My father in a storm of pigeons in San Marco's Square points up, ''Now look at those horses well.'' His words bring back Browning's Last Duchess.
''They're yours'' he says, ''They came with
%iridates to Italy in Nero's day overland not to pollute the sea. Perfect symbols of our craft. They blend bronze with our tales of fiery steeds.
On such a beast Sanasar flew into the sun. Just how these four were planted on this roof is a mystery to all except tourists with Armenian blood.''
We move in for a closer view of horses that can be seen only from far away.