among the crowd in the Piazza on Palm Sunday. The birds being weighted
floundered downwards and were caught and killed for the pot; but such as
escaped were held to have earned their liberty for ever.


[Illustration: THE PRESENTATION
FROM THE PAINTING BY TITIAN
_In the Accademia_]


At night no doubt the pigeons roost among S. Mark's statuary and on
convenient ledges in the neighbourhood; by day, when not on the pavement
of the Piazza, the bulk of the flock are dotted about among the reliefs
of the Atrio, facing S. Mark's.

They have no timidity, but by a kind of honourable understanding they
all affect to be startled by the bells at certain hours and the midday
gun, and ascend in a grey cloud for a few seconds.

They are never so engaging as when flying double, bird and shadow,
against the Campanile.

Their collective cooing fills the air and makes the Piazza's day music.

Venetians crossing the Piazza walk straight on, through the birds, like
Moses crossing the Red Sea; the foreigners pick their way.

What with S. Mark's and the pigeons, the Campanile and coffee, few
visitors have any time to inquire as to the other buildings of the
Piazza. Nor are they of much interest. Briefly they are the Old