and embers and carmines of the sunset scenery—­the gorgeous death-bed of the Day.  No tint more tender, more restful, than the uniform grey, pale and pearly, invading by slowest progress that ocean of crimson that girds the orb of the Sun-King, diminishing it to a lakelet of fire and finally quenching it in iridescent haze.  No gloom more ghostly than the murky hangings drooping like curtains from the violet heavens during those traveller’s trials the unmoored nights, when the world seems peopled by weird phantoms and phantasms of man and monster moving and at rest.  No verdure more exquisite than earth’s glazing of greenery, the blend of ethereal azure and yellow; no gold more sheeny than the foregrounds of sand shimmering in the slant of the sun; no blue more profound and transparent than the middle distances; no neutral tints more subtle, pure, delicate and sight-soothing than the French grey which robes the clear-cut horizon; no variety of landscape more pronounced than the alternations of glowing sunlight and snowy moonlight and twinkling starlight, all streaming through diaphanous air.  No contrast more admirable than the alternation of iron upland whereupon hardly a blade of grass may grow and the Wady with its double avenue of leek-green tamarisks, hedging now a furious rain-torrent then a ribbon of purest sand, or the purple-gray shadow rising majestic in the Orient to face the mysterious Zodiacal Light, a white pyramid whose base is Amenti—­region of resting Osiris—­and whose apex pierces the zenith.  And not rarely this “after-glow” is followed by a blush of “celestial rosy-red” mantling the whole circle of the horizon where the hue is deepest and paling into the upper azure where the stars shine their brightest.  How often in Somali land I repeated to myself

—­Contente-vous, mes yeux,
Jamais vous ne verrez chose plus belle;

and the picture still haunts me.

* * * * * *

And now, turning away from these and similar pleasures of memory, and passing over the once told tale (Foreword, vol. i. pp. viii., ix.) of how, when and where work was begun, together with the disappointment caused by the death of my friend and collaborator, Steinhaeuser concerning the copying process which commenced in 1879 and anent the precedence willingly accorded to the “Villon Edition,” I proceed directly to what may be termed

The Engineering of the Work.

During the autumn of ’82, after my return from the Gold Coast (with less than no share of the noble metal which my companion Cameron and I went forth to find and found a failure), my task began in all possible earnest with ordering the old scraps of translation and collating a vast heterogeneous collection of notes.  I was fortunate enough to discover at unlettered Trieste, an excellent copyist able and willing to decypher a crabbed hand and deft at reproducing facetious and drolatic words without thoroughly comprehending their significance.  At first my exertions were but fitful and the scene was mostly a sick bed to which I was bound between October ’83 and June ’84.  Marienbad, however, and Styrian Sauerbrunn (bed Rohitsch) set me right and on return to Trieste (Sept. 4, ’84), we applied ourselves to the task of advertising, the first two volumes being almost ready for print.