"WHEREVER I HAVE MET THEM, BE IT ON THE MOUNTAINS OR IN THE PLAINS, ... THESE SILENT SHEPHERDS HAVE SEEMED TO ME THE VERY PERSONIFICATION OF SOLITUDE" (p. [50]).
These old crones are the respected members of the tribes. Their loud curses call order to the young ones, throw a certain awe amongst the rowdy quarrelling children, who run about almost naked clamouring for alms, turning summersaults in the dust, tumbling about between one's feet. A sore trial to one's patience are these scamps, but at the same time a source of infinite delight to the eye, for extraordinarily beautiful are some of these grinning, screeching little savages, one with the colour of the earth; small bronze statues with curly, tousled heads, large eyes bordered by indescribable lashes, sometimes so long and curling that they appear to be black feathers at their lids.
Occasionally a torn shirt barely covers them, or their arms have been thrust into coats much too large, the sleeves dangling limply over their hands, giving them the appearance of small scarecrows come to life. Never more enchanting are they than when gambolling about as God made them, for all attire a string of bright beads round their necks!
These earth-coloured little waifs will run for miles beside one's carriage or horse, begging for coins with extended palms, whining over and over again the same complaint.
Most beautiful of all are the young girls: upright, well grown, with narrow hips and delicate hands and feet. Whatever rag they twist about their graceful limbs turns into a becoming apparel. They will deck themselves with any discarded finery they may pick up by the way. Sometimes valuable old pieces of embroidery will end their days upon the bodies of these attractive creatures, enhancing their charm, giving them the air of beggared queens. Bright girdles wound round hips and waist keep all these rags in place, giving the wearer the look of Egyptians such as we see painted on the frescoes of temple-walls.
Beneath the gaudy scarves which they tie on their heads plaits of hair hang down on both sides of their faces—plaits that are decorated with every sort of coin, with little splinters of coloured glass or metal, or strange-shaped charms or holy medals that jingle as they move about. Round their necks hang long strings of gaudy beads that shine and glisten on their bronze-tinted skins.
Little modesty do these maidens show. They are loud and forward, shameless beggars, quite indifferent if their torn shirts leave neck and bosom half naked to the rays of the sun.
With flashing white teeth they will smile at you, arms akimbo, head thrown back, a white pipe impudently stuck at the corner of their mouths.
Indescribably graceful are these girls coming back to the camp at evening, carrying large wooden water-pots on their heads. Over the distance they advance, upright, with swinging stride, whilst the water splashes in large drops over their cheeks. The sinking sun behind them gives them the appearance of shadows coming from very far out of the desert where the paths have neither beginning nor end....