"His son's life was not safe under the
Visconti; he fled to Venice, and his name was inscribed on the Golden
Book. And now neither Cane or Golden Book are in existence." His
gesture startled me; it told of patriotism extinguished and weariness
of life.
"But if you were once a Venetian senator, you must have been a wealthy
man. How did you lose your fortune?"
"In evil days."
He waved away the glass of wine handed to him by the flageolet, and
bowed his head. He had no heart to drink. These details were not
calculated to extinguish my curiosity.
As the three ground out the music of the square dance, I gazed at the
old Venetian noble, thinking thoughts that set a young man's mind
afire at the age of twenty. I saw Venice and the Adriatic; I saw her
ruin in the ruin of the face before me. I walked to and fro in that
city, so beloved of her citizens; I went from the Rialto Bridge, along
the Grand Canal, and from the Riva degli Schiavoni to the Lido,
returning to St. Mark's, that cathedral so unlike all others in its
sublimity. I looked up at the windows of the Casa Doro, each with its
different sculptured ornaments; I saw old palaces rich in marbles, saw
all the wonders which a student beholds with the more sympathetic eyes
because visible things take their color of his fancy, and the sight of
realities cannot rob him of the glory of his dreams.
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