At the period of our story--though the sea had even then receded
perceptibly--the ditches round the walls were yet filled, and the
canals still ran through the city in much the same manner as they
intersect Venice at the present time.

On the morning that we are about to describe, the autumn had advanced
some days since the events mentioned in the preceding chapter.
Although the sun was now high in the eastern horizon, the restlessness
produced by the heat emboldened a few idlers of Ravenna to brave the
sultriness of the atmosphere, in the vain hope of being greeted by a
breeze from the Adriatic as they mounted the seaward ramparts of the
town. On attaining their destined elevation, these sanguine citizens
turned their faces with fruitless and despairing industry towards every
point of the compass, but no breath of air came to reward their
perseverance. Nothing could be more thoroughly suggestive of the
undiminished universality of the heat than the view, in every
direction, from the position they then occupied. The stone houses of
the city behind them glowed with a vivid brightness overpowering to the
strongest eyes. The light curtains hung motionless over the lonely
windows. No shadows varied the brilliant monotony of the walls, or
softened the lively glitter on the waters of the fountains beneath. Not
a ripple stirred the surface of the broad channel, that now replaced
the ancient harbour. Not a breath of wind unfolded the scorching sails
of the deserted vessels at the quay. Over the marshes in the distance
hung a hot, quivering mist; and in the vineyards, near the town, not a
leaf waved upon its slender stem. On the seaward side lay, vast and
level, the prospect of the burning sand; and beyond it the main
ocean--waveless, torpid, and suffused in a flood of fierce
brightness--stretched out to the cloudless horizon that closed the
sunbright view.

Within the town, in those streets where the tall houses cast a deep
shadow on the flagstones of the road, the figures of a few slaves might
here and there be seen sleeping against the walls, or gossiping
languidly on the faults of their respective lords. Sometimes an old
beggar might be observed hunting on the well-stocked preserves of his
own body the lively vermin of the South. Sometimes a restless child
crawled from a doorstep to paddle in the stagnant waters of a kennel;
but, with the exception of these doubtful evidences of human industry,
the prevailing