At the last konak, Sir John sends for Signor Antonio Perone, to make sure, before it is too late, that the arrangements for his reception are correct; and “taking an account,” he finds, to his immense satisfaction, that the Dragoman has not only kept a vigilant eye on “the King’s Honour,” but has “exceeded any example.” And so he moves forward, another day’s march, five and a half hours, say seventeen miles, to the consummation of his journey. He moves, rehearsing in his mind the ceremonial theatricalities that lie ahead; and by and by, as a sort of curtain-raiser, we have the first of them. When within six miles of his destination, our Ambassador is met by a party of Frenchmen and Dutchmen--residents of Pera who were then at Adrianople sight-seeing; mere private, unofficial folk, yet well-meaning, and they help to swell our train. We move on, and presently, in the early afternoon, the sight we long for bursts into view: stately cupolas, slim white minarets, brown tile-roofs amidst green leaves--a dream of urban beauty completely realised.
About two miles from this magic city, at a spot where a fine _kiosk_, or summer-house, stood beside a sparkling fountain, a dozen grooms are waiting, with a dozen of the Grand Signor’s horses--“all admirable good ones, and set out as rich as possible”: bridles, saddles, stirrups, and buttock-cloths aglow with gold and silver; the animal destined for the Ambassador himself glittering, in addition, with precious stones and pearls “most gloriously.” My Lord, quitting his litter, mounts this steed, the staff follow suit, and the cavalcade moves on. They have not gone far before they are met by a guard of honour of sixty chaoushes under the command of the Chaoush-bashi, who acts as Master of the Ceremonies, and the Capiji-bashi, or Marshal of the Court. The two parties exchange the usual compliments, then the guard of honour faces about, and the procession enters the city.
It was a triumphal entry, attended with an éclat that left nothing to be desired. The chaoushes, in their tall white turbans of ceremony, marched first, two abreast. After them rode the Chaoush-bashi and Capiji-bashi in their gala uniforms: long sleeveless cloaks of cloth of gold lined with rich furs. His Excellency followed, with the French and Dutch holiday-makers before him; then came the Englishmen, with their servants behind them; then the link-bearers with Sir Thomas Baines; then the coach-and-six; then the Chief Dragoman’s coach-and-four; the baggage-wagons bringing up the rear. Janissaries flanked the narrow streets through which the procession threaded its way. Everything was marked by a splendour that did the Chaplain’s ritualistic heart good, and wrung even from our cynical Treasurer a grudging admission that the Merchants had full value for their money. As to the Ambassador, no sordid thought of cost, we may be certain, sullied his soul, as he rode in, high-headed, high-hearted, proud of his trappings, horses, chaoushes, and what not, feeling that he was received with all the honour and glory due to his character. In this fashion our visitors reached the house allotted his Excellency--and there, by one of those strokes of grim humour in which (as has been said) the Turkish genius delighted, the whole scene underwent a sudden transformation.
