Then, Lights Begin To Shine In Genoa,
And On The Country Road; And The Revolving Lanthorn Out At Sea
There, Flashing, For An Instant, On This Palace Front And Portico,
Illuminates It As If There Were A Bright Moon Bursting From Behind
A Cloud; Then, Merges It In Deep Obscurity.
And this, so far as I
know, is the only reason why the Genoese avoid it after dark, and
think it haunted.
My memory will haunt it, many nights, in time to come; but nothing
worse, I will engage. The same Ghost will occasionally sail away,
as I did one pleasant autumn evening, into the bright prospect, and
sniff the morning air at Marseilles.
The corpulent hairdresser was still sitting in his slippers outside
his shop-door there, but the twirling ladies in the window, with
the natural inconstancy of their sex, had ceased to twirl, and were
languishing, stock still, with their beautiful faces addressed to
blind corners of the establishment, where it was impossible for
admirers to penetrate.
The steamer had come from Genoa in a delicious run of eighteen
hours, and we were going to run back again by the Cornice road from
Nice: not being satisfied to have seen only the outsides of the
beautiful towns that rise in picturesque white clusters from among
the olive woods, and rocks, and hills, upon the margin of the Sea.
The Boat which started for Nice that night, at eight o'clock, was
very small, and so crowded with goods that there was scarcely room
to move; neither was there anything to cat on board, except bread;
nor to drink, except coffee. But being due at Nice at about eight
or so in the morning, this was of no consequence; so when we began
to wink at the bright stars, in involuntary acknowledgment of their
winking at us, we turned into our berths, in a crowded, but cool
little cabin, and slept soundly till morning.
The Boat, being as dull and dogged a little boat as ever was built,
it was within an hour of noon when we turned into Nice Harbour,
where we very little expected anything but breakfast. But we were
laden with wool. Wool must not remain in the Custom-house at
Marseilles more than twelve months at a stretch, without paying
duty. It is the custom to make fictitious removals of unsold wool
to evade this law; to take it somewhere when the twelve months are
nearly out; bring it straight back again; and warehouse it, as a
new cargo, for nearly twelve months longer. This wool of ours, had
come originally from some place in the East. It was recognised as
Eastern produce, the moment we entered the harbour. Accordingly,
the gay little Sunday boats, full of holiday people, which had come
off to greet us, were warned away by the authorities; we were
declared in quarantine; and a great flag was solemnly run up to the
mast-head on the wharf, to make it known to all the town.
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