CHAPTER XVII.
MY FATHER'S DEATH—A TURN IN THE OMNIBUS—THE FERRARI MONUMENT—I KEEP THE "SAPPHO" FOR MYSELF—THE "TIRED BACCHANTE" AND THE LITTLE MODEL—RAPHAEL AND THE FORNARINA—THE MADONNA AND BAS-RELIEFS AT SANTA CROCE AND CAVALIERE SLOANE—MY DAUGHTER AMALIA AND HER WORKS—MY DAUGHTER BEPPINA—DESCRIPTION OF THE BAS-RELIEF ON THE FAÇADE OF SANTA CROCE—I AM TAKEN FOR THE WRONG PERSON BY THE HOLY FATHER PIUS IX.—MARSHAL HAYNAU—PROFESSOR BEZZUOLI AND HAYNAU'S PORTRAIT.
My stay in London had been rather a long one, but it was necessary for the restorations (and what restorations!) of my work, and also to see the wonders of art collected by that powerful nation, by force of will, money, and time. I stayed there about two months; and notwithstanding the many and novel distractions which that vast city offered, and the good health I enjoyed at that time under a climate so different from ours, I felt every day more and more keenly the ardent desire to see my family, so that when I arrived in Paris I delayed very little. The letters which I received from home breathed the same affectionate longing that I felt myself; and the gay, thoughtless life of Paris, instead of attracting me, disgusted me. My daughters by their mother's side in our little parlour were always present to me; and knowing their dispositions, and the loving wisdom of the mother, I felt that tender, holy joy which is difficult to describe, but such as a loving and beloved father feels for his dear ones. I had lost two years ago my poor father from cholera. The poor old man had at first resisted the fury of that tremendous disease. He lived at the Carra, beyond Porta al Prato. All around death reaped its victims,—young and old, poor and rich; it spared no one. Almost every evening, at dusk, I went to him to assure myself of his health. One evening I found him unwell and in bed; but he had no fever, and his servant-maid, a good girl, served him with affectionate zeal. I left him quiet. On going away I urged her to be attentive to my father through fear of the epidemic then raging. The girl assured me that I need not doubt of her being so, and that I might be tranquil. The next evening I went back to see him: he was still in bed, and was better; but he told me that he stayed there as a precaution, and that he was to get up the following day, having the physician's permission to do so. The door had been opened for me by a little boy, to whom he gave lessons in drawing and ornamentation—Gabriello Maranghi—who to-day is one of our ornamental marble-workers.
MY FATHER'S ILLNESS—DEATH OF ROSA.
"Oh, Rosa," I said to my father; "where is she?"
"Rosa, poor thing, died this morning. She came back from marketing, put down her things, went into her room, and I have not seen her since. They carried her away a short time ago!"—and the poor old man was much moved.
This sudden news of a death so instantaneous upset me and frightened me for my poor father. It was the same whether he stayed there or was carried elsewhere, for in every district they died in the same way. I went away sad at heart. The next day he got up, and was pretty well, even gay—in fact, for several days continued well, and went on with his work as usual. One morning—it was Sunday—my wife, who had got up before me, came into the bedroom, waked me up, and said—
DEATH OF MY FATHER.