But in
the evening the street swarms with people. At that time I feel usually
very depressed, nervous, and restless. I go out, and walk about until
I am tired; and that gives me relief. I walk mostly on the Pincio,
three or four times along that magnificent terrace. At this time
lovers stroll about. Some couples walk arm in arm, their heads close
together, their eyes uplifted, as if overflowing with happiness;
others sit in the deep shadows of the trees. The flickering light of
the lamp reveals now and then half-concealed under his plumes the
profile of a Bersagliere, sometimes the light dress of a girl, or the
face of a laborer or student. Whispers reach my ear; love-vows and low
snatches of song. All this gives me the impression of a carnival of
spring. I find a singular charm in thus losing myself among the crowd,
and breathe their gayety and health. There is so much happiness and
simplicity! This simplicity seems to penetrate into my whole being,
and acts more soothingly upon my nerves than a sleeping draught. The
evenings are clear and warm, but full of cool breezes. The moon rises
beyond Trinita dei Monti, and sails above that human beehive like a
great silver bark, illuminating the tops of trees, roofs, and towers.
At the foot of the terrace glimmers and surges the city, and somewhere
in the distance, on a silvery background, appears the dark outline of
St.
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