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"Confusion!" exclaimed Parozzi, a Venetian nobleman of the first rank, as he paced his chamber with a disordered air on the morning after Matteo's murder; "now all curses light upon the villain's awkwardness; yet it seems inconceivable to me how all this should have fallen out so untowardly. Has any one discovered my designs? I know well that Verrino loves Rosabella.
Our adversaries must be kept in the dark who are their friends and who their foes, and all but our own party must be left ignorant as to the authors, the origin, and the object of the uproar. Parozzi. Heaven, I am delighted at finding the business at length so near the moment of execution! Falieri. Parozzi, have you distributed the white ribbons by which we are to recognise our partisans?
There's an infernal adventure for you. Parozzi. I shall go mad. Falieri. Everything we design is counteracted; the more trouble we give ourselves, the further we are from the goal. Memmo. I confess it seems to me as if Heaven gave us warning to desist. How say you? Contarino. Pshaw, these are trifles! Such accidents should only serve to sharpen our wits.
On that same evening were Parozzi and his confederates assembled in the palace of the Cardinal Gonzaga. The table was spread with the most luxurious profusion, and they arranged over their flowing goblets plans for the Republic's ruin.
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.
Salviati, who commands there, is in our interest, and will throw open the gates at the first summons. Falieri. The admiral Adorna, as soon as he hears the alarm-bell, will immediately lead his people to our assistance. Parozzi. Oh, our success is certain. Contarino. Only let us take care to make the confusion as general as possible.
"Why, how is this, Parozzi?" cried Memmo as he entered, a wretch whose every feature exhibited marks of that libertinism to which his life had been dedicated; "I can scarce recover myself from my astonishment. For Heaven's sake, is this report true? Did you really hire Matteo to murder the Doge's niece?"
Faith, it is certain, Parozzi, that Lomellino has declared to the Doge as a truth beyond doubting that you, and none but you, were the person who instigated Matteo to attempt Rosabella's life. Parozzi. And I tell you again that Lomellino knows not what he says. Contarino. Well, well, only be upon your guard. Andreas is a terrible fellow to deal with. Falieri. HE terrible.
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.
Parozzi reckoned for HIS share upon Rosabella's hand, and the place either of Lomellino or Manfrone, when once those two chief obstacles to his hope should be removed. Such was the conversation in which they were engaged, when the clock struck twelve, the doors flew wide, and Abellino stood before them. "Wine, there!" cried he; "the work is done.
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