A Lombard Vignette

They populate the Duomo di Milano, and look upon the city. The lizards, dragons and gargoyles have been looking upon this dirty old city for centuries. They are our own demons, the familiar fiends of always.
They have seen the Spanish domination, the plague, the Austrian rule and the insurrection.
When the cannons of Bava Beccaris shot upon the patriots, when the partisans hung Mussolini and his lover upside-down in Piazzale Loreto, when La Rinascente went up in flames they where there.

One could expect that, having so much to say, they would now speak, or at least make some noise. Muted screams would be very appropriate.
No sound from them, though. I fear that one day their repressed fury will be enough to make them move, stretch their marble limbs (certainly there would be the glitter of scale, the scraping of claws on the pinnacles), and take wing in the polluted sky.

Turned to small dots in the distance, they would wheel at most twice, and then disappear in the direction of the Alps.

The Duomo would then be left to the saints, which would quietly die of boredom up on high, or become brokers: the Stock Exchange is close by.

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