Gazing westward up Giudecca, masts and funnels bar the
sunset and the Paduan hills; and from a little front room of the
_trattoria_ the view is so marine that one keeps fancying oneself
in some ship's cabin. Sea-captains sit and smoke beside their glass
of grog in the pavilion and the _caffe_. But we do not seek their
company at dinner-time. Our way lies under yonder arch, and up the
narrow alley into a paved court. Here are oleanders in pots, and
plants of Japanese spindle-wood in tubs; and from the walls beneath
the window hang cages of all sorts of birds--a talking parrot, a
whistling blackbird, goldfinches, canaries, linnets. Athos, the fat
dog, who goes to market daily in a _barchetta_ with his master,
snuffs around. 'Where are Porthos and Aramis, my friend?' Athos does
not take the joke; he only wags his stump of tail and pokes his nose
into my hand. What a Tartufe's nose it is! Its bridge displays the
full parade of leather-bound brass-nailed muzzle. But beneath, this
muzzle is a patent sham. The frame does not even pretend to close
on Athos' jaw, and the wise dog wears it like a decoration. A little
farther we meet that ancient grey cat, who has no discoverable name,
but is famous for the sprightliness and grace with which she bears her
eighteen years. Not far from the cat one is sure to find Carlo--the
bird-like, bright-faced, close-cropped Venetian urchin, whose duty
it is to trot backwards and forwards between the cellar and the
dining-tables.
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