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Updated: May 26, 2025
It is unreasonable to suppose Signori of their rank would journey like vagabonds, with papers to be suspected." "Nothing is wanting but our city signatures, without which my duty will let none go by, that are truly travellers." "This comes, Signore, of the accursed art of writing, which is much pushed and greatly abused of late.
There has been a tragedy written about all this, you know." "But how is it called? Who wrote it?" "Oh! in regard to that, then, I don't know. Some Englishman." "Shakespeare?" "I don't know, Signori. But if you doubt what I tell you, go to any bookseller, and say, 'Favor me with the tragedy of "Othello." He will give it you, and there you will find it all written out just as I tell it."
"Signori," he said, fumbling in a bundle of papers, "we must take up the matter of the fisherman but we will first inquire into the circumstance of the signet left the past night in the lion's mouth. Signor Gradenigo, you were charged with the examination." "The duty hath been executed, noble Sirs, and with a success I had not hoped to meet with.
"Mariuccia," I said, as she stood trembling in the door-way, waiting to see what would happen, "fetch a flask of that old wine, and serve these gentlemen, and a few chestnuts, if you have some. Be seated, signori," I said to them, "and take one of these cigars. My boy is a singer, and you would not hurt his voice by taking him out so early on this raw morning.
Yet his cousin Orsato was one of the greatest and richest of the signori at Venice, and Ursula's husband would have found in him a strong upholder, as in truth we heard at Naples, where tidings reached us that the Pregadi, who had passed judgment upon him, had amerced him in a penalty of no more than two thousand ducats, which Orsato paid for him by reason that he would not suffer that his kinsman should he in prison.
Report, signori miei, is an habitual liar, and I for one never believe a word she says without evidence of the truth of it," said the Conte Luigi Spadoni, a man who was known to make a practice of reading French novels, and was therefore held to be an esprit fort and a philosopher, in accordance with which character he always professed indiscriminate disbelief in everything.
"Count Antonio the Seventeenth, the last of our tyrants. The Signori will be aware that we were tyrants of Sampaolo for many centuries," said the old man, not without a touch of pride. Then, bowing to Anthony, "One would think properly the portrait of your Excellency." Indeed, the face of the last of the tyrants and his grandson's face were surprisingly alike.
It was like darkness revealed in its steady, unchanging pallor. Again he stayed through the evening, having quarrelled once more with the Maria about money. He quarrelled violently, yet coldly. There was something terrifying in it. And as soon as the matter of dispute was settled, all trace of interest or feeling vanished from him. Yet he liked, above all things, to be near the English signori.
Italians have an ineradicable habit of making themselves externally agreeable, of bending in all indifferent matters to the whims and wishes of superiors, and of saying what they think Signori like. This habit, while it smoothes the surface of existence, raises up a barrier of compliment and partial insincerity, against which the more downright natures of us Northern folk break in vain efforts.
Why do you stand there? Oh, my daughter! my daughter! I have so often told you to be careful, Guendalina move, in the name of God the child is lost, lost, I tell you! Have you no heart? no feeling? Are you a mother? Signori miei, I am desperate!"
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