Part 7 (2/2)
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 pa.s.sed on, and soon reached the entrance of the great building. It was quiet and dark inside, and there were many narrow little streets or pa.s.sages, through which hundreds of people were moving. Each narrow pa.s.sage 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 s.h.i.+ning 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 lovely stones. 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.
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