Part 10 (1/2)
There were no altars, no images, no seats. But along the walls, there were slabs of marble of all sorts and colours. Pillars of rare and beautiful stones held up the roof.
”They have been polished so they s.h.i.+ne like mirrors,” thought Osman, ”and they are as beautiful as gems.”
The floor of the mosque was strewn with prayer-rugs. They were arranged so the people who came to wors.h.i.+p might all kneel toward the sacred city of Mecca.
”It is hundreds of years since Christians wors.h.i.+pped here,” Osman's father had once told him. ”They had altars of solid gold and shrines sparkling with precious jewels. Pictures of their saints were on the walls. But we, Osman, are taught not to have such paintings. A mosque should have no pictures of human shapes, nor of any other. For it is written: 'Thou shalt not make the likeness of anything.'
”When the great Sultan who conquered the Christians took possession of the city, he rode through this very building. It was crowded with people who had fled here for safety. The Sultan ordered that no blood should be shed. But he made the Christians the slaves of himself and his people.
”He changed the building into a place of wors.h.i.+p fit for followers of Mohammed, saying, 'There is no G.o.d but Allah, and Mohammed is his Prophet.'”
”What was done with the altars and the images and paintings, papa?”
”The altars and images were torn down. The walls were covered with a coating of reddish plaster, even as you see them to-day, and this hid the pictures from sight.”
”I love to come here in Ramazan. The brightness dazzles my eyes. I wish I could count the great wheels of light hanging from the ceiling at that time.”
Ramazan is the only part of the year when the mosque is brightly lighted. It is a strange festival, and lasts a whole month.
The days are given up to fasting, and the nights to services in the mosques, to feasts, and frolics. It is the only time in the year when Osman's mamma leaves her home after the sun has set, and goes to evening parties of her friends.
All through the month, the streets are alive each evening with lights and processions and gay parties. But from dawn to sunset the followers of Mohammed must eat no food whatever, although they may feast all night long if they wish to do so.
Rich people, such as Osman and his family, enjoy turning day into night for a while. But it is not so easy for the poor, who must work without eating through the whole day, no matter how hungry and faint they may become.
CHAPTER IX.
THE TWO FRIENDS
”NEVER forget your friends, Osman. I am glad you are so fond of Selim, although his family is poor. I hope you will always love him as you do now.”
”Of course, papa. Selim is just like my brother. He always will be, too.”
Osman looked up at his father with a little surprise. Forget Selim! He could not imagine such a thing.
”You ought to feel that way,” said his father. ”There is nothing so beautiful as friends.h.i.+p. I will tell you a true story about two boys who once lived in this very city.”
Osman, with a happy smile, squatted on the rug by his father's side.
There was nothing he liked better than a story.
”One of these boys,” said the father, ”was the son of a rich tobacconist. He was a Moslem, like ourselves, but his dearest friend was a little Armenian, whose father was a poor bread-seller and a Christian.
The two boys were always together in work and play. After a while, their parents began to think, 'This is not good. A Christian and a Moslem should not be such close friends. We must not let this go on any longer.'
”Neither reasoning nor scolding did any good.
”At last the rich boy's father, the Moslem, decided to send him out of Turkey. 'It is the only way to make Ibrahim forget Joannes,' he said to himself. 'Ibrahim is now fifteen years old. He is nearly a man. Yes, I must send him so far away he will forget all about his Christian playmate.'
”Ibrahim was told of the plan. What did he do? He rushed to Joannes's home and said to his friend, 'I am going away, Joannes. I must bid you good-bye.'