50,000 LIRE IS STOLEN FROM ME.
To narrate the death of my Luisina, I have omitted a circumstance, and not a trifling one in my life—that of the theft that occurred to me of fifty thousand lire. I hasten to declare that until that day (it was in 1866) I never had been the possessor of such a sum, and as soon as I was, it was stolen from me. This is how I came into possession of the money, why I kept it intact, and how it was stolen from me. I had only begun on Cavour's monument a short time before, and in accordance with the form of the contract, had received the first remittance of fifty thousand lire. At the same time, I was arranging to buy a house in the Via Pinti that I thought I should be able to adapt and make into a spacious studio, such as was necessary for me in modelling the colossal figures for the monument. As the sale of the house was to take place from day to day, I was persuaded also, by the advice of my lawyer, not to employ this money in any way, so as to have it ready to give in payment for it. And as I had kept the little sums of money that I had had in hand up to that time in a secret drawer of the closet in my own room in the studio, I placed this also there.
At this time I was working on the marble of a statue, the "Tired Bacchante," which had been bought by the King of Portugal. I had a young Roman girl as a model, and she came accompanied by her mother. This woman also had a son (so, at least, it was said; then it was no longer so; in fact, there was some mystery that I don't remember, because naturally such things were of no importance to me). The boy came also for a model, and appeared to be a good fellow, as well as the girl.
HOW THE THEFT TOOK PLACE.
One morning (I was still in bed, but about to get up) my poor wife came into the room and said—
"Here is Bardi, who wants to speak to you."
"What can he have to say to me? Does he not know that in half an hour I shall be at the studio? He could wait. Let us hear what is the matter."
Bardi was one of my studio men, the rougher-out, whom I had brought up from a boy, and he had been with me twenty-three years. He was a thin, white-looking man, with a black beard, and dark lines under his eyes in his normal condition. That morning, as soon as I saw him, he really frightened me, for he looked absolutely like a dead man, or as Dante says, cosa rimorta. He took me aside, that my wife should not hear, and he told me that he had found the door of my room open, and having waited and listened awhile to ascertain if by chance I had arrived before him and was inside, but not hearing a sound after having called me, he entered the room and saw the closet open, the drawers on the ground, and the papers scattered about. He asked me anxiously if I kept anything of value there.
"All, my dear Bardi! all that I possessed in money was there." And having almost no breath for words, I went out with him, rushing through the street. It is easier imagined than told how I felt on seeing all the drawers upset and empty, and the papers and thousand little objects they contained scattered about the ground. All the men of my studio gathered about me, and pitied me without even suspecting that it was a matter of such a sum of money. My good friend Cavaliere Raffaello Borri, being told what had occurred, came to me at once, and with rare generosity offered me his purse and his credit, and accompanied me home, with my heart full of anguish to be obliged to give this news to my poor wife. My friends rivalled each other in consoling me, some with offerings and some with affectionate words; and I can never forget the charitable proposition made by Monsignore the Archbishop Giovacchino Limberti, to collect a certain sum for my benefit amongst those who were best able to give, and who knew me and loved me. All these I truly thanked from the bottom of my heart, saying that for the moment I was not in straitened circumstances, and if I was no longer in possession of that money—for which, thank God, I was not in debt—yet it was not lawful for me to accept help of any kind, for in substance I could not call myself strictly in need, and I remembered in the past having really been poor and not having accepted or asked for anything, because my principle is that every one ought to be sufficient for himself.
A PORTION OF THE MONEY FOUND.