The Glimpse
Was But A Momentary One, But Amply Sufficed To Convince Me That
Those Who Say That _All_ Persian Women Are Ugly (As Many Do) Know
Nothing-Whatever About It.
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.
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