After The Photograph Was Done, We
Drove Round The Kloof, Between Table And Lion Mountain.
The road
is cut on the side of Lion Mountain, and overhangs the sea at a
great height.
Camp Bay, which lies on the further side of the
'Lion's Head', is most lovely; never was sea so deeply blue, rocks
so warmly brown, or sand and foam so glittering white; and down at
the mountain-foot the bright green of the orange and pomegranate
trees throws it all out in greater relief. But the atmosphere here
won't do after that of the 'Ruggings', as the Caledon line of
country is called. I shall never lose the impression of the view I
had when Dr. Morkel drove me out on a hill-side, where the view
seemed endless and without a vestige of life; and yet in every
valley there were farms; but it looked a vast, utter solitude, and
without the least haze. You don't know what that utter clearness
means - the distinctness is quite awful. Here it is always slightly
hazy; very pretty and warm, but it takes off from the grandeur. It
is the difference between a pretty Pompadour beauty and a Greek
statue. Those pale opal mountains, as distinct in every detail as
the map on your table, are so cheerful and serene; no melodramatic
effects of clouds and gloom. I suppose it is not really so
beautiful as it seemed to me, for other people say it is bare and
desolate, and certainly it is; but it seemed to me anything but
dreary.
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