The sea sleeps, and in the moist autumn air we
break tall branches of the seeded yellowing samphire from hollows of
the rocks, and bear them homeward in a wayward bouquet mixed with cobs
of Indian-corn.
Fusina is another point for these excursions. It lies at the mouth
of the Canal di Brenta, where the mainland ends in marsh and
meadows, intersected by broad renes. In spring the ditches bloom with
fleurs-de-lys; in autumn they take sober colouring from lilac daisies
and the delicate sea-lavender. Scores of tiny plants are turning
scarlet on the brown moist earth; and when the sun goes down behind
the Euganean hills, his crimson canopy of cloud, reflected on these
shallows, muddy shoals, and wilderness of matted weeds, converts the
common earth into a fairyland of fabulous dyes. Purple, violet, and
rose are spread around us. In front stretches the lagoon, tinted
with a pale light from the east, and beyond this pallid mirror shines
Venice--a long low broken line, touched with the softest roseate
flush. Ere we reach the Giudecca on our homeward way, sunset has
faded. The western skies have clad themselves in green, barred with
dark fire-rimmed clouds. The Euganean hills stand like stupendous
pyramids, Egyptian, solemn, against a lemon space on the horizon. The
far reaches of the lagoons, the Alps, and islands assume those tones
of glowing lilac which are the supreme beauty of Venetian evening.
Then, at last, we see the first lamps glitter on the Zattere.
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