THE CAPEDJJ BACHE. 



had not its Teke of Dervises. The people were pleased with the 

 mystical ceremonies they celebrated, consisting in a music that wore 

 the character of religious inspiration, and a dance at first grave and 

 solemn, to which succeeded a rapid and circular movement, that 

 worked up the initiated to a state of phrenzy. 



Besides, these rites are destined to direct the attention of the 

 people from the dogmas of the dervises, which are said to be of the 

 purest deism. Hadji Jousef Effendi waited upon the chief of the 

 dervises with a symbolical letter. It bore some mysterious charac- 

 ters, that in an instant brought the dervises to kiss respectfully the 

 garment of the scheik. 



Hadji Jousef was no other than Mustapha the Capedji Bachi. 

 The Porte, skilful in hiding her own secrets, penetrates those of all 

 others. There is not a mysterious sect, or hidden association, that 

 she does not invisibly govern. Mustapha, charged with the execu- 

 cution of a fatal order, had adopted the revered exterior of a scheik, 

 and the grand vizier had given him a letter from the Molloh of 

 Coniah, such as the most holy personage of Islamism could alone 

 obtain. 



A month elapsed, and the reputation of the pretended sheik filled 

 the whole city. He waited with patience the hour of vengeance. 

 One day as he lay stretched on the divan of the mosque in the gar- 

 den of the teke, thinking on the solemn moment that was approach- 

 ing, the trample of horses and the voices of men awoke him from his 

 reverie. It was the kiahia of the pacha who waited on him, with an 

 invitation from his master. Mustapha, without the slightest emotion, 

 preserving his careless and recumbent position, promised, with 

 haughty indifference, to wait on the pacha the next day, after the 

 hour of noon. However, an attentive observer might have remarked 

 a contraction of the lower lip, that the habitual hollow hue of his 

 countenance became deeper, and an involuntary motion of the right 

 hand to his bosom that concealed the murderous firman. 



The hour of noon had struck at the palace of Scheik Abou Bekr, 

 the residence of the pacha. A triple rank of kawas lined the hall 

 in solemn silence. Achmed Pacha, in a corner, was saying his 

 prayers upon a carpet, with his face turned towards Mecca. How 

 noble and majestic he looked ! The unlimited power with which he 

 was invested ; the religious act in which he was engaged ; his 

 head animated with an expression of lofty dignity ; the at once 

 humble and impassioned energy of his manner ; the splendid win- 

 dows, the naked and sombre walls, the beautiful divan, the fountain, 

 the murmur of which appeared to create silence ; the whole formed 

 a beautiful picture. Suddenly a man abruptly enters the hall ; the 

 kawas carry their hands to their yatagans and advance to meet him ; 

 but they recognize the expected guest, and shrink back with 

 respect. Mustapha perceived the pacha at his devotion, and spread 

 himself a carpet at the foot of the divan, and joined in the prayer 

 with a solemn fervour that powerfully moved the bystanders. The 

 act of devotion concluded, the two personages seated themselves on 

 the divan. The pacha first broke silence. 



" Dost thou think, my father, that the place that resounds with the 



