Nicknamed the Ragno, or Spider, Guido was the innkeeper of a notorious tavern. For a fee husbands and blackmailers could make use of the spider holes that had been fashioned in the bucolic scenes and the taxidermist’s dreams that hung on the walls of the chambers.
Guido made no secret of his enjoyment of such arrangements. As for his wife, she tolerated his vice, as her own vice fell to coin. In those years, she had been much preoccupied with the hard end business of collecting the dowry for their one and only daughter, Felice.
One evening, a visiting cellist came to the tavern and asked to use one of the upper rooms for his practice. As was his custom, Guido peered through the spider hole in the cellist’s room, but soon grew bored as the cellist genuinely seemed to spend most of his time practising with his bow…
With more pleasurable scenes to divert his eye, Guido left the cellist to his own devices until, one afternoon, during the cellist’s usual hour of practice, Guido heard silence.
Curiosity they say kills the cat. On this occasion it got the better of the Ragno, who found himself in his usual position, standing on the stool that allowed him to peep through the spider hole.
The cellist was seated on his practice chair. Instead of the instrument between his legs, Guido saw his daughter leaning back into the arms of the cellist.
Guido fell off his stool and sprained his ankle.
“Let that be a lesson to you,” declared his wife, placing his foot in a bowl of warm water.
It was, however, to be a lesson to them both. The following morning, Felice eloped with the cellist.
*
“Does this inn still exist?”
“Why do you ask, George?”
“It would be fun to go there and peep through the spider-holes.”
“Why do you want to go to Venice to do that? I am sure there are lots of spider-holes here in London.”
“In London it wouldn’t be the same.”
“How do you know? Have you looked?”
“As my TV friends say, the close-up is better.”