“Your Tekiè occupies the ground necessary to the completion of my palace:—you must vacate it.”
“We guard the sepulchre of a saint, may it please your Sublime Highness.”
“My pleasure is your immediate removal—I have provided a place of reception for your community.”
“We are not strong enough to contend against your Imperial will. We obey.” And the fraternity were put in possession of an extensive edifice, lately occupied by the Court Jester!
By a strange chance, this house was situated immediately under the holy tomb which had afforded to the Dervishes their principal pretext for disobedience to the Imperial mandate; and the Sultan adroitly availed himself of the fact to impress upon them the eligibility of the situation, pointing out, with a solemnity worthy of the occasion, that it was more decent for them to be domesticated on the very spot consecrated by the remains of the illustrious deceased, than at the distance of a furlong, as had hitherto been the case. The observation was a happy one, and the remark unanswerable; and the fraternity were fain to affect accordance with the sentiment, however inconvenient its effects.
Immediately opposite, seated upon the Asian shore, like a regal beauty contemplating her gorgeousness in the clear mirror of the Bosphorus, rises the summer palace of Beglièrbey—with its walls of pale gold and dead white; the prettiest and most fanciful of all the Imperial residences, and rendered doubly agreeable by its spacious gardens and overhanging groves.
But the kiosks! Who shall number the kiosks! those gilt-latticed, many-formed, and graceful toys, which seem as though they had been rained from the sky during an hour of sunshine—see them on the heights of the Asian shore—seek them in the depths of the “Valley of Sweet Waters”—count them as they rise at short distances along the walls of the Seraï—pause a moment to admire their fairy-like beauty as you gallop through some lovely glen, so wild and solitary that you almost fancied yourself to have been the first who has ever explored its recesses—any where, every where, you come upon them; and they are so neatly kept, so brightly gilt, and so gaily painted, that they look like gigantic flowers scattered over the landscape.
But back, my truant fancy, to the sea of Marmora, and the shores of Scutari; where the light caïque is bounding over the heaving waters, and Mount Olympus, with its crown of snow, is summoning you to memories of the days when, if Gods indeed were not, men lent them life! Back to the hoary walls of Byzantium—to the lingering relics of the Ancient Romans—to the City of the True Believers!
We passed the little bay of Cum-capu, or Sandport, and our caïque shortly afterwards shot into the creek of Yani-capu; but we had not left the boat five minutes when we became suspicious that the servant was not altogether so familiar with the road leading to the palace of the Pasha as he had professed to be. Nor were our suspicions erroneous; for, after leading us up one street and down another; along the foot of the Aqueduct of Justinian; and amid the blackened remains of the last great fire, he fairly confessed that he had lost his way.
In this dilemma, we took a guide, who assured us that he was as familiar with the palace of the Scodra Pasha as with his own house, and so he proved to be; though the trifling inconvenience that ensued convinced us that we were as far from our object as ever. After threading a vast number of narrow streets, each more filthy than the last, we at length reached one which, built on a steep acclivity, boasted a somewhat more comfortable and cleanly appearance; the houses were larger and better kept, and the shops less frequent and more respectable. Our guide stopped before a pair of great gates about half way up the hill, and, seizing the knocker, gave very audible evidence of our wish for admittance; after which he pocketed his piastres, and withdrew.