Such an old gentle- 

 man should be accompa- 

 nied by an old lady, who 

 contributes what is most 

 characteristic to the local 

 color of Saloniki. The 

 foundation of her cos- 

 tume is a petticoat of 

 some dark silk, and a 

 white bodice crossed be- 

 low her throat — a very 

 thin bodice, cut very low 

 at the neck, and very 

 palpably unstiffened by 

 any such mail as western 

 women arm themselves 

 with. 



WHERE THE CAMERA 

 FAILED 



Over this substructure 

 the old lady wears a dark 

 satin bolero lined with 

 fur and two striped silk 

 aprons — one before and 

 one behind. The latter 

 is caught up on one side, 

 some corner of it being 

 apparently tucked into a 

 mysterious pocket. But 

 the crown and glory of 

 the old lady is a head- 

 dress which I despair of 

 describing. I wouldn't 

 have to if the old ladies 

 of Saloniki had not 

 formed a conspiracy 

 against me or thrown 

 over me some incantation that put my 

 wiles to nought. 



For though I shadowed them by the 

 hour, camera as inconspicuously as pos- 

 sible in hand; though I lay in wait for 

 them behind corners and snapped at them 

 as they passed, I never succeeded in prop- 

 erly potting one of them. Therefore I 

 can only affirm that they wore on their 

 heads, pointing down toward their noses, 

 an invention that looked to me like the 

 pork-pie hat of Victorian portraits — if 

 such a name be not too abhorrent to 

 those particular old ladies. 



The Saloniki specimen is no true hat, 

 however. It seems to be a sort of flat 

 frame, tightly wound about with a 

 stamped or embroidered handkerchief 

 and crowned with an oval gilt plaque set 



Photograph by H. G. Dwight 

 A BIT OF OLD SALONIKI 



off by seed pearls. Whatever its color, 

 this creation invariably ends in a fringed 

 tail of dark green silk, also ornamented 

 by a gilt or gold plaque of seed pearls, 

 hanging half way down the old lady's 

 back. In this wonderful tail the old lady 

 keeps her hair, of which you see not a 

 scrap, unless at the temples. And about 

 her bare throat she wears strings and 

 strings of more seed pearls. 



A MOTHER OF MANY 



She is, this decorative, this often ex- 

 tremely handsome old lad}', a mother in 

 Israel. The old gentleman in the gaber- 

 dine is her legitimate consort, while many 

 of the modernized young people at the 

 cafe tables are their descendants — very 

 many. A dozen different estimates of 



223 



