As I Recognised The Curious Pillars With Grim
Monsters For Their Bases, I Seemed To See Them, Standing By
Themselves In The Quiet Square At Padua, Where There Were The Staid
Old University, And The Figures, Demurely Gowned, Grouped Here And
There In The Open Space About It.
Then, I was strolling in the
outskirts of that pleasant city, admiring the unusual neatness of
the dwelling-houses, gardens, and orchards, as I had seen them a
few hours before.
In their stead arose, immediately, the two
towers of Bologna; and the most obstinate of all these objects,
failed to hold its ground, a minute, before the monstrous moated
castle of Ferrara, which, like an illustration to a wild romance,
came back again in the red sunrise, lording it over the solitary,
grass-grown, withered town. In short, I had that incoherent but
delightful jumble in my brain, which travellers are apt to have,
and are indolently willing to encourage. Every shake of the coach
in which I sat, half dozing in the dark, appeared to jerk some new
recollection out of its place, and to jerk some other new
recollection into it; and in this state I fell asleep.
I was awakened after some time (as I thought) by the stopping of
the coach. It was now quite night, and we were at the waterside.
There lay here, a black boat, with a little house or cabin in it of
the same mournful colour. When I had taken my seat in this, the
boat was paddled, by two men, towards a great light, lying in the
distance on the sea.
Ever and again, there was a dismal sigh of wind. It ruffled the
water, and rocked the boat, and sent the dark clouds flying before
the stars. I could not but think how strange it was, to be
floating away at that hour: leaving the land behind, and going on,
towards this light upon the sea. It soon began to burn brighter;
and from being one light became a cluster of tapers, twinkling and
shining out of the water, as the boat approached towards them by a
dreamy kind of track, marked out upon the sea by posts and piles.
We had floated on, five miles or so, over the dark water, when I
heard it rippling in my dream, against some obstruction near at
hand. Looking out attentively, I saw, through the gloom, a
something black and massive--like a shore, but lying close and flat
upon the water, like a raft--which we were gliding past. The chief
of the two rowers said it was a burial-place.
Full of the interest and wonder which a cemetery lying out there,
in the lonely sea, inspired, I turned to gaze upon it as it should
recede in our path, when it was quickly shut out from my view.
Before I knew by what, or how, I found that we were gliding up a
street--a phantom street; the houses rising on both sides, from the
water, and the black boat gliding on beneath their windows.
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