Petaluma High School - Trojans Yearbook (Petaluma, CA)

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' THE ENTERPRISE, 4 2 ers rakishly set on one side. Grouped around the bandstand are crowds or people—children feeding myriads of pigeons, venders selling cornucopias, filled with corn to feed to these birds; gay, laughing, black-eyed Venetian women, their coiffures arranged with great care and their black silk shawls draped over their shoulders toning down the riotous mass of color. At the tables is seated the population of Venice enjoying its afternoon refresh¬ ment; here is a group of beautiful and well-dressed Italian girls, chaperon¬ ed by mothers or aunts, perhaps,—gaily chatting with their friends; there sit a group of gay, young cavalry officers in uniforms of Alice blue and bright green, excitedly discussing the latest war news from Tripoli. An¬ other knot of older officers stands near by, more gravely exchanging views on the same subject, no doubt. Opposite is a merry table of American girls, sipping their afternoon tea and eating those delicious Italian phun cakes. Gradually, however, it grows darker and the life and color disap¬ pear in the longer shadows. We return to the hotel to the balcony overlooking the Grand Canal. It is evening and the red sun is disappearing behind the dome of Santa Maria della Salute. Slowly the orange fades to pink and little by little the color is gone and the buildings stand out darkly against the dusky background. Now lights appear one ny one, it is very quiet, no jangling street cars, no wagons grinding over pavements; the only sounds that break the stillness are the faint ringing of distant church bells and occasionally the discord- 29

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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

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THE ENTERPRISE, ’12 ant whistle and the chug chug of the launches as they go or come from the Lido. Now the night has fallen; many lights gleam out over the canal. Sud- enly there is music. It comes nearer and nearer—now it seems under the balcony. It is the music boat, gay with green and yellow lanterns and fill¬ ed with singers and their accompanists. After each song a rain of cop¬ pers falls into the boat from the different windows and balconies. We hur¬ ry down and ask the portier to call our gondolier. “Una centa quarante otto” (148) he calls, and in a jiffy Kenzo, that jewel of gondoliers, is at the steps and we are comfortably seated among the cushions of his boat. In answer to his soft “Where, Mees?” we tell him to follow the music boat; and soon we aie drawn up with a dozen other gondolas alongside of the singers. “Will they sing‘O sole mio’ Fenzo?” “Yes, if the Signorina wishes it,” and presently a clear, sweet tenor is singing that sweetest of all Venetian songs. We have our coppers ready and gladly give all we have when the leader steps from one gondola to another with his hat in his hanf When we return to the hotel. Fenzo says, “Shall I come tomorrow. Mees?” We had some glorious rides with Fenzo. He spoke English in a soft, pleasant voice. When we asked him how he learned it so well, he said, “Out of a book, ' mees.” One pleasant day we went across the Lagoon and past the funeral island to Murano, an island dotted with pink and yel¬ low houses, where the glass factories are. Fenzo remained at our service during our whole visiR|hd took us to the station the day we left. As we stepped out of his gondola, he slipped a card into our hands. On one side the enterprising gondolier had printed a picture of his gondola and Ermenegildo Fenzo, Gondoliere N. 148, Venezia. S. Agnese 750. On the other side he had carefully written “Please recommend me to your friends and to write at my address before to arrive in Venice.” V e did not say Goodbye” to Venice or to Fenzo, but “Au Revoir.” M. C. S.