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Page 29
"I don't think I know much," said Fred doubtfully.
"But we've got an atlas," said Maggie, "so you can show it us, you
know."
"Well, give me the map. Here is the Sea of Marmora, with
Turkey-in-Europe on one side of it, and Turkey-in-Asia on the other side
of it. This narrower part that you come into it by is called the
Dardanelles, that narrower part that you go out of it by is called the
Bosphorus. The Bosphorus is about two miles broad; it is salt water, you
know, and leads from the Sea of Marmora to the Black Sea, which is
farther north. This narrow piece of water going westward out of the
Bosphorous is called the Golden Horn. Constantinople--which is built,
like Rome, on hills--rises above the shores of the Bosphorus and on both
sides of the Golden Horn. The part of it which is south of the Golden
Horn is called Stamboul, and is the especially Turkish Quarter. Across
the Golden Horn from Stamboul lies the Quarter called Galata--the
commercial port--and beyond that Pera--beautiful Pera!--the Quarter
where English people live when they live at Constantinople. North of
these are more suburbs, and then detached Turkish villages and gay
gardens dotting the banks of the Bosphorus."
"But you lived at Pera?"
"Yes, I lived at Pera; in a house looking into the Turkish cemetery."
"Was it nice, Cousin, like our churchyard? or do the Turks do horrid
things with their dead people, like those Chinese you told us about, who
put them in boxes high up in the air?"
"The Turks bury their dead as we do, my dear Maggie, and they plant
their graveyards with cypresses, which, standing tall and dark among the
headstones of the graves, have a very picturesque effect. The cemetery
in all Turkish towns is a favourite place of public resort, but I cannot
say that it is kept in very nice order, as a rule. For the sake of a
water-colour sketch I made in one, I was very glad that the upright
headstones were tumbling about in all directions, it took away the look
of stiffness and monotony; but I am bound to say that the graves looked
neglected as well as picturesque. The cemetery at Pera had too much
refuse, and too many cocks, hens, and dogs in it. It looked very pretty,
however, from my windows, sloping down towards the Golden Horn, beyond
which I could catch a glimpse of Stamboul on the heights across the
water. But I have not yet told you what Constantinople looked like when
I first saw it."
"You began about the Sea of Marmora, Cousin, and here it is. I've had
my middle finger on it ever since we found it, to keep the place."
"Very good, Maggie. We were coming up the Sea of Marmora one evening,
and drew near to Constantinople about sunrise. I knew we were near, but
I could not see anything, because a thick white mist hung in front of us
like a veil resting on the sea. We were near the mouth of the Bosphorus
when the sun broke out, the white mist rose slowly, like the curtain of
a theatre, and--more beautiful than any scene that human hands can ever
paint--I saw the Queen of Cities glittering in the sunshine."
"What made it glitter? Are the houses built of shiny stuff?"
"The houses are built of wood, but they are painted in many colours. The
rounded domes of the mosques are white, and the minarets, tall, slender,
and fretted, are white, with golden tops, or white and blue. I can give
you no idea how beautifully the shapes of the mosques and minarets break
the uniformity of the mass of houses, nor how the gay colours, the white
and the gold, shone like gems against a cloudless blue sky when the mist
rose. No princess in an Eastern fairy-tale ever dazzled and delighted
the beholder by lifting her veil and displaying her beauty and her
jewels more than my eyes were charmed when the veil was lifted from
Constantinople, and I saw her lovely and sparkling in the sun."
"Are the streets very beautiful when you get into them?"
"Ah, Fred, I am sorry to say--no. They are very dirty, and very narrow.
But they are picturesque, and made doubly so by the fact that in them
you meet people of all nations, in every kind of dress, gay with all
colours of the rainbow."
"Are there shops in the streets?"
"Most of the shops are all together in certain streets by themselves,
forming what is called a Bazaar. But in the other streets there are a
few, such as sweetmeat shops and coffee shops, where the old Turks go to
drink thick black coffee, and smoke, and hear the news; and (if they
wish it) to be shaved."
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