September had nearly fled, yet the leaves in the Tronto garden had hardly begun to change colour; the air, however, was now extremely cold as soon as the sun had departed. The wine-carts which daily thronged the streets warned us that the vintage would soon be over.
Day after day, as we looked from our windows in early morning, we saw flocks of sheep with their attendant shepherds, and herds of goats coming down in great numbers from the mountains. They trooped past our windows, and took their way along the dusty road towards the Maremma.
The poor, tired herdmen looked picturesque in ragged thin trousers and patched coats; they wore high-peaked hats, and had a sort of make-believe appearance as they trudged along on foot behind their beasts. Every now and then came a padrone mounted on a mule, sometimes on a horse, with quaint trappings; he always carried a long pole and a huge roll of green baize in front of him. We did not see any women or children, but we were told that the shepherds take their families along with them in these spring and autumn migrations, for they will go back to the hills as soon as winter is over. As we watched them we felt sadly that we too must soon say goodbye to Perugia.
One of our last walks was to Monte Luce; and, coming back towards Perugia, we stopped and watched the sun set; as it sank behind the purple, bleak hills the sky above them was blood-red; higher up, stretched in long broad lines, was a mass of greenish slate-coloured clouds. On the right these were reft, and showed a sea of golden glory; while, still higher, clouds of paler grey sailed over a rosy veil that stretched itself across a sky of luminous green. As we went on, the blood-red tint paled and faded; the clouds above took a darker hue, and loomed, with storm-laden, broken edges, over the deep valley that lay between where we stood and the projecting bastion, a view crowned by the weird tower of San Domenico. This stood up in startling vividness against the almost appalling gloom that had so quickly gathered.
Around us the view opened widely, the triple range of hills showed a sullen grey of differing tints; on some of them, where the light was lurid with a tawny tinge, it was plainly raining; yet, although thunder seemed imminent in the humid clouds that hung lower and lower over the valley, we were told that probably there would not be a storm at Perugia. Certainly, we had perfect atmosphere and perfect weather. The hill-city seemed to us in all ways very healthy—a place where winter and spring, summer and autumn, might alike be spent with charm and profit by those travellers who love the nature and art of Italy.
