Pink in colour, they stood in a
barrel near the entrance, I remember, of Jesurum's, and attracted the
Senator's inquiring eye. When the guide said they were for human
consumption poppa looked at him suspiciously and offered him one. He ate
it with a promptness and artistic despatch that fascinated us all,
gathering it up by its limp long legs and taking bites out of it, as if
it were an apple. A one-eyed man who hooked pausing gondolas up to the
slippery steps offered to show how it should be done, and other
performers, all skilled, seemed to rise from the stones of the pavement.
Poppa invited them all, by pantomime, to walk up and have an octopus,
and when the crowd began to gather from the side alleys, and the
enthusiasm grew too promiscuous, he bought the barrel outright and
watched the carnival from the middle of the canal. He often speaks of
his enjoyment of the Venetian octopus, eaten in cold blood, without
pepper, salt, or vinegar; and the effect, when I am not there, is
awe-stricken.
Next morning we took a gondola for the station, and slipped through the
gold and opal silence of the dawn on the canals away from Venice.
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