A star-light evening and a morning fair.
That solitary mysterious note, hardly uttered before answered in another quarter by some brother, suggested how, when rude settlements dreaded night attacks, the owl, harmless towards men, might from its sleepless vigilance have been chosen to symbolise a protecting goddess of wisdom.
We heard also little animals pattering over the tent in the dark, sometimes rustling the papers under our beds. Thinking of field-mice as likely to make these sounds, we sent for a trap; we caught a few only, and ultimately discovered that the noise was caused by harmless green lizards. I was not aware that these creatures run about in the dark; they must have singular eyes, for animals that are active by night do not usually dart about in the brilliancy and heat of noonday.
May 21 to June 14, 1880.—The wet season came at last to a close, and we were favoured with the most perfect weather imaginable. The heat was by no means oppressive, and the air was bracing and life-giving, the sky was of exquisite colour, and the light so intense that the tops of the trees seemed frosted with silvery flashing lights. All snow had disappeared from the high mountains, except here and there a minute patch; a pale apple-green played on their slopes mixed with delicate rosy grey tones, a mass of subtle glowing tints softened by the purple bloom of distance. The azure of the sky appeared to soak into the landscape and blend with the flesh-tint of the distant soil. Fallow fields, as if stirred by a secret spirit of joy they could no longer restrain, brought forth a multitude of wild flowers, whilst the corn turned by degrees from green to gold. The natives changed their hours for going a-field, becoming more matinal. On the first signs of approaching dawn, the birds broke out in a concert of melody; this was followed by the pleasant chattering of the women going to draw water. When the sun rose and ‘tipped the hills with gold,’ the men appeared with their flocks.
Haste, to the stream direct thy way,
When the gay morn unveils her smiling ray;
Haste to the stream!
Between ten and eleven they drove them home again; then they dined and reposed themselves, while the beasts were kept in the cool. After three o’clock men were again abroad, till deepening twilight ushered in the night, when lanes were crowded with flocks, herds, and tired peasants slowly mounting homewards. Except during these hours we saw few people, and felt at last like mariners stranded on a forsaken shore. This was because most of the male population betook themselves to the plains about Algiers and Constantine in quest of employment, as it was a time of year when extra hands were required for harvesting; on their return with a small store of hardly-earned money, as soon as the harvest of their own fields has been garnered, then is the season for feasts and marriages.
The effects at sunset were magical: the mountains would turn to warm violet and gold, set off by the greens and purples of nearer ranges. The sky was of a mellow Claude-like serenity, and as the sun sank rocks and trees glowed with a more than Venetian warmth of colour. It was curious to observe how differently trees took the light. Ash seemed to grow greener, whilst ilexes and corks lost their green altogether and appeared of a rich glowing bronze. We were not without good intentions of trying to represent this; but whenever the looked-for moment came, and splendours deepened about us, we put aside brushes with feelings of despair.
At this hour there was no fear of chill or fever, for the warm air in the confined valleys rose gradually.