There is, for instance, a cat in the
sacristy of the Frari, which I have often seen in familiar association
with the ecclesiastics there, when they came into his room to robe or
disrobe, or warm their hands, numb with supplication, at the great brazier
in the middle of the floor. I do not think this cat has the slightest
interest in the lovely Madonna of Bellini which hangs in the sacristy; but
I suspect him of dreadful knowledge concerning the tombs in the church. I
have no doubt he has passed through the open door of Canova's monument,
and that he sees some coherence and meaning in Titian's; he has been all
over the great mausoleum of the Doge Pesaro, and he knows whether the
griffins descend from their perches at the midnight hour to bite the naked
knees of the ragged black caryatides. This profound and awful animal I
take to be a blood relation of the cat in the church of San Giovanni e
Paolo, who sleeps like a Christian during divine service, and loves a
certain glorious bed on the top of a bench, where the sun strikes upon him
through the great painted window, and dapples his tawny coat with lovely
purples and crimsons.
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