One of the ladies I went
to call on first was a very pretty bride, only a fortnight married. She
was gaudily dressed, with about 2,000 pounds sterling worth of diamonds
on her head and neck, but the stones were so badly set they looked like
rubbish. She strolled from side to side in her walk, which is a habit
very chic.
Notwithstanding her internal grandeur, Damascus is but a wreck of her
former splendour, albeit a beautiful wreck. Ichabod! her glory has
departed; not even the innumerable domes and minarets of multitudinous
mosques can reinstate her.
I think I ought to touch on the bazars, as they form such an integral
part of the life of Damascus. Many of them were very beautiful, all
huddled together in a labyrinth of streets, and containing almost
everything which one could want. I used to love to go with my Arab maid
and wander through them. There was the saddlery bazar, where one could
buy magnificent trappings for one's Arab steeds, saddle-cloths embossed
with gold, bridles of scarlet silk, a single rein which makes you look as
if you were managing a horse by a single thread, and bridles of silver
and ivory. There was a shoemaker's bazar. How different from a shoe
shop in England! The stalls were gorgeous with lemon-coloured slippers,
stiff red shoes, scarlet boots with tops and tassels and hangings, which
form part of the Bedawin dress. There was a _marqueterie_ bazar, where
one found many lovely things inlaid with choice woods, mother-o'-pearl,
and steel.
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