The Fargo forum and daily republican., 1918-02-20

clerk giving leave, pushed through &
heavy hanging that shut in the en-.
try. The moon shone down the
length Of the quay. Along it were
tetl cred gondolas, their noses I'm.
There was q knot of a dozen sold
| iers in front Of the old prison next
door, evidently about to go out or
a fresh watch I had just climbed
| what is known as the Bridge OF
Straw" and reached the white-tiled
front Of the Palace of the Doges
when a clock began striking mid
night, I imagined 1t came from St
Marks Place, and I hurried in the
hope of seeing the last blows OF the
| bronze giants who strike the hours
| on the famous clock tower. Too
| late, and an abashing pounding by
my own heels was all l got for the
run. But just then the bells in the
island churches ! had looked out
upon echoed the strokes, and other
bell towers in different parts Of the
city broke in upon these. The
sound was one / was unused to-the
sound Of bells across water-or
across low fields, as remember
hearing them once near oxford.
The Campanile lifted straight, a
great bayonet with grooved sides,
the moon shining through between it
and the Royal Palace. st. Marks
was dull and half shadowy. The
piazza was deserted. could hear
footsteps in one of the pRssageways
on the far side. But / was quite
alone as I crossed ii, with sense
Of undeserved experience, like CROP
ing with thumby fingers over the
strings of a musical instrument you
cannot play. And in truth, the
shafts and arches OF the building
which close in three sides, looked in
the half light like long ranges OF
organ pipes. If l could only touch
them and bring back other midnights
in this empty square!
Such sense as / had Of the historic
scenes that had gone forward here
was just byond the limit Of con-
seriousness, boxed up like St. Marks
with sandbags piled high around it's
entrance. Nor could bring back any
of the hundreds on hundreds OF gay
scenes which must have strutted and
caracOled across the pavement,
though the designs Of its marble blocks
stood out never so clearly in the
moonlight. / could only grope at
things and wonder If / were one OF
the very few TO see St Marks Place
alone, at midnight-one OF the last
to see it at all. And at that III
stared till / was like to have become
sand blind, like Old Gobbo, and to-
about as much purpose. The thing
that was real to me was OF a very
diffeNsnt sort-an altogether un-
historic bit OF icsnoclaBm. Byron,
Turner, EIowells. Hopkinson
Smith and the rest Of the great In
terpreters who had been here, were
rich in all this imagery OF the past
that escaped me. Bnt how down
right unconscious they had been of
what the future held for this old
square and the city about it--yester-
day and today and this midnight, for
And here was Venice meeting that
future, not with trappinRs and bla-
zonry, but with most Of her Well
to-do people gone. with fifteen thou
sand families of the poor fed by soup
kitchens: with secretaries and pro-
fessors and all manner of unheroic,
obscure folk knuckling down 70 the
lob TO be done-getting sewing ma
chimes out Of pawn, and pants
stitchers of by the ferry, with their
belongings IN a gunny sack, finding
lost families and bothering about the
blind and the lame and the halt, Sails
and flags and bBnners-none Of
these, but a homely ingrained cour-