Petaluma High School - Trojans Yearbook (Petaluma, CA)

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THE ENTERPRISE, ’l2 had passed the ticket punchers at the gates—when, presto! We were in another world. There before us were broad marble -steps—and close to the steps were moored the waiting gondolas. When we caught our breath, we were in a gondola, our bags piled around us, floating quietly out on the dark water. We knew we were going to the Hotel de Y Europe and that was all. We were alone in a black gondola with two shadowy gondoliers quietly work¬ ing at the oars; everything was dark, the only light was a feeble one com¬ ing from the tiny oil lamp on the prow. We could not even see the faces of our gondoliers. Through the black canals we floated, seeing nothing except occasionally the outlines of buildings faintly lit up by gas lamps, hearing nothing but the gentle lap of the water and the swish of the oars, or the sudden and startling shout of one of the gondoliers when we turned a corner. After what seemed an eternity to us, really not so very longrwe sudden¬ ly saw more lights and turned into what we instinctively knew was the Grand Canal. The gondola stopped and one of the men came to us and, doffing his hat with much ceremony, he said something in Italian which we did not understand. But the gesture accompanying it, we understood easily. It is the same in every language. As -soon as we found the num¬ ber of coppers, off we started and in a few moments more, we came to the 27

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THE SPELL OF VENICE N our compartment on the train from Milan to Venice, we had the pleasure of the company of a Venetian officer’s wife. In our haste to leave Milan, or rather to get to Venice, we forgot our bottle of mineral water and the Venetian lady insisted that we share hers. Thus began a pleasant acquaintance and an interesting conversation which lasted throughout the six hours from Milan to Venice, six short hours through the old picturesque hill towns of Verona, Brescia, Vicenza and Padua— still surrounded by their mediaeval walls. In the course of conversation, our Venetian lady asked u.s if we had ever been to Venice before, and when we replied in the negative, she said, “Ah! You will find it like no other place in the world. It has a charm all its own.” We readily believed her, for had we not always dreamed of Venice as the most romantic spot in the world? And to ride in a gondo¬ la on the Grand Canal or the Lagoon had been the great ambition of our childhood. Well, here we were on the way to its fulfillment. It was growing dark when we reached Mestre, the last station before Venice. We began to see lights twinkling out over the water, which now seemed to be on both sides of the tracks. In a few moments we pulled into a most ordinary looking station; dirty—even dirtier than most Italian sta¬ tions. The Venetian lady was met by a handsome officer and an orderly, who gathered up all her bags, but not before she had asked him to call a facchino (porter) for us. We followed the facchino through a very dirty corridor—were we going to be disappointed after all? In a moment we

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THE ENTERPRISE, i 2 marble steps of our hotel and were helped out over a carpeted board by the dignified portier and several assistants; then we were ushered into the lovely Hotel de V Europe, formerly an old palace and still reminiscent of other days, with its carved woodwork, inlaid floors and beautiful hang¬ ings. Venice in the day time brought a realization of our dreams. The side door of the hotel opened on what seemed to be a tiny alley, but in reality it was quite a broad avenue for Venice. A walk of a few yards brought us suddenly and unexpectedly into the square nf San Marco . Our surprise and the blaze of color that met our eyes, made us gasp. There at the end of the square stands the great church so rich in colored mosaic, all its minarets and spires and oriental trimmings glistening in the morning sun. Alongside of St. Mark’s, forming part of the piazzetta stands the Doge’s palace and at the end, near the Grand Canal are the columns of St. Mark and St. Theodore and beyond these the gleaming water. Flanking the sides of the square are the arcades with their fascinating shops with gay wares—Venetian glass, illuminated parchment, beads, laces and pictures. Our next glimpse of the piazza is in the late afternoon; the square itself is in the shadow and the tops of the buildings are bathed in the sunset lights. Now tables and chairs have been set out in the square and the best band in Italy is playing as only Italian bands can. They are Bersaglieri with uniforms of dark green and patent leather hats with a bunch of feath- 28