Our Little Turkish Cousin

"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 in the 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.

"Certainly; a gipsy wouldn't give you a moment 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 is a 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 does not 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 the right of 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 be saved.' 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.