﻿CONSTANTINOPLE 
  TODAY 
  

  

  671 
  

  

  out 
  as 
  far 
  as 
  the 
  eye 
  can 
  see, 
  

   rising 
  and 
  falling, 
  tinted 
  from 
  

   dark 
  brown 
  to 
  ocher 
  and 
  gray, 
  

   sometimes 
  bare, 
  sometimes 
  cov- 
  

   ered 
  with 
  vegetation. 
  They 
  are 
  

   barbaric, 
  threatening, 
  mournful. 
  

  

  Modern 
  Constantinople 
  is 
  for- 
  

   gotten 
  as 
  one 
  tries 
  to 
  imagine 
  

   what 
  these 
  barriers 
  seemed 
  like 
  

   to 
  the 
  hoards 
  of 
  barbarians 
  who 
  

   came 
  every 
  few 
  years, 
  looked 
  at 
  

   those 
  miles 
  of 
  moated 
  and 
  tur- 
  

   reted 
  walls, 
  and 
  then 
  turned 
  back. 
  

  

  Now 
  gypsies 
  and 
  refugees 
  live 
  

   here 
  and 
  there 
  in 
  the 
  ruins 
  that 
  

   extend 
  for 
  five 
  miles 
  across 
  the 
  

   isthmus, 
  from 
  the 
  Sea 
  of 
  Mar- 
  

   mora 
  to 
  the 
  Golden 
  Horn. 
  They 
  

   rob 
  the 
  gardens 
  which 
  are 
  culti- 
  

   vated 
  in 
  the 
  old 
  moats, 
  and 
  watch 
  

   with 
  astonishment 
  the 
  occasional 
  

   airplane 
  that 
  buzzes 
  high 
  over 
  

   the 
  walls 
  of 
  Theodosius 
  II. 
  

  

  Seen 
  from 
  the 
  air, 
  the 
  walls 
  

   look 
  like 
  a 
  long 
  saffron 
  cord, 
  

   knotted 
  and 
  laid 
  along 
  the 
  green 
  

   countryside. 
  Near 
  Top 
  Kapou, 
  

   or 
  Cannon 
  Gate, 
  where 
  Moham- 
  

   med 
  the 
  Conqueror 
  battered 
  an 
  

   opening, 
  Turkish 
  boys 
  from 
  ten 
  

   to 
  sixteen 
  years 
  old 
  practice 
  every 
  

   day 
  to 
  become 
  volunteer 
  firemen, 
  

   stopping 
  whenever 
  a 
  carriage 
  

   passes 
  to 
  beg 
  for 
  coppers. 
  

  

  A 
  MYSTERIOUS 
  RUG 
  INDUSTRY 
  

  

  At 
  Yedi 
  Kuleh, 
  where 
  the 
  land 
  

   walls 
  begin, 
  a 
  mysterious 
  sort 
  of 
  

   rug 
  industry 
  goes 
  on 
  between 
  the 
  

   four 
  towers 
  that 
  remain 
  of 
  the 
  

   original 
  seven. 
  Hundreds 
  of 
  

   rugs 
  of 
  all 
  makes, 
  shades, 
  and 
  

   sizes 
  are 
  piled 
  up, 
  treated 
  with 
  

   paint, 
  and 
  then 
  spread 
  to 
  fade 
  in 
  

   the 
  sun. 
  Questions 
  concerning 
  

   the 
  nature 
  of 
  the 
  work 
  are 
  not 
  

   answered 
  and 
  frowns 
  follow 
  the 
  

   unwelcome 
  visitors, 
  as 
  they 
  move 
  

   away 
  to 
  look 
  at 
  the 
  Golden 
  Gate 
  or 
  mount 
  

   into 
  the 
  tower 
  which 
  was 
  the 
  Turkish 
  

   Bastille, 
  where 
  political 
  prisoners 
  were 
  

   decapitated 
  or 
  strangled. 
  

  

  Beyond 
  the 
  walls, 
  about 
  a 
  mile 
  from 
  

   the 
  Adrianople 
  Gate, 
  through 
  which 
  Mo- 
  

   hammed 
  entered 
  the 
  city, 
  is 
  a 
  large 
  Turk- 
  

   ish 
  cemetery, 
  where 
  once 
  the 
  Turks 
  

   waited 
  for 
  the 
  signal 
  to 
  storm 
  the 
  breaches 
  

   in 
  the 
  great 
  walls. 
  

  

  Photograph 
  by 
  W. 
  P. 
  Whitlock 
  

  

  SMIUNG 
  FOR 
  ALMS 
  OUTSIDE 
  THE 
  MOSQUE 
  OF 
  

   SANCTA 
  SOPHIA 
  

  

  That 
  there 
  is 
  a 
  close 
  relation 
  between 
  religion 
  and 
  

   charity 
  is 
  well 
  recognized 
  by 
  the 
  beggars 
  of 
  the 
  world. 
  

   Inside 
  the 
  imposing 
  cathedrals 
  of 
  Russia, 
  scores 
  of 
  mite- 
  

   boxes 
  silently 
  solicit 
  funds. 
  The 
  approach 
  to 
  the 
  

   Church 
  of 
  the 
  Holy 
  Sepulcher 
  is 
  so 
  lined 
  with 
  importu- 
  

   nate 
  beggars 
  that 
  some 
  one 
  has 
  called 
  it 
  "The 
  Street 
  

   of 
  Palms." 
  Beside 
  the 
  lowliest 
  of 
  Hindu 
  shrines 
  some 
  

   mendicant 
  is 
  likely 
  to 
  be 
  seen. 
  Beneath 
  the 
  Cross 
  

   charity 
  flourishes, 
  and 
  in 
  the 
  shadow 
  of 
  the 
  minarets 
  

   the 
  poor 
  find 
  bread. 
  

  

  When 
  life 
  was 
  less 
  troubled 
  in 
  Con- 
  

   stantinople, 
  the 
  cemeteries 
  were 
  used 
  as 
  

   pleasure 
  grounds 
  for 
  picnickers, 
  as 
  they 
  

   are 
  especially 
  attractive 
  places. 
  Cypress 
  

   trees 
  planted 
  beside 
  the 
  graves 
  make 
  

   graceful 
  forests 
  that 
  spread 
  over 
  un- 
  

   counted 
  acres, 
  where 
  millions 
  that 
  have 
  

   died 
  since 
  Mohammed 
  lie 
  sleeping. 
  

  

  Some 
  of 
  the 
  newer 
  tombstones 
  are 
  as 
  

   gay 
  as 
  birthday 
  cakes, 
  with 
  their 
  painted 
  

  

  