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Updated: June 15, 2025
"Silence!" cried Gianbattista in ringing tones, and with the word he sprang to his feet and clapped his hand on Marzio's mouth. The effect was sudden and unexpected. Marzio was utterly taken by surprise. It was incredible to him that any one should dare to forcibly prevent him from indulging in the language he had used with impunity for so many years.
By character sensitive, he bore all small attacks upon himself with the equanimity of a man who believes his cause to be above the need of defence against little enemies. The result was that he dominated his brother's family, and even Marzio himself was not free from a certain subjection which he felt, and which was one of the most bitter elements in his existence.
"I am never in a hurry when there is business to be treated," replied Carnesecchi, looking down the street and preparing to listen. "You know what I mean," Marzio began. "The matter we spoke of two days ago my plans for my daughter." The lawyer glanced quickly at his friend and assumed an indifferent expression.
I am not afraid of you, my boy, but I do not care to die just at present. You have all had your way long enough, I mean to have mine now." "Let us talk reasonably, Sor Marzio. You say we have had our way. You talk as though you had been in slavery in your own house. I do not think that is the opinion of your wife, nor of your daughter.
Marzio worked on by the light of a strong lamp until the features were all finished and he had indicated the pupils of the eyes with the fine-pointed punch. Then he sat some time at his bench with the beautiful piece of workmanship under his fingers, looking hard at it and straining his eyes to find imperfections that did not exist.
Gianbattista stepped back and leaned against the wall, choking with anger. Lucia fell back into her seat and covered her face with her hands. "Violence? Who wants violence?" asked Marzio in contemptuous tones. "Do you suppose I am afraid of Tista? Let him alone, Paolo; let us see whether he will strike me." The priest now turned his back on the apprentice, and confronted Marzio.
Both these men had private reasons for committing the crime one being actuated by love, the other by hatred. Marzio, who was in the service of Giacomo, had often seen Beatrice, and loved her, but with that silent and hopeless love which devours the soul. When he conceived that the proposed crime would draw him nearer to Beatrice, he accepted his part in it without any demur.
He looked up and recognised Gasparo Carnesecchi's sallow face and long nose. "Eh! Sor Marzio is it you?" asked the lawyer. "I think so," answered the artist. "Excuse me, I was thinking of something." "No matter. Of what were you thinking, then? Of Pasquino?" "Why not? But I was thinking of something else. You are in a hurry, I am sure. Otherwise we would speak of that affair."
We may all make mistakes in this world," returned the artist, giving utterance to a moral sentiment which did not influence him beyond the precincts of the workshop. The workman obeyed, and added the requisite instruments to the furnishing of his leather bag. "And be careful, Tista," added Marzio, turning to the apprentice. "Look to the sockets in the marble when you place the large pieces.
"Yes," answered Gianbattista, "I have heard you say so." He bent over his work, wondering what his master meant by this declaration of taste. It seemed as though Marzio felt the awkwardness of the situation and was exerting himself to make conversation. The idea was so strange that the apprentice could almost have laughed.
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