St Josephs College - Footprints Yearbook (Brooklyn, NY)

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Dickens has described it as a palace mure majestic and magnificent in its old age than all the buildings of the earth in the high prime and fullness of their youth. Its galleries are so delicate that fairy hands might have fashioned them, and yet they are so strong that all the wear and tear of centuries have battered them in vain. Beside this palace stands the cathedral of St. Mark, one of the glories of modern Europe. It has been called the church that can lie neither described nor forgotten. Guarding its portals are the four famous In uses, so important in the chronicles of Venice. This building afforded work for Doge after Doge, and generation after generation its splendor increased. Its shape was altered, its treasures expanded, until, in the beginning of the nineteenth century, the great Napoleon conquered Venice and all operations ceased. Besides possessing one of the richest collections of church articles, its altar is without equal in the universe. In striking contrast to these gigantic structures, are the small shops of the Venetian merchant. What treasures are within their walls! Here I found beautiful Mosaic pieces: there, colored glass moulded into all kinds of shapes, and everywhere. I came upon exquisite, web-like, Venetian lace. One could spend hours wandering through this entrancing maze of shops, looking at the novelties they offer to the casual and curious shopper. Every visitor marvels at the mellow moonlight in Venice, and well he may. for there is nothing on earth so bewitching. You forget the far-off world, that hard, old world with its miseries and misfortunes, and think onl} of love, romance and happiness. In the evening, when the pale moon rises above the horizon, dim lights flicker everywhere, from the moving gondolas to the corner of some quiet courtyard. The lapping of water on the marble palaces does not disturb but rather adds to the tranquility of the night. As one muses on the beauties of the Queen of the Adriatic, there gradually steals across the waters of the Grand Canal the strains of some sweet Italian soul;. Enraptured, I boarded a gondola and was taken to the scene of this melodious music. As I glided nearer, the music increased in volume and the singers raised their voices in heavenly harmony. Many gondolas were clustered around a gaily lighted barge crowded with these Venetian song-birds. Their refrains floated softly on the breeze and each listener held his breath for fear of interrupting the accents so full of tenderness and love. What heart, no matter how cold or hard, would not melt at the sound of such ethereal music? Those whose locks shone silver in the moonlight recalled their past romance and happiness, while youths dreamed and planned for the future. When the moon had finished its course over this phantom- like city, the carefree life once more awoke. The sun. as it rose, cast its bewitching rays on the tinted waters of this beautiful Queen of the Sea. My stav in this charming citv was ended and 1 had to bid. as Cesare Morandi did. To Venice: A Farewell. Venice, farewell, your evening tints arc shed, Soft crimson shadows at this hour you lay I pon each palace now that gleameth red Ere lovelier eve give place to lovely day The lender dawn, the golden moon, soft night, Will ever stay a vision o] delight. No mare an quiet lagoon, by dreamy isle. Shall my gondola there in silence glide; Xo more shall I behold you sadly smile When loveliest tints are gathered an vour tide. The colour, light, t. ' ie dreamy dip of oar .Ire tenderest memories far evermore. HE LEX WEIDEN, ' 26. - 4 1 8 f -

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The Charm of Venice IN all my travels there was nothing more beautiful, more charming, than tin spectacle which greeted m sighl as I first looked upon Venice, the glorious city in the sea. There, before mj ryes stretched thai glistening city of my dreams, a pretty picture upon the sands of the seashore. Her statelj palaces reflected on the gleaming waters, resembled a phantom cit) i ' ii a silver} stream. How solemn, how impressive was the tranquility that wrapped the scene! Travel where I did, neither London nor Paris, neither Berlin nor Rome feasted m vision with such a banquet of beauty. It was the unfolding of a dream, a fairy land made real by art. age and industry. Fancy a cit) ' where tin- silence is unbroken by the tread of horses or the rumbling of wheels, when- the streets are crossed in boats, and where gondolas drift to merry-makings or to funerals. Such a city is Venice. As 1 alighted from the railroad station into one i these bewitching boats the charm of Venice was alreadv upon me. The gondola swayed to and fro in almost human response to the gondolier ' s rhythmic oar. This was the only sound ' hat broke flic quietness of the scene and left my eye at full liberty to take in the inexhaustible loveliness of color and form. Sa premi. cried the gondolier as he turned the corner, and for a moment all was in confusion. Everywhere were gondolas, gondolas moored at the quay waiting for passengers, gondolas drawn up in front of palaces, and gondolas sweeping down the Grand Canal. All were painted black, in accordance with an ancient law. passed when the decorations of the fascinating water-carriages were becoming too sumptuous for Republican morals. Hut even now man} of them were very elegant. They were long and slender in appearance, with a high, steel pointed beak, oddly shaped and usually fitted out with superb carvings. In striking contrast with these sombre ships were found vessels. in the large canal, with sails of brilliant hues, mostly red and orange. The radiance of these sails and of the bright and grotesque vanes at the mast- heads under sunlight were beyond all painting. As my gondola glided over the great lagoon, the splendor of the spec- tacle impressed me. The buildings that 1 had so fondlj studied in hooks and pictures now rose before me. They far exceeded m expectations, being wonderfully beautiful with their superb architecture and their great variety pf color. One by one the) appeared, the hooded cupolas of St. Mark, the tall Campanile, glittering red in the sun: the Morescoe Palace of the Doges; the gloomy Bridge of Sighs and the dark dungeons to which it leads. The palaces and churches on each side of the water gave the scene a medieval Setting and the illusion was such that as the gondola neared the Rialto I would not have been surprised to have encountered Shylock. The Rialto was formerly the rich business and mone) center of the iil . hut now it has fallen into decay and is used b the poorer classes for simps. I soon learned that the same man who built this bridge also built the Bridge of Sighs. There is a world of sentiment around this beautiful hut gruesome link connecting the State prisons with the Doge ' s Palace. Prisoners who crossed it never saw the light of day again. They spent their remaining days in dark and damp cells which would make the saddest lite in the Free light and air seem bright and desirable. Venice is the city of majestic palaces. It has been said of some oi her larger buildings that they serve as a standard by which the ancient great- ness of Venice itself may he measured. I he principal one is the Palace ol the Doges. This is claimed to he the finest building in the world. Charles { 1 ' i

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Doors I DON ' T know how you feel about it. but doors have a great fascination for me. They arc like visionaries beckoning one to a strange land. They are kindly things, for they light the way to the future and mercifully hide the past unless —well, I suppose some people are unfortunate enough to open doors to skeletons better left forgotten in the cover of night. But then, some people always have a perverse, unhappy faculty of blundering into trouble. Few things express character the way doors do. They are usually very decorous and seem to admirably adapt themselves to fit their surroundings. When you see a heavy, massive, oak door, you always think of it as belong- ing to ;t ponderous stone building. The cathedral door is different from the front door on a suburban home. The former is heavy, cunningly carved and has little slits of windows at the top. It is dark, high and massive, and ter- minates in a graceful point that places it in harmony with its Gothic setting. It is a door made to withstand a battering ram. One can imagine it with a wild, barbaric foe on the outside and within — sanctuary. It shuts a man inside and leaves him alone with his God, while the forces of the world vainly try to enter. The door of the suburban home plainly shows that it is the entrance to the house of man. It is (at least, the one I have in mind is l plain and simple, hut not without its charm. It is made of some nondescript kind of wood and is painted in attractive green and tan panels. At the top of the door is an oblong window frame with eight small panes of glass- very pleasing to the passerby, but the bane of the housekeeper ' - existence, (low tempting are the bright brass door knob and the equally bright knocker! bove the door, there is a number plate bearing phosphorus numbers which are sup- posed to shine at night, hut which never do. somehow, when one has left the dealer ' s shop. This door tells you that there is comfort, peace and security within. It breathes the spirit of the home and Eairl) glows in its own quiet way. It protects the pretty little mother with her happy children. shutting out all intruders and keeping the famih safe and secure within the little home. When the man of the house comes home, it opens readily and greets him cheerily for the little door can love. The palatial city mansion would never he content with such an unsophisticated door. It has its own type and. whenever one sees a grilled door, with its solid, metal frame, its long plate glass, the intricate pattern of the iron work running from the top to the bottom of the frame on the outside of the glass, its dull iron knobs, curiously wrought, it always recalls the dignified city house. It comports itself fittingly among its fashion- able companions — the beautiful stone of the walls, the carefully planned lawn, the broad marble steps. Grilled doors are a luxury and proudlj pro- claim the fact. Consider the mishaps that revolving doors cause. Many a careless traveler has found himself wedged in a door of this type because he foolishly persisted in carrying his suitcase the wrong way. I have seen many a Stranger stand looking helplessly at these relentless doors. Often he would rush at them in much the same manner that Don Quixote attacked the windmill. Sometimes he would give it a gentle push and it wouldn ' t move at all. Then he would exert his full strength — only to have the door spin around so quickly that he wouldn ' t get out at all. These doors arc- cynical things. They sneer at the weak humans who attack them. Their philosophy §| I9fc