Parozzi.—And yet the populace idolises this Andreas.
Memmo.—Ay, that is the worst part of the story.
Falieri.—But never credit me again if he does not experience a reverse of fortune speedily.
Contarino.—That might happen would we but set our shoulders to the wheel stoutly. But what do we do? We pass our time in taverns; drink and game, and throw ourselves headlong into such an ocean of debts, that the best swimmer must sink at last. Let us resolve to make the attempt. Let us seek recruits on all sides; let us labour with all our might and main. Things must change, or if they do not, take my word for it, my friends, this world is no longer a world for us.
Memmo.—Nay, it’s a melancholy truth, that during the last half-year my creditors have been ready to beat my door down with knocking. I am awakened out of my sleep in the morning, and lulled to rest again at night with no other music than their eternal clamour.
Parozzi.—Ha! ha! ha! As for me, I need not tell you how I am suited.
Falieri.—Had we been less extravagant, we might at this moment have been sitting quietly in our palaces; but as things stand now—
Parozzi.—Well, as things stand now—I verily believe that Falieri is going to moralise.
Contarino.—That is ever the way with old sinners when they have lost the power to sin any longer. Then they are ready enough to weep over their past life, and talk loudly about repentance and reformation. Now, for my own part, I am perfectly well satisfied with my wanderings from the common beaten paths of morality and prudence. They serve to convince me that I am not one of your every-day men, who sit cramped up in the chimney-corner, lifeless, phlegmatic, and shudder when they hear of any extraordinary occurrence. Nature evidently has intended me to be a libertine, and I am determined to fulfil my destination. Why, if spirits like ours were not produced every now and then, the world would absolutely go fast asleep, but we rouse it by deranging the old order of things, force mankind to quicken their snail’s pace, furnish a million of idlers with riddles which they puzzle their brains about without being able to comprehend, infuse some hundreds of new ideas into the heads of the great multitude, and, in short, are as useful to the world as tempests are, which dissipate those exhalations with which Nature otherwise would poison herself.
Falieri.—Excellent sophistry, by my honour. Why, Contarino, ancient Rome has had an irreparable loss in not having numbered you among her orators. It is a pity, though, that there should be so little that’s solid wrapped up in so many fine-sounding words. Now learn that while you, with this rare talent of eloquence, have been most unmercifully wearing out the patience of your good-natured hearers, Falieri has been in action. The Cardinal Gonzaga is discontented with the government—Heaven knows what Andreas has done to make him so vehemently his enemy—but, in short, Gonzaga now belongs to our party.