Poor unfortunate people-savages

I sit in an internal court yard of the Bakhchsarai palace. Crowds of tourists are around trambled down.  They listen to guides, are photographed on a background of minarets and recklessly drink from a fountain. Two weddings have past defiled one for another: human and dog. From a minaret someone was started singing by "Allah Akbar".
The life goes the turn, everyone knows the role and is excellent(different) with it(her) consults.
For a second harmony of resort evening has been disturbed - there has past passed(there has past taken place) the woman who silently whispered " Poor, poor people. Lived in such luxury, and freedom had no ".
Its(Her) words have abated, and daily vanity of a resort museum has continued the feast.