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Updated: May 5, 2025
Falieri. Is Abellino already in this palace? Flodoardo. He is. Vitalba. Then why do you not produce him? Why do you trifle so long with our impatience? Flodoardo. Be patient. It's now time that the play should begin. Be seated, noble Andreas. Let all the rest arrange themselves behind the Doge. Abellino's coming!
It seems that my recommendations have obtained some weight with him, since his triumvirate has been removed. And in the evening a masked ball is to be given. Did not the Doge's chamberlain say so? Falieri. He did. Memmo. I only hope there is no trick in all this. If he should have been given a hint of our conspiracy! Mercy on us! my teeth chatter at the thought. Gonzaga. Absurd!
A murmur of admiration rose from every corner of the saloon, but it rose unmarked by those who were the objects of it. Neither Rosabella nor Flodoardo at that moment formed a wish to be applauded, except by each other. Two evenings had elapsed since the Doge's entertainment. On the second, Parozzi sat in his own apartment, with Memmo and Falieri.
Flodoardo does not want talents; I had rather he should live and join our party. He is seldom off his guard Parozzi. Such vagabonds may well be cautious; they must not forget themselves, who have so much to conceal from others. Falieri. Rosabella, as I understand, by no means sees this Florentine with unfavourable eyes. Parozzi.
At the time when Falieri entered upon his dogeship the city in all quarters was pervaded by the spies of this great oligarchy, which seized and imprisoned citizens, and even put them to death, secretly, without itself being answerable to any authority. The most notable event in the annals of this extraordinary Venetian government is that which forms the story of Marino Falieri himself.
They talked over the politics of the day, and discussed the various occurrences of Europe. The Cardinal and Contarino were engaged in a conference with the Doge, while Memmo, Parozzi, and Falieri stood silent together, and revolved the project whose execution was to take place at midnight. The weather was dark and tempestuous.
Here his reflections were interrupted. Memmo, Falieri, and Contarino entered the room, three young Venetians of the highest rank, Parozzi's inseparable companions, men depraved both in mind and body, spendthrifts, voluptuaries, well known to every usurer in Venice, and owing more than their paternal inheritance would ever admit of their paying.
Olympia and Rosabella are the goddesses of Venice; our youths burn incense on no other altars. Contarino. Olympia is my own. Falieri. How? Parozzi. Olympia? Contarino. Why, how now? Why stare ye as had I prophesied to you that the skies were going to fall? I tell you Olympia's heart is mine, and that I possess her entire and most intimate confidence.
Well, one thing at least even envy must confess; Flodoardo is the handsomest man in Venice. I doubt whether there's a woman in the city who can resist him. Parozzi. And I should doubt it too, if women had as little sense as you have, and looked only at the shell without minding the kernel Memmo. Which unluckily is exactly the thing which women always do Falieri.
The lesser conspirators, all men of the humbler sort Calendario, the architect, who was then at work upon the palace, a number of seamen, and other little-known persons were hanged; not like the greater criminals, beheaded between the columns, but strung up a horrible fringe along the side of the palazzo. The fate of Falieri himself is too generally known to demand description.
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