They are right, the ones that are fearful about their own future and that say that this government is the last stand, the last fragile barrier before the death of the parties. There was a strange atmosphere in that chamber, an atmosphere of shifting house, of the end of time. Renzie sat down, bored like a young gentleman. While orators were assassinating the Italian language with their speeches referring to him as „Ella“ or „Signor Presidente“, he was playing around on his smartphone, sending text messages, browsing Facebook, tearing up bits of paper, giving the impression that he considered each speaker to be an annoying insect. There was no one who asked him to listen, to lift up his bovine eyes while they were talking to him. To show respect, maybe not to the person speaking, but at least to the whole Chamber. A present-day performance of Elagabalus or Caligula, the only thing missing was a Roman sofa so that Renzie could stretch out languidly and receive bunches of grapes from the young female Ministers.