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He glanced toward the elder
man, some deprecatory comment rising to his lips as he strove to
dissipate the symbolic mood which was surely possessing him, for he felt
himself uncomfortably conscious of the meaning wrought into the very
stones about him, and to-day this over-mastering assertion of
Venice--always Venice dominant--was oppressive.
But his father, apparently unaware of Marcantonio's turbulent
sensations, wore his usual reserved and dignified mien; even the motion
he had seemed to make before the columns in the Piazzetta was probably
only due to Marcantonio's imagination, and the young fellow's light
rejoinder passed unuttered, intensifying his discomfort. He realized
that he was not searching for this symbolism with a poet's appreciation,
nor as an archaeologist delighting in curios, but as a son of the
Republic--to gather her history and her purpose, to make himself one
with her, to put himself under her yoke--and in his heart he rebelled.
Yet it was he, this time, who paused, undeniably, before the great
window on the Piazzetta.


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