Our Little Turkish Cousin Part 9

"Why was that, mamma?"

"It was a token of the good feeling there will be between them, Osman."

"Dear me, a wedding-festival is a grand thing, isn't it? I wish I could have gone Thursday with you and papa. That was the greatest day of all."

"Yes, it was a very pleasant time for every one. There was an entertainment in the place of greeting for the men, and another for the women in the bride's rooms. Some gipsy girls danced and sang for us and we had refreshments."

"What was the bride doing all this time, mamma?"

"As soon as the bridegroom had led her to the bridal bower and gone away, her veil was raised. We could now look at her beautiful face as much as we liked, and admire her wedding-gown and presents."

"Did many poor people come in to look at the pretty things?" asked Osman. His voice was rather sad as he said the word "poor." He pitied those who did not have a lovely home like himself, and plenty to eat and to wear.

"It is so hard to be poor and have to work hard from early morning till late at night," he often thought.

"Yes, indeed, Osman. The house was filled with people all day long. No one was turned away from the door," answered his mother. "I saw women in shabby clothing standing beside the most richly dressed ladies. They seemed to enjoy the festival very much."

"When did the bridegroom enter, mamma?"

"As soon as the evening prayer had been recited in the 'place of greeting.' Then the bridegroom hurriedly left his men friends and started for the bridal bower."

Osman began to laugh. "I know what the men did then, mamma. I have heard papa tell about it. They pelted the bridegroom with old shoes and struck his back many a sharp blow. No wonder he hurried up-stairs as fast as he could go."

The boy's mother smiled. "And I can tell you what happened after the door closed behind him, although we visitors now took our leave. I well remember my own wedding.

"The bride kissed his hand as he entered. He knelt down on her veil and made a short prayer. After this a mirror was held in front of the young couple by an old woman friend of the bride, so they could see their faces in it side by side.

"Then sugar was pa.s.sed from the young man's mouth to that of the bride.

It was a symbol of the sweetness of their future life.

"But, my dear child, I have been so busy talking I did not notice the time. I must leave you to dress for the banquet at the home of our young friends. Run away and play with Selim."

CHAPTER VIII.

THE CHILDREN'S CARNIVAL

"SELIM, Selim, you will be late if you don't hurry," called Osman.

He himself had been ready for five whole minutes, and was becoming impatient because his little friend was not in sight. So he ran across the street to Selim's house to find out what was the matter.

"I will be dressed in a minute or two," said Selim. Osman sat down to count his marbles while he waited.

The two boys were going to a children's carnival in the grand courtyard of a certain mosque. Their mothers would go with them. Hundreds and hundreds of children would gather there to make the most of this glorious spring day.

Osman had looked forward to this festival for a long time.

"Isn't it beautiful?" he exclaimed, when he and Selim, with their veiled mothers, entered the courtyard and joined the crowd of happy little people.

The children played one game after another. The boys had their tops and marbles, and did many wonderful things with them. Of course, refreshments were plentiful; there were delicious sweetmeats, sherbets, and other things the children loved. And all the time the mothers, sitting on their gay carpets, watched the boys and girls at their play, and seemed to enjoy it as much as the little ones themselves.

"I have had _such_ a good time," Osman told his father that evening.

"Papa, do you remember when you were a little boy like me, and went to children's carnivals?"

"Yes, as if it were only yesterday, my dear. Yet many years have pa.s.sed away since I romped with my boy friends and played with tops and marbles. But I have something else to speak of, Osman. Would you like to go with me to-morrow to the mosque of Agia Sophia?"

"Oh, papa, yes, indeed. I love to go with you anywhere. But it is so beautiful there, I shall be more glad than usual."

Osman's people use the word "mosque" as we do the word "church." Mosque means the place of prayer. The Turks build all their mosques in the same general way. They ornament them with domes and high-pointed spires called minarets.

When you visit Osman's home, you will see hundreds of these domes and minarets, for there are many mosques in his city.

"Papa, where is the oldest mosque in the world?" asked Osman.

"It is at Medina, in Arabia, on the very spot chosen by the great Prophet himself. A part of it is kept open to this day for all homeless people. That is, if they are believers in Mohammed. They can go there at any time and live in its shelter. It was the Prophet's wish."

"It would be nice if every mosque were like that one," said Osman. "When I grow up, I hope I may go to Medina and stand in the Mosque of the Prophet. He suffered very much, didn't he, papa?"

"A great, great deal," Osman's father sighed. "He received his teachings direct from Heaven. We find those teachings in the Koran, our sacred book.

"Mohammed had many enemies who believed he was cheating his followers.

They did not believe that Allah (G.o.d) taught him. They even said bad spirits were the cause of his teachings. His life was in danger many times. But he and his teachings were saved."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THEY CAME IN SIGHT OF THE MOSQUE AT LAST."]

Osman's father bent his head, saying these words very slowly: "Allah is great, and Mohammed is his Prophet."

Osman repeated them after him. Then both father and son sat quiet for a few minutes. When the Turk spoke again, he said:

"It is bedtime for my little boy. Good night, my child." He bent down and kissed Osman, then motioned to his waiting nurse to go with him to his room.

The next day was clear and beautiful. Even the street dogs seemed quieter and happier than usual.

"It is good to be outdoors in the bright suns.h.i.+ne," said Osman, as he walked down the street with his father. They came in sight of the mosque at last. It was not beautiful to look at, but it was very, very large.

"Once there were no minarets rising from this mosque toward heaven," the boy's father told him. "Only the great dome reached upward from the roof. That was when the Christians ruled over our city and wors.h.i.+pped in this building. But when it came into our hands, many changes were made."

"Why do we call it 'Agia Sophia,' papa?"

"It is sacred to 'Wisdom,' my child. The way to wisdom must be through prayer. But here we are at the doorway."

Osman and his father hastily took off their shoes and put on the big, soft slippers handed them by an attendant. Other people, who were about to enter, did the same thing.

There was a good reason for this. The dust of the street must not be brought in to soil the floor or carpets. They must be kept clean. During the service the people bow their heads to the floor itself many times.

"It always makes me wish to be quiet when I go there," Osman once told his mother. "I wonder how men could ever build such a great, great place of wors.h.i.+p."