It is a common disease in cities, where a man is forced to associate with his fellow-men, and to compete with them, whether he is naturally inclined to do so or not.

If Marzio could have exercised his art while living as a hermit on the top of a lonely mountain he might have been a much better man.
He almost understood this himself as he walked slowly through the Via delle Botteghe Oscure--"the street of dark shops"-- in the early morning.

He was thinking of the crucifix he was to make, and the interest he felt in it made him dread the consequences of the previous night's domestic wrangling.

He wanted to be alone, and at the same time he wanted to see places and things which should suggest thoughts to him.
He did not care whither he went so long as he kept out of the new Rome.
When he reached the little garden in front of San Marco he paused, looked at the deep doorway of the church, remembered the barbarous mosaics within, and turned impatiently into a narrow street on the right--the beginning of the Via di Marforio.
The network of by-ways in this place is full of old-time memories.

Here is the Via Giulio Romano, where the painter himself once lived; here is the Macel dei Corvi, where Michael Angelo once lodged; hard by stood the statue of Marforio, christened by the mediaeval Romans after _Martis Forum_, and famous as the interlocutor of Pasquino.