When I was in my fifteenth year, before any changes had taken place
and the great outbreaks of cholera and yellow fever were yet to come,
I spent four or five weeks in the city, greatly enjoying the novel
scenes and new life. After about ten or twelve days I began to feel
tired and languid, and this feeling grew on me day by day until it
became almost painful to exert myself to visit even my most favoured
haunts--the great South Market, where cage-birds were to be seen in
hundreds, green paroquets, cardinals, and bishop-birds predominating;
or to the river front, where I spent much time fishing for little
silvery king-fishes from the rocks; or further away to the quintas and
gardens on the cliff, where I first feasted my eyes on the sight of
orange groves laden with golden fruit amidst the vivid green polished
foliage, and old olive trees with black egg-shaped fruit showing among
the grey leaves.
And through it all the feeling of lassitude continued, and was, I
thought, due to the fact that I was on foot instead of on horseback,
and walking on a stony pavement instead of on a green turf. It never
occurred to me that there might be another cause, that I was breathing
in a pestilential atmosphere and that the poison was working in me.
Leaving town I travelled by some conveyance to spend a night at a
friend's house, and next morning set out for home on horseback.
Pages:
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331