﻿680 
  

  

  THE 
  NATIONAL 
  GEOGRAPHIC 
  MAGAZINE 
  

  

  that 
  seemed 
  like 
  children's 
  boats 
  floating 
  

   on 
  the 
  Bosporus. 
  

  

  Then 
  we 
  turned 
  our 
  backs 
  on 
  the 
  view 
  

   to 
  walk 
  about 
  the 
  decaying 
  buildings 
  and 
  

   gardens 
  that 
  once 
  saw 
  a 
  court 
  life 
  whose 
  

   magnificence 
  has 
  scarcely 
  been 
  equalled 
  

   by 
  any 
  other 
  country 
  in 
  the 
  world. 
  The 
  

   gardens 
  lay 
  deserted 
  in 
  the 
  sunlight, 
  ex- 
  

   cept 
  for 
  two 
  old 
  eunuchs 
  who 
  walked 
  

   across 
  the 
  grounds 
  toward 
  the 
  still 
  beau- 
  

   tiful 
  Bagdad 
  Kiosk. 
  

  

  Constantinople's 
  bazaars 
  

  

  The 
  bazaars 
  have 
  always 
  been 
  a 
  feature 
  

   of 
  the 
  life 
  that 
  lies 
  between 
  Turkey 
  and 
  

   India, 
  and 
  modernity 
  has 
  not 
  changed 
  

   them. 
  Pera 
  has 
  one 
  which 
  occupies 
  the 
  

   middle 
  of 
  Step 
  Street, 
  leading 
  up 
  from 
  

   Galata. 
  Last 
  year 
  the 
  Russians 
  took 
  the 
  

   last 
  of 
  their 
  trinkets 
  here 
  and 
  sold 
  them 
  

   for 
  food. 
  

  

  A 
  still 
  larger 
  street 
  bazaar 
  in 
  Stamboul 
  

   is 
  known 
  as 
  the 
  Manchester 
  Market, 
  be- 
  

   cause 
  practically 
  all 
  the 
  cotton 
  goods 
  sold 
  

   to 
  the 
  crowds 
  of 
  women 
  and 
  girls 
  come 
  

   from 
  Manchester, 
  England. 
  According 
  

   to 
  a 
  leading 
  English 
  merchant 
  of 
  Pera, 
  

   nearly 
  $5,000,000 
  change 
  hands 
  here 
  

   every 
  day. 
  

  

  The 
  most 
  famous 
  bazaars, 
  however, 
  

   were 
  built 
  by 
  Sultan 
  Bayazid 
  II 
  between 
  

   the 
  second 
  and 
  third 
  hills 
  of 
  Stamboul 
  

   and 
  cover 
  several 
  acres 
  of 
  ground. 
  There 
  

   are 
  4,000 
  shops 
  and 
  a 
  hundred 
  entrances 
  

   in 
  the 
  great 
  stone 
  building. 
  It 
  may 
  look 
  

   like 
  a 
  fortress 
  from 
  without, 
  but 
  once 
  in- 
  

   side 
  it 
  becomes 
  a 
  noisy, 
  multicolored 
  laby- 
  

   rinth 
  of 
  streets, 
  columns, 
  squares, 
  and 
  

   fountains, 
  under 
  an 
  arched 
  roof. 
  

  

  Mere, 
  amid 
  a 
  babel 
  of 
  all 
  languages, 
  

   rich 
  merchants 
  and 
  ragged 
  refugees 
  alike 
  

   are 
  solicited 
  to 
  buy 
  soft 
  rugs 
  from 
  Bok- 
  

   hara, 
  gay 
  Brusa 
  silks, 
  blazing 
  jewels 
  of 
  

   odd 
  cut, 
  shawls 
  from 
  Persia, 
  yellow 
  and 
  

   black 
  amber, 
  intoxicating 
  perfumes, 
  cof- 
  

   fee-cups 
  of 
  beaten 
  gold, 
  pearls 
  like 
  milk 
  

   and 
  roses, 
  sewing-machines, 
  egg-beaters, 
  

   granite 
  pans, 
  and 
  old 
  Turkish 
  costumes, 
  

   which 
  the 
  shopkeeper 
  tries 
  to 
  sell 
  as 
  

   kimonos. 
  

  

  Few 
  buyers 
  are 
  in 
  the 
  bazaars 
  these 
  

   days, 
  for 
  the 
  time 
  has 
  passed 
  when 
  a 
  

   pasha 
  could 
  afford 
  to 
  send 
  his 
  whole 
  

   harem 
  shopping 
  under 
  the 
  eye 
  and 
  whip 
  

   of 
  the 
  head 
  eunuch. 
  The 
  bazaars 
  have 
  

   come 
  upon 
  hard 
  times. 
  The 
  American 
  

   tourist 
  is 
  barred 
  because 
  of 
  the 
  war 
  be- 
  

   tween 
  Turkey 
  and 
  Greece, 
  and 
  the 
  sol- 
  

   diers 
  and 
  refugees 
  turn 
  out 
  their 
  pockets 
  

   and 
  laugh 
  when 
  they 
  are 
  exhorted 
  to 
  buy. 
  

  

  The 
  white 
  marble 
  palaces 
  which 
  line 
  the 
  

   Bosporus 
  are 
  no 
  longer 
  used 
  by 
  sultans, 
  

   pashas, 
  and 
  beys. 
  They 
  are 
  in 
  a 
  sad 
  state 
  

   of 
  dilapidation, 
  and 
  some 
  of 
  them 
  are 
  oc- 
  

   cupied 
  by 
  French 
  and 
  Hindustani 
  troops, 
  

   or 
  by 
  Allied 
  officials. 
  

  

  The 
  Sultan 
  lives 
  in 
  seclusion 
  at 
  Yildiz 
  

   Palace. 
  In 
  pathetic 
  contrast 
  with 
  the 
  

   splendor 
  and 
  pomp 
  that 
  used 
  to 
  attend 
  his 
  

   weekly 
  visit 
  to 
  some 
  city 
  mosque 
  is 
  the 
  

   shabby 
  parade 
  that 
  now 
  marks 
  his 
  drive 
  

   to 
  prayers 
  each 
  week 
  at 
  Yildiz 
  mosque, 
  

   perhaps 
  two 
  hundred 
  feet 
  from 
  his 
  palace 
  

   door. 
  A 
  few 
  visitors 
  still 
  collect 
  in 
  the 
  

   waiting-rooms 
  of 
  the 
  palace 
  to 
  see 
  him 
  go 
  

   by, 
  staring 
  through 
  the 
  windows 
  at 
  the 
  

   short 
  line 
  of 
  cavalry, 
  the 
  straggling 
  band, 
  

   and 
  the 
  few 
  foot 
  soldiers, 
  in 
  uniforms 
  of 
  

   Teutonic 
  cut, 
  who 
  assemble 
  to 
  salute 
  their 
  

   ruler 
  with 
  methodical 
  cheers. 
  

  

  Perhaps 
  nothing 
  is 
  so 
  typical 
  of 
  the 
  

   change 
  that 
  has 
  come 
  to 
  Turkey 
  as 
  the 
  

   contrast 
  between 
  the 
  ceremony 
  of 
  old 
  and 
  

   the 
  present 
  sad 
  function. 
  The 
  furnish- 
  

   ings 
  of 
  the 
  room 
  facing 
  the 
  terrace, 
  where 
  

   princes 
  and 
  potentates 
  have 
  waited 
  in 
  the 
  

   past, 
  breathless 
  at 
  the 
  luxury 
  surrounding 
  

   them, 
  are 
  now 
  worn 
  and 
  shabby. 
  French 
  

   furniture 
  sags 
  on 
  legs 
  from 
  which 
  the 
  gilt 
  

   has 
  been 
  rubbed. 
  A 
  black 
  stovepipe 
  at- 
  

   tached 
  to 
  a 
  tile 
  stove 
  mars 
  a 
  corner. 
  A 
  

   Turkish 
  admiral 
  in 
  white 
  linen 
  and 
  a 
  

   young 
  officer, 
  the 
  only 
  governmental 
  rep- 
  

   resentatives 
  present, 
  were 
  the 
  only 
  visitors 
  

   to 
  be 
  served 
  coffee. 
  When 
  the 
  Sultan 
  

   drove 
  by 
  at 
  last, 
  saluting 
  from 
  his 
  vic- 
  

   toria, 
  he 
  saw 
  only 
  a 
  handful 
  of 
  troops 
  

   where 
  his 
  predecessors 
  had 
  proudly 
  ig- 
  

   nored 
  men 
  who 
  packed 
  the 
  roadway 
  with 
  

   their 
  pennant 
  lances. 
  

  

  Notice 
  of 
  change 
  of 
  address 
  of 
  your 
  Geographic 
  Magazine 
  should 
  be 
  received 
  

   in 
  the 
  office 
  of 
  the 
  National 
  Geographic 
  Society 
  by 
  the 
  first 
  of 
  the 
  month 
  to 
  affect 
  

   the 
  following 
  month's 
  issue. 
  For 
  instance, 
  if 
  you 
  desire 
  the 
  address 
  changed 
  for 
  

   your 
  August 
  number, 
  the 
  Society 
  should 
  be 
  notified 
  of 
  your 
  new 
  address 
  not 
  later 
  

   than 
  July 
  first. 
  

  

  