In every mosque, and here also, there is a niche opposite the entrance, called the Mihrab, which indicates the direction of Mecca. The walls are adorned with entablatures, ornamented with verses from the Koran, and with ciphers of sultans, and mottos in memory of other benevolent individuals, who have endowed the Tekké.
The Sheikh, or leader of the community, sits in front of the Mihrab, on an Angora goat-skin, or a carpet, attended by two of his disciples.
An attenuated old man, with a visage furrowed and withered by time, bronzed by many successive suns, his long and grizzly beard witnessing to the ravages of age, while his prominent eyes sparkling like lightnings amid the surrounding darkness, are the only symbols of animation or life, in his worn-out frame.
The dervishes, as they enter, make a low obeisance with folded hands to this patron saint, with an air of mystic veneration, and take their stand with their faces towards Mecca. The old sheikh arises, and presiding over the assembly commences the services.
Their peculiar head-gear, called sikké, of thick brown felt, in the shape of a sugar loaf, and long and flowing robes of varied hues, make them seem like fantastic representations of some other sphere, particularly, when they commence the slow and measured prostrations of Mussulman worship.
Prayers being over, each dervish doffs his mantle, and appears in a long white fustanella, trailing the polished floor, and of innumerable folds, with a tightly fitting vest of the same pure color.
They now defile two by two before the sheikh, who extending his hand towards them, seems to diffuse a sort of magnetism, which irradiates every countenance.
As they stand immovable, the wild and thrilling music slowly pervades every sense, until suddenly one of the number extends his arms, and begins to revolve noiselessly, with slow and measured step. The folds of his ample skirt now gradually open like the wings of a bird, and with the swiftness of his motion, expand, until the dervish only appears like the centre of a whirlwind. The rest are all alike in motion, arms extended, eyes half closed as in a dream, the head inclined on one side, they move round and round to the measured time of the music, as if floating in ecstasy.