[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic
text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
Our Little Turkish Cousin
THE Little Cousin Series
(TRADE MARK)
Each volume illustrated with six or more full page plates in
tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover
per volume, 60 cents
LIST OF TITLES
BY MARY HAZELTON WADE, MARY F.
NIXON-ROULET, BLANCHE MCMANUS,
CLARA V. WINLOW, FLORENCE E.
MENDEL AND OTHERS
Our Little African Cousin
Our Little Alaskan Cousin
Our Little Arabian Cousin
Our Little Argentine Cousin
Our Little Armenian Cousin
Our Little Australian Cousin
Our Little Austrian Cousin
Our Little Belgian Cousin
Our Little Bohemian Cousin
Our Little Boer Cousin
Our Little Brazilian Cousin
Our Little Bulgarian Cousin
Our Little Canadian Cousin
Our Little Chinese Cousin
Our Little Cossack Cousin
Our Little Cuban Cousin
Our Little Danish Cousin
Our Little Dutch Cousin
Our Little Egyptian Cousin
Our Little English Cousin
Our Little Eskimo Cousin
Our Little French Cousin
Our Little German Cousin
Our Little Grecian Cousin
Our Little Hawaiian Cousin
Our Little Hindu Cousin
Our Little Hungarian Cousin
Our Little Indian Cousin
Our Little Irish Cousin
Our Little Italian Cousin
Our Little Japanese Cousin
Our Little Jewish Cousin
Our Little Korean Cousin
Our Little Malayan (Brown) Cousin
Our Little Mexican Cousin
Our Little Norwegian Cousin
Our Little Panama Cousin
Our Little Persian Cousin
Our Little Philippine Cousin
Our Little Polish Cousin
Our Little Porto Rican Cousin
Our Little Portuguese Cousin
Our Little Russian Cousin
Our Little Scotch Cousin
Our Little Servian Cousin
Our Little Siamese Cousin
Our Little Spanish Cousin
Our Little Swedish Cousin
Our Little Swiss Cousin
Our Little Turkish Cousin
THE PAGE COMPANY
53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: OSMAN.]
Our Little Turkish Cousin
By Mary Hazelton Wade
_Illustrated by_ L. J. Bridgman
[Illustration]
Boston
THE PAGE COMPANY
_PUBLISHERS_
_Copyright, 1904_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
Published June, 1904
Fourth Impression, July, 1908
Fifth Impression, March, 1910
Sixth Impression, November, 1912
Seventh Impression, October, 1917
Preface
IN Europe and Asia there are two countries separated from each other by
a narrow strip of water. One of these is spoken of as Turkey in Europe,
and the other as Turkey in Asia. They are held together under one ruler
called the Sultan. He has absolute power over his people, and can do
with them as he likes. One word from his lips is enough to cause the
death of any of his subjects. None dare to disobey him.
It is because his rule is not the best and wisest, and also because his
kingdom is always in danger from the countries around it, that the
Sultan is often spoken of as "The Sick Man of Europe."
Our little Turkish cousin lives in the city of Constantinople, not far
from the Sultan's palace. He does not understand why some of his people
live in wealth and luxury, while so many others spend their lives in
begging for the food and clothing they must have. He has no thought but
that the Sultan of Turkey is as great and noble as the ruler of any
other land.
The child is brought up to love ease and comfort, the daintiest food and
the richest clothing. He feels sorry for the poor and the homeless, but
he does not know how to truly help them. He hears little about other
countries where every one is free and can claim just treatment as his
right. But as he grows older he may, perhaps, think for himself, and do
some noble deed to save his country and make his people better and
happier.
Let us open the doors of our hearts to him, and let him feel our love
and sympathy.
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I. OSMAN 1
II. SCHOOL 12
III. THE FIRE 22
IV. THE PICNIC 33
V. GIPSIES 54
VI. A TURKISH BATH 67
VII. THE WEDDING 85
VIII. THE CHILDREN'S CARNIVAL 92
IX. THE TWO FRIENDS 101
List of Illustrations
PAGE
OSMAN _Frontispiece_
OSMAN AND HIS MOTHER 17
"IT LOOKED ALMOST LIKE A FAIRY CITY" 39
"'SHE TOLD ME HE WOULD BE MY HUSBAND'" 58
"THROUGH THE CROWD OF BUSY PEOPLE" 75
"THEY CAME IN SIGHT OF THE MOSQUE AT LAST" 96
Our Little Turkish Cousin
CHAPTER I.
OSMAN
OF course Osman cannot remember his first birthday. He is a big boy now,
with brown eyes and soft, dark hair. Ten years have rolled over his head
since he lay in the little cradle by the side of his mother's grand
bedstead.
He made an odd picture,--this tiny baby in cotton shirt and quilted
dressing-gown. His head was encased in a cap of red silk. A tassel of
seed-pearls hung down at one side. Several charms were fastened to the
tassel. His mother thought they would keep harm and danger away from
this precious baby boy.
He could not have felt very comfortable. His nurse had straightened out
his arms and legs, and bound them tightly with bandages. After dressing
him, she placed him in his little bed and covered him with several
quilted wrappers. Last of all, a thin, red veil was spread over this
little Turkish baby.
Do you think he could have enjoyed himself very much? I don't.
He was ready for visitors now. First of all, the proud and delighted
father must come in to see his child. A boy, too! The grave man was
doubly pleased when he thought of this. As he looked for the first time
upon the tiny form done up in so many wrappers, he could hardly tell
whether the boy was big or little, fat or thin.
He bent down over the cradle and lifted the child into his own strong
arms. Holding him tenderly, he carried him from the room. He stopped
just outside the door. There he stood for a few moments while he
repeated a short prayer and whispered the name "Osman" three times in
the baby's ear.
This was the only christening the Turkish boy would ever receive. Osman
would be his name for the rest of his life; and a fine name it was, his
mother and friends all agreed.
When the baby was three days old, there was a grand celebration at his
home.
Certain old women, called "bringers of tidings," went from one house to
another where the lady friends of Osman's mother had their homes.
Wherever they stopped, these old women left bottles of sherbet made of
sugar-candy, spices, and water. As they presented the sherbet, they told
of the good news about the new baby, of the name his father had given
him, and of the feast to be held at Osman's home.
"Do come, do come. You will surely be welcome. You will be glad to see
the child and rejoice with his mother."
In this way the invitations were given; and so it happened that many
ladies found their way to Osman's house on the day named. No special
hour was set for their visit. But, from morning till night, people were
coming and going.
It was easy enough for passers-by to know something of interest was
taking place inside. They could hear the band of music playing lively
airs as the ladies drove up to the door and entered the house.
All the visitors wore long cloaks, with veils over their faces, hiding
everything except their soft, dark eyes. For it is still the fashion in
Turkey that no lady shall be seen away from her home with her face
uncovered.
Very few of these visitors came alone. They were attended by their
slaves and servants, laden with baskets. These baskets were very pretty.
They were trimmed with flowers and ribbons, and filled with all sorts of
delicious sweets.
Of course they were presents for the new baby's mother. She lay in her
grand state bed, smiling softly as the ladies came up, one by one, to
greet her. Before they entered her chamber, they took off their veils
and cloaks in an outside room.
"Mashallah! May the child live long and be happy," said the visitors, as
they bent over the young mother. At each kind wish, she kissed the hands
of the speaker. This was her way of thanking them. Strange to say, the
ladies seemed hardly to notice the baby himself, in whose honour they
had come to the house.
Do not think for a moment they had forgotten the tiny bundle done up in
quilted cotton. No, indeed. But the anxious mother believed some bad
fortune might come to Osman if he were examined too closely. She would
worry if her friends should fondle the child or pay him much attention.
This is the reason most of them pretended not to see him. A few,
however, were so curious they could not resist stopping for a moment at
the cradle. But, instead of saying, "Oh, the darling little fellow!" or,
"What a bright-looking child!" or other kind words, they exclaimed, "The
ugly little creature!" "What stupid eyes he has!" or some such
unpleasant thing.
Would you believe it? Osman's mother seemed really pleased as she
listened. She said to herself, "Well, if they praised my child, I should
think they were trying to hide some bad wish. That very wish would bring
an accident to my darling, sooner or later. No, I like best to hear
them speak as they do. I know they do not mean what they say."
The visitors were in no hurry to leave Osman's home. They made
themselves comfortable on the soft couches. They laughed and chatted
together while they ate ices and rich cakes, and sipped coffee or
sherbet.
The refreshments were of many kinds, for the baby's father was rich and
held a high office under the Sultan, as the ruler of Turkey is called.
If Osman had been born in a poor family, his parents would have had a
celebration just the same. The feast would not have been as rich, but
coffee and fruits would have been served, at any rate, and the visitors
would probably have enjoyed themselves just as much.
When Osman was eight days old, there was another great ceremony at his
house. He received a bath. The ladies who were invited could join in
the bath if they liked, as well as his mother. There would be music and
refreshments and a general good time.
The baby was bathed first. His mother's turn came next.
A Turkish bath is not like that of other people, as perhaps you have
heard. A long time is spent before it is finished. On this great day in
Osman's life, it was even longer than usual. Many songs were sung, and
the visitors stopped several times to eat refreshments.
All this sounds odd to us, but the rich ladies of Turkey have little to
do except to ride and make calls, bathe in their own homes or at the
public bath-houses, meet together for picnics or some entertainment.
Osman grew so fast it seemed to his mother only a short time before he
was able to toddle about without the help of his nurse. The carpets were
soft and thick, so he did not get hurt even if he fell. The beautiful
colours of the carpets amused his baby eyes.
He was awake every morning soon after sunrise, but this did not trouble
his parents. They were early risers, too. The boy's father liked to have
plenty of time for sipping coffee and smoking his pipe before leaving
home for the day.
There was no such thing as breakfast. The family ate only two real meals
in the whole day. But the early morning was a pleasant time. There was
no jumping up from the table after a hasty meal. There was no rushing
for the train after a hurried kiss and goodbye to wife and baby. Oh, no,
none of these things are done in Turkey.
Osman's father dressed himself in a comfortable, loose gown, and seated
himself cross-legged on a rug. He clapped his hands and a slave appeared
with the steaming coffee, which was placed on a low stand near by. Then
the baby's mother poured out the coffee and, handing it to her husband,
sat down on a cushion at his feet.
Osman, still in his nightclothes, toddled about, nibbling a sweet-cake.
The slave who had brought the coffee was now busy in tidying the room.
First of all, mattresses and wadded coverlets must be stowed away in a
cupboard. There was no bedstead. Such a clumsy piece of furniture had
been used in the house but once. That was when the young mother lay in
state to receive her friends when Osman was born.
Would you believe it! the baby's mother was still wearing her wadded
night-dress. She often kept it on for hours after she got up in the
morning.
"It is so comfortable," she thought. "Why should I hurry to dress myself
for the day?"
After the coffee, the father took his pipe and lighted it with a tiny
piece of charcoal. Now for a comfortable smoke. As he puffed away at his
pipe, the room was quiet except for little Osman's prattle. He was
trying to tell his father and mother about his play-things.
After a while the sober Turk laid down his pipe, and said, "It is time
for business."
The dressing-gown was taken off, and street clothes were put on. What a
grand-looking gentleman he was now, with his long beard hanging over his
snow-white shirt-front, his embroidered vest, and wide, loose trousers.
He lifted Osman up for a kiss, and, with a deep bow to his wife, he left
home for the day.