[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 Procuratie, which forms the side on which the clock is, the Atrio or Nuova Fabbrica opposite S. Mark’s, and the New Procuratie on the Campanile side.  The Old Procuratie, whose main row of windows I once counted, making either a hundred or a hundred and one, is now offices and, above, residences.  Here once abode the nine procurators of Venice who, under the Doge, ruled the city.

The New Procuratie is now the Royal Palace, and you may see the royal lackeys conversing with the sentinels in the doorway by Florian’s.  It is the finer building:  over the arches it has good sprawling Michael-Angelesque figures, noble lions’ heads, and massive ornamentations.

I don’t know for certain, but I should guess that the Royal Palace in Venice is the only abode of a European King that has shops underneath it.  Wisely the sleeping apartments face the Grand Canal, with a garden intervening; were they on the Piazza side sleep would be very difficult.  But all the great State rooms overlook the Piazza.  The Palace is open on fixed days and shown by a demure flunkey in an English bowler hat, but it should be the last place to be visited by the sightseer.  Its only real treasures—­the Tintorettos illustrating the life of S. Mark—­were not visible on the only occasion on which I ventured in.

Beneath these three buildings—­the two Procuratie and the Fabbrica Nuova—­runs an arcade where the Venetians congregate in wet weather and where the snares for tourists are chiefly laid by the dealers in jewellery, coral, statuary, lace, glass, and mosaic.  But the Venetian shopkeepers are not clever:  they have not the sense to leave the nibbler alone.  One has not been looking in the window for more than two seconds before a silky-voiced youth appears at the door and begins to recommend his wares and invite custom; and then of course one moves away in terror.