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and while they were in Venice, in the absence of woods or meadows, they organized them either over the roofs or over the water.

When they decided on the roof terrace, already in the afternoon the transport of colored cushions and tablecloths began, of Venetian lanterns to hang on the lines that were used to hang the laundry, then the baskets with containers for food arrived, matching the colors of the tablecloths and of the lanterns.

To go up to the roof terrace, one had to cross the attic, a large mysterious one full of dusty and fascinating objects, trunks with old uniforms and liveries, pieces of furniture. It was there that in a dark corner I had discovered a series of small paintings painted by a relative of my mother, brother of the more famous Melloni exhibited in museums, but no less good at it. It was there that his grandfather's violin was found, with the words "Amati fecit" written inside.

A narrow wooden ladder led to the roof terrace and from up there you could see an expanse of red roofs dotted with other terraces, fireplaces, bell towers and, very close, the domes of the Basilica and the imposing mass of the Campanile of San Marco.

That day, however, the picnic had been organized on the water and as soon as I saw that Beppi was ready, I went up to the second floor to tell his aunts still busy putting the supplies in the baskets.

"Mama thanks you for the invitation but she has decided to stay home." I said. "She doesn't feel too good." 

"I imagine." said Aunt Emma. "Poor Dora. We'll talk about it later."

While the gondola, around the corner, continued along the Rio della Canonica, I looked with affection at my two aunts who, as always, enthusiastically admired their Venice. I was very fond of my aunts.

Aunt Laura, widowed with two children just three years after her marriage, retained an intact boyish candor and although she carried one of the most illustrious names of the Roman aristocracy,...