen to live among us, and, although they go away in large companies and travel all over Europe, they are sure to come back here."
"Where did they come from in the first place, papa?"
"A long time ago, I believe, they lived inthe far East, or in Egypt. They speak a queer language, made up of Hindi and Greek, as well as Turkish words."
Just then, Osman's mother came into the room.
"Father has just been telling me about a feast held by the gipsies this afternoon, mamma."
"Indeed! And did any of the women offer to tell you your fortune?" asked the lady, as she turned toward her husband.
"They were having too good a time among themselves to notice any outsider," he answered. "At any other time I should have been bothered by them. I can't tell you how many times this year I have been asked to show the palm of my hand and cross it with silver."
"The silver is the pay for the fortune-telling, isn't it?" asked Osman.
woman reading another woman's palm"'SHE TOLD ME HE WOULD BE MY HUSBAND.'"
"Certainly; a gipsy wouldn't give you amoment of her time unless she were paid for it," said his mother.
"When I was a young girl, I loved to have my fortune told. One day a beautiful young gipsy girl came to the door of my house. Of course, she asked to tell my fortune.
"I spread out the palm of my hand and she looked at it a long time with her bright black eyes. She seemed to study the lines as though she were reading. At last, she began to speak slowly in a low voice. And, would you believe it! she described your father, Osman, although I had never seen him at that time. She told me he would be my husband."
Osman's father smiled a little and then said, "The less we have to do with these strange people, my son, the better. It is very easy for these fortune-tellers to make one or two guesses that afterward turn out to be true. But we have talked enough about the gipsies for one day. Let us speak of something else."
"Then tell me about our great ruler, whom you serve," said Osman. "I like to hear about the palace and the Sultan's little children who live in a city of their own inside of our great one."
The people of Turkey seldom speak of Osman's city as Constantinople, the name given it by the Christians. They prefer to call it "The Town."
"Yes, the palace and the buildings belonging to it really make a city by themselves," said his father. "It is a beautiful place, with its lovely gardens and parks. There is a lake in the midst of the park, and the Sultan sometimes sails around it in an elegant steam launch.
"The palace is of white marble, as you know, Osman. The furniture is of ebony inlaid with ivory. The curtains and carpets are of the brightest colours, and are rich and heavy."
"There is a theatre, as well as a great many other buildings, isn't there, papa?"
"Yes, Osman. It is decorated in the richest colours. The Sultan's seat is in the front part of the gallery."
"He has many children, hasn't he?"
"Yes, and he loves them dearly. He often spends the evening with them and plays duets on the piano with his favourites. The building where they live with their mothers is in the park. I have been told it is very beautiful."
"The Sultan has many, many wives, I have heard mother say."
"It is true. And each wife has a great number of slaves as well as other attendants. Sometimes his wives drive through the city in elegant carriages."
"But the Sultan never leaves the palace grounds, except on the two great times each year, does he?"
"Never, except at those times, Osman. But any one can get permission to see him as he rides on horseback to the mosque in his grounds, where he worships."
"It is a beautiful sight, papa. You know you have taken me there to see him. The lines of soldiers, all in red fezzes, reach from the door of the palace to the snow-white mosque. The Sultan himself looks so grand as he rides along!
"The troops cheer him as he passes them and enters the mosque, but everybody else is very, very quiet. I suppose they feel somewhat as I do, papa. I'm not exactly afraid. But he is such a great and powerful ruler, it doesn't seem as if I could move or make a sound while I look at him."
Dear little Osman! Our far-away cousin has never heard how the people of other countries speak of Turkey. They call it the "Sick Man of Europe." They think it isa pity the Sultan has such power in the land. They say:
"Turkey is the only country in Europe that does not believe in the Christian faith. Its most important city is on the shores of a strait through which a great deal of trade is carried from all parts of the world. These are some of the reasons different countries would like to get control of Turkey and its great city. They all look toward it with longing eyes.
"Besides these things, the Sultan himself is not a good ruler for his people. He has many wives and hundreds of slaves. Many of his people follow his bad example and buy slaves, both black and white."
But little Osman knows nothing of what is said about the Sultan and the people of his land. It has never entered his head that it is wrong to buy and sell human beings.
His mother is kind to her slaves, and doesnot make them work hard. Sometimes, too, she frees one of her slave women. They are happy, she thinks.
"But, dear little Osman," you would say, "it is therightof every one to be free. Perhaps when you grow up you will see this, and help to make things different in your country."
Let us go back now to the little boy and his father as they sat talking of the Sultan and his palace.
"He dresses very plainly," said the Turk. "But in the old days, the ruler's garments were very rich, and his fez fairly blazed with diamonds. If you had lived then, Osman, your eyes would have been dazzled when you looked at him."
"I wish I could have seen some of the things my grandmother has described," answered his son. "But I'm glad I wasn't living during the revolution of the janizaries. Everybody must have been scared then.
"Is it really true that Sultan Mahmoud's old nurse saved his life by hiding him away in an oven?"
"Yes, but he wasn't Sultan then. He was the heir to the throne, however."
"What made the trouble, papa?"
"Sultan Selim III. was a wise ruler. He wished to improve his country. At one time the janizaries were the best trained and most useful troops. They were chosen from the Christians who were taken captive in war.
"But after awhile, men with no training and with selfish motives managed to get into their ranks. Sultan Selim knew they were harmful to the Empire, and intended to disband them. They found out what he was about to do, took the city and palace by surprise, and killed the good Selim.
"As soon as his son's old nurse heard the uproar, she hurried to Mahmoud and said, 'Come with me at once; your life must besaved.' She led him to an old furnace in the palace and begged him to get inside.
"'No matter what happens, nor who calls your name, do not make a sound until I speak to you,' she told him.
"He did as she said. Hour after hour, he stayed quietly inside the furnace while his father and many of his friends were being cruelly killed.
"The Sultan's enemies hunted everywhere for him, but he was nowhere to be found. They called his name coaxingly, but he knew better than to answer any one else than his old nurse, so he did not make a sound.
"In the meanwhile, the old woman was patiently watching. When the janizaries had gone away, she went to the door of the furnace and whispered to Mahmoud. She told him he now had a chance to gather his men about him and seize the government.
"There was not a moment to lose; Mahmoudwas quite a young man, but he had a strong nature. His wonderful eyes showed that.
"He came out from his hiding-place and succeeded in gaining control of the city. The wicked janizaries were conquered, but Mahmoud had a sad and troubled reign. Blessed be his memory!"
A TURKISH BATH
"Osman, you may go with me to the public bath-house," said his father, one bright morning. "I have business at the bazaar to-day, and we will go there afterward. You can have a good bath."
Osman was delighted. A whole day with his father was a great treat. Besides, it pleased him to think of a visit to the public bath-house.
There was a large marble bath-room in his own home, and there were furnaces underneath to heat it. There were servants to wait upon him as he bathed. "Yet the public bath is better still," thought Osman, "and I love to go there." Probably you have all heard ofTurkish baths. They are so delightful that people in America and other countries have copied them from the Turks. They have built similar bath-houses in their cities.
"Are we to drive or walk, papa?" asked Osman.
"We will drive. The carriage will be here in a few moments."
After a short drive they drew up in front of a large and handsome building. It was the public bath-house.
The first room entered by Osman and his father was a large hall. It was open overhead to let in the fresh air. There was a raised platform around the sides. This platform was covered with a soft carpet and divided into small dressing-rooms. Each visitor would have one of these for himself.
A fountain was playing in the middle of the hall, making sweet music as the water fell into the marble basin.
"Go into one of those little rooms and take off your clothing, Osman," said his father.
The little boy was soon ready for the bath. The attendant had wound three bright-bordered towels around him. One of these was tied about his waist, the second was twisted into a turban around his head, while the third one was thrown over his shoulders. He would not catch cold, for the towels were thick and warm. He wore wooden slippers on his feet.
Now for the warm chamber.
Osman knew what was coming. He went at once to the marble platform in the middle of the room. There he stretched himself on a soft mattress which the attendants placed for him.
They began to rub his feet and limbs very gently. How pleasant and restful it was! The little boy soon began to perspire. Thiswas the time for moving him into a still warmer room, called the hot chamber.
Here Osman was rubbed briskly with a camel's-hair glove after a bowl of water had been poured over his body.
"Oh, how good this is," he thought, sleepily, when scented water was brought in, the attendant using the soft fibres of the palm in bathing him with the fragrant water. It was very, very pleasant.
There was no hurry. Hot clothing was laid on the boy when this last bathing was over; cold water was poured over his feet and he was taken to the cooling-room. Here he could lie on a soft, pleasant couch as long as he wished.
After a good rest, how the blood danced through every part of his body! Tired! It did not seem as though he could ever be tired again in his life. He was ready for any amount of walking and sightseeing.
"Father," he said, as they left the building and turned into one of the busiest streets, "I think a bath is one of the pleasantest things in the whole world."
"It almost makes a new man out of an old one," answered the serious Turk.
He never called himself a Turk, however. He would feel insulted to hear us speak of him in that manner. He would say, "I am an Osmanli, that is, a subject of the empire founded by Osman."
Osman, the founder of the empire, is also called Otman, so the subjects are sometimes spoken of as Ottomans, and their country as the Ottoman Empire.
Now let us go back to our little Osman and his father.
"See that poor beggar," whispered the little boy. "May I give him a coin, papa?"
It was a sickly-looking old man who filled Osman's heart with pity. He was very dirty,and his clothes were torn and ragged, although they were gay with bright colours. As he leaned against the side of a fountain, he made a picture you would like to paint. He kept crying, "Baksheesh, baksheesh," to the passers-by.
What a beautiful fountain it was! It had a wide roof, giving a pleasant shade. There were gilded gratings all around it, worked in lovely patterns,—roses and honeysuckles and trailing vines.
Brass drinking-cups, hanging around the sides, seemed to say, "Come, thirsty traveller, come and drink."
What a fluttering and cooing there was over the roof. At least a hundred pigeons were flying about, fearless and happy. No one would harm them, not even the ragged street boys who were playing about the fountain and ready for any mischief.
After Osman had given a silver coin to thebeggar, his father pointed to the fountain, and said, "Look, my child, at the beautiful pattern of the grating."
"How pretty the gilded flowers are," answered Osman. "I love to see them. But, papa, there are ever so many fountains in our city. Nearly half of them are as pretty as this one. I believe there is hardly a street without one."
"I knew a very good man who died a few months ago. He left his money to be used in building a fountain. It was a kind deed. Don't you think so?"
"Yes, indeed, papa. There are always people and animals who are thirsty. It is a comfort to have fresh water at hand, especially if it is a warm day."
crowd of men in street"THROUGH THE CROWD OF BUSY PEOPLE."
As Osman was speaking, he heard a sound of music. Looking down the street, he saw two gipsies coming toward him. The man was playing on a bagpipe, and leading a tamebear. The woman was dressed in bright colours. She was beating a tambourine.
"Isn't it pretty music, papa? Oh, do look at the bear," cried Osman. "He is doing some tricks."
His father was in no hurry, so he and Osman joined the crowd who gathered around the gipsies. The bear danced in time to the music, and did other amusing things.
Osman tossed him a coin, which he carried to his master. This pleased the others, and they threw him some more coins.
"At this rate, the gipsies will go home to-night quite rich," laughed Osman's father, as they passed on. "We will go to the bazaar now. I must attend to some business there before it is much later."
"See that man with the tiger's skin over his shoulders," said Osman, a few minutes later. "He is clothed in rags, but he isn't a beggar, is he?"
"No, indeed, Osman. He is without doubt a wise man of our own faith, who prefers to be poor. He has probably come to the city to visit some holy tomb, in order to keep a vow he has made. He may have travelled many hundreds of miles. You should honour him, my little boy."
Osman and his father still moved through the crowd of busy people. They passed many Greeks and Armenians, who carry on a large share of the business of the city. There were also Englishmen and Americans, who were seeing the sights of this strange, lively place.
There were serious-looking Mohammedan priests in white and green turbans, with their eyes bent down to the ground. There were water-carriers with big jars on their backs, and sweetmeat-sellers with scales on which they were ever ready to weigh out the rich candies of Turkey.
As for dogs and beggars, there were hundreds of them, without a doubt.
"There is the bazaar, papa. I can see it on the hilltop beyond us."
It was an immense building of a brownish gray colour. You might almost call it a city in itself.
As Osman and his father began to climb the hill, they made their way between many stands and tiny booths where goods were for sale. Everything looked inviting, and Osman saw several things he wished to buy.
"See those lovely grapes, papa. I should like to carry some of them home," said the boy. But his father would not stop.
"We will not buy anything till we reach the bazaar," he said. "You will see enough there to tempt you, I do not doubt."
They passed on, and soon reached the entrance of the great building. It was quiet and dark inside, and there were many narrowlittle streets or passages, through which hundreds of people were moving. Each narrow passage was given up to the sale of some special thing.
The shopkeepers were from many different countries. There were shrewd Armenians, wily Greeks, Persians with big caps on their heads, and Turks with long beards, squatting comfortably by their counters.
The high roof was over all. Light was given by great numbers of little domes shining in every direction through this city of shops.
It was very pleasant to Osman. He liked to watch the crowds and look at the many lights. He enjoyed the strange odours of the East. He never grew tired of looking at the rich and beautiful goods for sale,—the goods of Europe, Asia, and Africa. Three continents seemed to meet in the great bazaar of Constantinople.
"Oh, papa, please look at these lovelystones. I should like to buy that necklace for mamma, she is so fond of amber."
But the boy's father replied, "Not to-day, Osman, not to-day."
Some queerly wrought swords now caught the boy's eye. They were made of the finest steel, and the handles were richly ornamented.
"How I wish I could have one of those for my very own, papa. Mayn't I please have one?"
"When you are a young man, Osman, we will look for the most elegant sword to be bought. But not now, my child."
Osman forgot his longing for a sword when he stood in front of a stand where perfumes were sold.
"We will buy some of this attar of roses. It will please your mother, and you may give it to her," said the father.
The Turks are fond of delicate perfumes,and there is none they like better than attar of roses, which is largely made in Turkey, and sent from there to other countries.
"Why does it cost so much?" asked Osman, as his father handed a gold coin to the shopkeeper.
"It is because only a few drops can be obtained from hundreds and hundreds of the flowers. Next year, you shall take a journey with me, Osman. I am going to the part of our country where the roses are raised for this purpose. It is a beautiful sight,—the fields thickly dotted with the sweet-smelling blossoms. You shall then see how the people get fragrant perfume from the flowers."
"I'm getting so hungry, papa. Can't we get some lunch? That cheese makes my mouth water."
A man with a round wicker basket containing different kinds of cheese was going through the street and calling his wares.
"Hush, Osman." His father pointed to the tower of a small mosque.
High up in this tower stood a man crying out to all faithful believers of Mohammed. It was the call to prayer.
Five times each day this prayer-caller mounted the tower. Each time he cried out to the people who were within reach of his voice.
Osman and his father instantly turned toward the sacred city of Mecca, and, kneeling down right where they stood, repeated a short prayer.
Then they slowly rose and turned their steps toward a restaurant, where they could get a delicious lunch.
There were many other peddlers in the streets besides the cheese-seller. Some of the shoppers bought what they wished from these peddlers. They could get unleavened bread or biscuits, custards, ices, sherbet, sweetmeats, hot vegetables, and many other things.
But Osman's father said, "We can be more comfortable in the restaurant. Besides, I should like a good dish of kebaby."
Kebaby! It was an odd name and an odd dish.
"It is very, very good," thought our little Turkish cousin, as he began to eat from the steaming soup-plate set before him.
The cook had placed tiny squares of unleavened bread in the bottom of the dish. Over this he had poured a quantity of sour cream, and last of all came little squares of hot meat. The dish was seasoned with salt, pepper, cardamom, and sumach.
"Good! Yes, very good," said Osman's father, as he tasted the kebaby. "There is nothing I like better."
When the lunch was over, he and his little son went to that part or the bazaar where carpets were sold. After many words about the price, a beautiful rug was purchased. Itscolours were soft and rich. It was woven so closely it would last for many years. The shopkeeper had said it would be good for a lifetime, and he probably spoke the truth.
"Before we go home, will you take me out on the bridge of boats?" asked Osman. "It isn't far from the bazaar."
"Aren't you too tired?"
"No, indeed; the bath this morning made me ready for anything."
A short walk brought Osman and his father to the bridge of which he had spoken. It joins the main city of Constantinople and the suburb of Pera.
"It doesn't seem as though the bridge could be made of boats until we look over the sides, does it?" said Osman.
"No, dear. They are firmly chained together and covered with such strong planks that this bridge seems like any other. I must say I like to come here, myself. Wecan get such a fine view of the Golden Horn."
"Why do people call our harbour the Golden Horn?"
"It is shaped somewhat like a horn. Besides this, it is the channel through which many shiploads of the richest goods are carried. Think of the precious things you saw in the bazaar to-day, the beautiful gems, the spices, the silks, the shawls of camel's hair."
"I understand now. But look! There is a camel with a heavy load on his back. His master is leading him. I love camels."
"When I was a little boy," said his father, "my mother used to tell me stories of the old times. In those days there were none of the new-fashioned carriages in our streets. Only the gaily trimmed arabas, and sedan-chairs carried on men's shoulders could be seen."
"Mamma sometimes goes in a sedan-chair now," said Osman. "It must be a warmway of riding in summer-time, though. The close curtains keep out the air."
"You would have liked to see the camels in the old days, Osman. Merchants often travelled through the streets with whole processions of those animals. They went very slowly, to be sure, and they blocked up the streets. But camels are steady, faithful creatures, and are good beasts of burden."
"The dress of the people was much prettier long ago, wasn't it?"
"Indeed, it was. It is a shame so many of our people copy the fashions of other countries. The dress now looks stiff and ugly beside the loose robes and bright colours of the old times. But see, my child, the day has left us and I am tired. We must hasten homeward."