The days were very hot, but the nights quite cold. Our beds were spread on the ground in the tents, and we required all our blankets and rugs to keep the cold out. An armed Arab slept on the ground outside the door of each tent. The desert at this season of the year—the spring—was covered, more or less, with short grass and an abundance of wild flowers. In many places we had to pass over large areas of sand dunes, which were very trying, and to cross the dried-up beds of rivers. These rivers come down from the mountains when the snows melt and rush along in mighty torrents, scooping out water courses, until they finally lose themselves in the burning sands of the desert. As we got away from the mountains, the desert began to look more and more like the ocean, with its clean-cut horizon all round, the hummocks of sand reminding one of Atlantic seas. The clear blue sky and the translucent atmosphere imparted an enchanting aspect to the scene; indeed, it became fascinating, and I can quite enter into the spirit of the Bedouin, who sees in the wastes of his Sahara so much to love and to attract him.
The intense sense of loneliness is a new experience for an Englishman, and awakens within him strange emotions, giving him new views of his environment and throwing new lights upon the future. The starlight nights were lovely, and on one night we were able to play bridge by starlight up to midnight.
We passed through several oases, which usually consist of a village surrounded by two or three thousand date-palm trees, the houses being built of mud and thatched with palm leaves. Palms constitute the riches of this country, and a man's wealth is computed by the number of date-palm trees or camels he possesses.
The Bedouin tribes we came across seemed a well-behaved, peaceable people. They move about with their flocks of sheep and goats. At night their flocks are tethered about their tents, and by day they wander in search of pasture. The men beguile their time while watching their flocks by doing embroideries, and also in making garments. They lead the simple life.
The Count's Garden, Biskra.
All lovers of a garden will take great delight in the Count's garden at Biskra, rendered famous by the beautiful poetic description given of it by Mr. Hichens in his novel the Garden of Allah.
The garden is situated just outside Biskra, on the banks of the river Benevent. It was laid out fifty years ago by the Count Landon, who lavished his money upon it to make this the most perfect tropical garden in the world. Every species of palm tree, every plant known in the tropics, finds here a home. On the south side it is bordered by the river, with terraces overlooking the desert wastes of the Sahara beyond; running streams of water intersect the garden and afford the means of the constant irrigation which is necessary. The borders and walks are wonderfully kept by an army of Arab gardeners, so vigilant in their attention that it is almost impossible for a falling leaf to reach the ground before it is caught and removed; thus everything is tidy and orderly.
It was in this garden Domini met the Count Anteoni and listened to his reasons for finding his happiness in its leafy solitudes: "I come here to think; this is my special thinking place." It was to him an ideal place for finding out interior truth. The Arabs of the Sahara sing, "No one but God and I knows what is in my heart," and so the vast solitudes of the desert in their terrible stillness, overwhelming distances, and awe-inspiring silence, make men think and think. The Arabs say in truth that "No man can be an atheist in the desert."
We enter the garden through a large gateway, flanked on one side by a two-storied Moorish dwelling-house which contains the sleeping apartments of the Count. We cross a large court-yard margined by hedgerows, towering up twenty feet or more, deeply cut to form a shade for the benches underneath. At the far end of the quadrangle is the salon, the walls of which are covered with bougainvillea of a deep violet colour. On the far side the salon looks out upon a broad avenue of date-palms, fringed with hedgerows of dark red hibiscus and scarlet geranium. A few yards beyond is the Arab divan, embowered by purple bougainvillea. Huge date-palms lift their heads above all and afford a welcome shade from the direct rays of the sun; but its rays glint through and light up the orange trees, with their red golden fruit, which stand on the far side, and throw a yellow shimmering tint over the feathery foliage of the bamboos which fill in the space between the palms.