Balzac once said: We cannot find in late autumn the bright flowers we missed in spring and summer.
Hotel Danieli had once counted Balzac, Wagner, and Dickens among its regular guests.
Historic luxury hotels were all like this; one always felt as though the famous figures who had once stayed there had brushed past them.
Imagine the scene: Charles Dickens rose early in the morning, put on his gleaming leather shoes, descended the red-carpeted stairs into the polished marble lobby, then stepped out through the main entrance and left the ochre-painted hotel.
Right outside the hotel was a pier where gondolas lay moored, rising and falling gently with the waves. Seagulls circled after fishing boats, those opportunists keeping their eyes on the fishermen, planning to snatch a fish when one of them let down his guard.
Venice's bell tower did not ring in the morning. That thing simply disturbed people's dreams. Dickens yawned, rubbed his sleepy eyes, and headed for Caffè Florian, intending to have a refreshing cup of coffee.
They served more than coffee there; there was all manner of delicious food as well. Perhaps he would spend an entire day in that bustling café, racking his brains for inspiration. Or perhaps he would think of nothing at all, merely observing the guests who came and went.
When night fell, he returned to the hotel as its lights began to glow. The hotel restaurant offered the finest view in all Venice, one that only the Doge of Venice and the Minister of Finance had once been able to enjoy. Now, many people could enjoy it.
Many people did not necessarily hold their weddings in churches. Perhaps Dickens had seen some newlyweds holding their ceremony in the lobby, stirring his sentimental feelings. He had once had a happy marriage, yet