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"Molte volte lo trovavo a dormicchiare dopo desinare con quel suo Lorenzino, che poi l'ammazzò, e non altri; ed io molto mi maravigliavo che un duca di quella sorte così si fidava ... il duca' che lo teneva quando per pazzericcio, e quando per poltrone." Cf. again, cap. 89. This glimpse of Bembo in his Paduan villa is very pleasing. Lib. i. cap. 94. "Quei diavoli di quei gentiluomini tedeschi."
Myself, I consider it folly that we have met here openly to-day. This is the first time we have all met, save in secret, and how do we know but some spy may be on the boulevard outside noting who has entered here?" "Mille diavoli!" gasped Cusani, striking the table with his fist and sinking back into his chair. "I recollect I passed outside here a man I know a man who knows me.
Madame, I entreat of you, take shelter in the cabin, yourself and all yours. None can answer for what the first rush of these fiends may be! Diavoli! veri diavola! Ah! for which of my sins is it that after fifty voyages I should be condemned to lose my all? A fresh outburst of screams from the crew summoned the captain. 'They are putting out the long-boat, was the cry; 'they will board us!
We walked up the street, attended by a rabble rout of boys diavoli scatenati clean, grinning, white-teethed, who kept incessantly shouting, "Soldo, soldo!" I do not know why these sea-urchins are so far more irrepressible than their land brethren. But it is always thus in Italy. They take an imperturbable delight in noise and mere annoyance.
Going to London then was worse than going to Russia now, and to take up a lengthy residence among questi diavoli ... quelle bestie di quegli Inglesi, as Cellini politely calls the English, did not suit a Southern taste. He had, moreover, private reasons for disliking Torrigiani, who boasted of having broken Michael Angelo's nose in a quarrel.
We walked up the street, attended by a rabble rout of boys diavoli scatenati clean, grinning, white-teethed, who kept incessantly shouting, 'Soldo, soldo! I do not know why these sea-urchins are so far more irrepressible than their land brethren. But it is always thus in Italy. They take an imperturbable delight in noise and mere annoyance.
"For ages," said he, "fools have been lavishing poetic praise and amorous compliment on mortal women, mere creatures of earth, smacking palpably of their origin; Sirens at the windows, where our Roman women in particular have by lifelong study learned the wily art to show their one good feature, though but an ear or an eyelash, at a jalosy, and hide all the rest; Magpies at the door, Capre n' i giardini, Angeli in Strada, Sante in chiesa, Diavoli in casa.
"Mille diavoli!" cried Baldassare, rubbing himself vigorously, "how dare you pinch me so, cavaliere? I shall be black and blue. Why should not I sleep? Nobody spoke to me." "I fear you have heard little of the history of Lucca," said the count, smiling. "Dio buono! what is history to me? I hate it! I-tell you what, cavaliere, you have hurt me very much."
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