It was not only there, however, that I watched him; the relations
he had entertained with the new had even a livelier interest.
His own country after all had had most of his life, and his muse,
as they said at that time, was essentially American.
That was originally what I had loved him for: that at a period
when our native land was nude and crude and provincial,
when the famous "atmosphere" it is supposed to lack was not
even missed, when literature was lonely there and art and form
almost impossible, he had found means to live and write like one
of the first; to be free and general and not at all afraid;
to feel, understand, and express everything.
V
I was seldom at home in the evening, for when I attempted to
occupy myself in my apartments the lamplight brought in a swarm
of noxious insects, and it was too hot for closed windows.
Accordingly I spent the late hours either on the water
(the moonlight of Venice is famous), or in the splendid square
which serves as a vast forecourt to the strange old basilica
of Saint Mark. I sat in front of Florian's cafe, eating ices,
listening to music, talking with acquaintances: the traveler
will remember how the immense cluster of tables and little chairs
stretches like a promontory into the smooth lake of the Piazza.
The whole place, of a summer's evening, under the stars and with
all the lamps, all the voices and light footsteps on marble
(the only sounds of the arcades that enclose it), is like an open-air
saloon dedicated to cooling drinks and to a still finer degustation--
that of the exquisite impressions received during the day.
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