A mounted dragoon stationed himself in front of the church. A strong-built young man, then practitioner at the hospital, and now a distinguished physician—Doctor Gozzini—seeing the bad plight I was in, and having been one of those who had called out "Bravo!" came quickly to me, and taking me by the arm, hid me amongst the crowd, and took me with him behind the mounted dragoon. There we stood quite still, and saw them arrest the poor young fellow with his broken nose, and the girls with their crushed hats. I was not discovered that evening. They found me, however, easily enough next morning at the shop; but I will speak of this later. And now I feel in duty bound to assert that that was the last escapade of that kind that I was guilty of. I feel strong enough (or, as some may think, weak enough) now to bear quietly similar words and acts that so outraged me then. Ah! indeed age and experience are, as one may say, like the grindstone that rounds and softens down the asperities and impetuosities of early youth to form the character.
Not to excuse the affair nor the violence of my ways, but for the love of truth, I feel bound to narrate another adventure that happened to me on the morning of that same day, which had perhaps served to exasperate my already irritable state of mind. About mid-day I had betaken myself to the public baths of Vaga-Loggia, a bathing-place which was formed out of that part of the canal called the Macinante running between the Franzoni Palace and the palace belonging to the Baroness Favard. It was covered in by a framework of wood, with awnings, and the entrance was by a little door and through a narrow corridor that went along the side of the canal. At the end of this passage was a sort of stand, and a room that was used for undressing, and where, for a few soldi, an employé of the municipality was stationed, who furnished towels, and took charge of the clothes and other effects belonging to the bathers. For those also who could not or would not pay, below the steps leading to the baths there was a sort of small amphitheatre with a little wall around it, and in this wall niches to put one's clothes in. It seems to me that I have seen a something of the same kind that was used for a similar purpose at Pompeii, only there they were hot baths.
CLOTHES STOLEN AT BATH.
I chose this second-named place, which was more economical certainly, but not so safe, as you will see. After having bathed, on coming out of the water I went to my little niche and found it empty. I looked about, inquired, and swore. No one knew anything about my clothes. At first I thought it was a joke, to keep me some time naked; but at last I was convinced, and the other bathers as well, that my things had all been stolen.
I BORROW ANOTHER DRESS.
What was there then to do? Nothing had been left—they had taken everything; and to say the truth, it did not seem at all comic to me, however others might laugh. A friend relieved me from my embarrassment. He dressed himself in haste, went home to his house, which was on the Prato, and brought me all I required, from my shoes to my hat. I dressed myself, went home in the worst of tempers, and I have already described what followed.
CHAPTER IV.
RETURN TO THE HOUSE OF MY BETROTHED, AND PUT AN END TO MY THOUGHTLESS WAYS—A TALKING PARROT—HE WHO DOES NOT WISH TO READ THESE PAGES KNOWS WHAT HE HAS TO DO—HOW I WENT TO PRISON, AND HOW I PASSED MY TIME THERE—"THE DEATH OF FERRUCCIO," BY THE PAINTER BERTOLI—SIGNOR LUIGI MAGI, THE SCULPTOR—HOW I LEARNT TO BECOME ECONOMICAL—SHIRTS WITH PLAITED WRIST-BANDS—THE FIRST LOVE-KISS, AND A LITTLE BUNCH OF LEMON-VERBENA—MY MARRIAGE—MY WIFE HAS DOUBTS AS TO MY RESOLUTION OF STUDYING SCULPTURE—PACETTI'S SHOP IN PALAZZO BORGHESE—I SELL THE "SANTA FILOMENA" TO A RUSSIAN, WHO RE-CHRISTENS HER "HOPE"—I BEGIN TO WORK ON MARBLE—I MAKE A LITTLE CRUCIFIX IN BOXWOOD, WHICH IS BOUGHT BY CAV. EMANUEL FENZI—VERSES BY GIOVANNI BATTISTA NICCOLINI.
