It Was Towards Sunset, In One Of The Caravanserais, To Which, Hot And
Tired With The Long Dusty Ride, I Came For A Quiet Smoke And A Cup Of
Coffee.
The sensation of absolute repose was delicious after the heat
and glare, the stillness of the place unbroken save for the plash of a
marble fountain, and, outside, the far-off voices of the "muezzims,"
calling the faithful to evening prayer.
From the blue dome, with its
golden stars and white tracery, the setting sun, streaming in through
coloured glass, threw the softest shades of violet and ruby, emerald
and amber, upon the marble pavement. The stalls around were closed
for the night; all save one, a "manna" [G] shop. Its owner, a
white-turbaned old Turk, and myself were the sole inmates of the
caravanserai. Even my "kafedji" [H] had disappeared, though probably
not without leaving instructions to his neighbour to see that I did
not make off with the quaint little silver coffee-cup and nargileh.
It was here that I saw the "belle" of Kashan, and of Persia, for
aught I know - a tall slim girl, dressed, not in the hideous bag-like
garments usually affected by the Persian female, but soft white
draperies, from beneath which peeped a pair of loose baggy trousers
and tiny feet encased in gold-embroidered slippers. Invisible to her,
I made every effort, from my hiding-place behind a projecting stall,
to catch a glimpse of her face, but, alas! a yashmak was in the
way - not the thin gauzy wisp affected by the smart ladies of Cairo and
Constantinople, but a thick, impenetrable barrier of white linen, such
as the peasant women of Mohammedan countries wear. Who could she be?
What was she doing-out unattended at this late hour?
I had almost given up all hope of seeing her features, when Fortune
favoured me. As the old Turk dived into the recesses of his shop to
attend to the wants of his fair customer, the latter removed her veil,
revealing, as she did so, one of the sweetest and fairest faces it has
ever been my good fortune to look upon. A perfectly oval face, soft
delicate complexion, large dark eyes full of expression, a small
aquiline nose, but somewhat large mouth, and the whitest and smallest
of teeth. Such was the apparition before me. She could not have been
more than sixteen.
I could scarcely restrain from giving vent to my admiration in speech,
when the old Turk returned. In an instant the yashmak was in its
place, and, with a hasty glance around, my vision of beauty was
scuttling away as fast as her legs could carry her. A low musical
laugh like a chime of silver bells came back to me from the dark
deserted alleys of the bazaar, and I saw her no more.
The manna-seller was evidently irritated, and intimated, in dumb show,
that I must leave the caravanserai at once, as he was shutting up for
the night.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 43 of 117
Words from 21718 to 22223
of 60127
