At their base runs a sea of amethyst, and as earth receives the
first touches of light, their summits, almost transparent, mingle with
the jasper tints of the sky. Nothing can be more delicious than this
hour. But as
"les plus belles choses
Ont le pire destin,"
so lovely Morning soon fades. The sun bursts up from behind the main, a
fierce enemy, a foe that will force every one to crouch before him. He
dyes the sky orange, and the sea "incarnadine," where its violet
surface is stained by his rays, and he mercilessly puts to flight the
mists and haze and the little agate-coloured masses of cloud that were
before floating in the firmament. The atmosphere is so clear that now
and then a planet is visible. For the two
[p.208] hours following sunrise the rays are endurable; after that they
become a fiery ordeal. The morning beams oppress you with a feeling of
sickness; their steady glow, reflected by the glaring waters, blinds
your eyes, blisters your skin, and parches your mouth: you now become a
monomaniac; you do nothing but count the slow hours that must "minute
by" before you can be relieved.[FN#1]
Midday.-The wind, reverberated by the glowing hills is like the blast
of a lime-kiln. All colour melts away with the canescence from above.
The sky is a dead milk-white, and the mirror-like sea so reflects the
tint that you can scarcely distinguish the line of the horizon. After
noon the wind sleeps upon the reeking shore; there is a deep stillness;
the only sound heard is the melancholy flapping of the sail. Men are
not so much sleeping as half-senseless; they feel as if a few more
degrees of heat would be death.
Sunset.-The enemy sinks behind the deep cerulean sea, under a canopy of
gigantic rainbow which covers half the face of heaven. Nearest to the
horizon is an arch of tawny orange; above it another of the brightest
gold, and based upon these a semi-circle of tender sea-green blends
with a score of delicate gradations into the sapphire sky. Across the
rainbow the sun throws its rays in the form of giant wheel-spokes
tinged with a beautiful pink. The Eastern sky is mantled with a purple
flush that picks out the forms of the hazy Desert and the sharp-cut
Hills. Language is a thing too cold, too poor, to express the harmony
and the majesty of this hour, which is as evanescent, however, as it is
lovely. Night falls rapidly, when suddenly the appearance of the
Zodiacal Light[FN#2] restores
[p.209] the scene to what it was.
