II - 12 Asummer Day

Asummer  Day

One day thirty years ago Marseilles lay in the burning sun. A blazing non
 
upon  a  fierce  August  day  was  no  greater  rarity  in  southern  France  then
 
than  at  any  other  time  before  or  since.  Every-tiring  in  Marseiiles  and
 
about Marseilles had stared at the fervid sun, and been stared at in return,
 
until a staring habit had become universal there. Strangers were stared
 
out  of  countenance(1)  by  staring  white  houses,  8taring  white  streets,
 
staring tracts of arid road, staring hills from which verdure was burnt
 
away. The only things to be seen not fixedly staring and glaring were the
 
vines drooping under their loads of grapes. These did occasionally wink
 
a  little,  u  the  hot  air  barely  moved  their  faint  leaves.
The  universal  stare  made  the  eyes  ache.  Towards  the  distant  blue(2)  of
 
the  Italian  coast,  indeed,  it  was  a  little  relieved  by  light  clouds  of
 
mist Slowly rising from the evaporation of the sea, but it softened nowhere
 
else. Far away the staring roads, deep in dust, stared from the hillside,
 
stared from the hollow, stared from the interminable plain. Far away the
 
dusty  vines  overhanging  wayside  cottages,  and  the  monotonous  wayside

avenues of parched trees without shade, dropped beneath the stare of earth
 
and  sky.  So  did  the  horses  with  drowsy  bells,  in  long  files  of  carts,
 
creeping slowly towards the interior; so did their recumbent drivers, when
 
they were awake, which rarely happened; so did the exhausted laborers in
 
the fields.(3) Every- thing that lived or grew was oppressed by the glare;
 
except  the  lizard,  passing  swiftly  over  rough  stone  walls,  and  cicada,
 
chirping its dry hot chirp, like a rattle. The very dust was scorched brown,
 
and something quivered in the atmosphere as if the air itself were panting.
Blinds,  shutters,  curtains  ,awnings,  were  all  closed  and  drawn  to  keep
 
out  the  stare.  Grant  it  but  a  chink  or  a  keyhole,  and  it  shot  in  like  a
 
white-hot  arrow.(4)