"Toward 2 o'clock I made another move toward the centre of the city. I
heard the drone of an attacking airplane drawing nearer over the still
lagoon, and a policeman beckoned me into the vestibule of a high palazzo
in one of those narrow Venetian alleys between tall black rows of houses
which are like a communication trench of masonry. All was cheerfulness
in this marble anteroom, a family of young daughters laughing and
chattering with their mother while the noisy night crept slowly on.
Taking advantage of another lull, I reached my hotel, but not until 6
o'clock, when the dawn was well advanced, did the tumult of this
eight-hour-long bombardment cease.
"And yet this morning, as one went about in the warm sunshine seeing the
places which the bombs had destroyed, the people seemed untroubled
enough. Troops of black-shawled girls went chattering by, and the boys
were playing a sort of 'shove-halfpenny' game, using as counters the
shell splinters they had found scattered about the city ways."
Since then there have been many other raids, but none so prolonged. The
black-shawled women whose laughter defied the nightly peril have gone
for the most part, taking with them the alert "bambini," who at that
period still shouted at play in the streets. Only armed defenders are
left, with those who are absolutely necessary to aid them. The muffled
echo of distant guns is heard by day and the crash of bombs by night.
Just outside the city is a little cemetery where are gathered the bodies
of the Italian and French aviators who have died defending these shores.
The marble pavement of the Piazza and Piazzetta is torn in places, and
the swarming pigeons of other days have dwindled sadly, for no tourists
come to feed them. In the sky over the lagoon, where the gulls once
reigned supreme, airplanes now keep watch against the ceaseless threat
in the direction of the Piave.