THE EMPEROR'S CHARACTER.
If the young reader has the good habit of not skipping, he will remember perhaps the danger I ran of dying asphyxiated in my little studio near San Simone in company with the model, whilst I was making the sketch for the Abel. Now I must speak of another grave peril that I ran of certain death, had it not been that Divine Providence sent me help just in time. It was the 12th of April 1849: for some days past a crowd of rough and violent Livornese had been going about our streets with jeering and menacing bearing; and insults, violence, and provocations of every kind had not been wanting. That day a squad of these brutal fellows, after having eaten and taken a good deal to drink, would not pay their reckoning; there were altercations and blows, to the damage of the poor man who kept the wine-shop; and as if that were not enough, there were other gross improprieties. This happened in the Camaldoli of San Lorenzo, at a place called La Cella, where the population was crowded and rude. The cup was overflowing, and at a cry of, "Give it to them! give it to them!" they fell upon these scoundrels; and although the latter were armed with swords (being of the Livornese national guard) and stilettoes, they were overwhelmed by the rush of the populace, disarmed, and killed.
RIOT IN FLORENCE.
This was like a spark, and spread like lightning throughout Florence. There was a great tumult and angry cries for men from Leghorn. Everything served as a weapon; every workman ran out with the implements of his trade, and even dishevelled ragged women ran about like so many furies with cudgels, shovels, and tongs, screaming, "Kill them! kill them!" There were many victims. The soldiers who were in the Belvedere fortress, as soon as they heard the reports of the guns and the cause thereof, came down from there like wild beasts, such was their hatred against these people, from whom they had received every kind of insult, even to finding two of their companions nailed to the boards of their barracks one day—acts that were a dishonour to the good reputation of the open-hearted Livornese, with their free mode of speech and quick intelligence. Timid people retired and shut themselves up in their houses, the shops were closed, the streets deserted, and one saw some people running and others pursuing them, as dogs hares; reports of guns were heard, now close by and now in the distance, cries for mercy, the drums beating the generale, and the mournful tolling of the big bell,—all of which produced a fearful and cruel effect.
I lived in a house over my studio, in Via Nazionale, a short distance from the spot from which came the fatal spark. At the sound of the beating of the generale I rushed up into my house to arm myself, to run to join our company. My colonel was the Marchese Gerini, and the captain Carlo Fenzi. My poor wife! I see her still crying and supplicating me not to leave her, saying, "What are you going to do?—to kill or to be killed? Stay here, and if they come to attack us in the house, as they said they would, then you will defend these poor little ones." I yielded; but Sarrocchi, who was in the house with me, in spite of his father's tears and prayers, would go, and our company went forward and protected these Livornese Guards from the fury of the populace as far as the station of Santa Maria Novella. The company was led by the second lieutenant, Engineer Renard. I went back down into the studio and tried to work, but could do nothing. That constant noise of running, questioning, firing of guns, the beating of the distant drums—a dull sound, strange and fearful—had so irritated my nerves that I walked up and down the studio, taking up a book and putting it down again. At last I resolved to go home again, all the more so that I had left my wife feeling anxious and every moment fearing that something might happen to me. I had my studio dress on, which consisted of a linen blouse and red skull-cap. Just as I was going out I heard some screams, lamentations, and a rush of people. I looked out, and saw a squad of furious men following and beating with sticks a poor Livornese, who, not being able to go any farther, fell at the corner of the street, by the Caffè degli Artisti. That bloody scene made me ill; and compelled by compassion for that poor young fellow, I ran and thrust myself into the midst of the crowd that surrounded the fallen man. He was wounded in the head, and bleeding freely; one eye was almost put out, and he held one hand up in supplication, but his infuriated assailants beat at him as if they had been threshing corn. "Let him alone! Stop! Good heavens, don't you see that the poor young fellow is dying?" They turned and looked at me. "What does he say? Who is he?" asked these assassins. "He is a Livornese also," was the answer. The eagerness I had shown in favour of that unfortunate man, the red skull-cap that I wore on my head, and my accent not being that of a vulgar Florentine, gave strength to that assertion. From the dark look in their eyes and their sardonic smiles I became aware of my danger, and wished to speak; but these infuriated beings screamed out, "Give it to him! give it to him, for he is also a Livornese!" I felt that I was lost. A blow, aimed at my head, fell on my shoulder, and some one spat in my face. A person, whose name I do not recall, an ex-sergeant and drill-master of our company, arrived in time to save me.
PERSONAL DANGER.
"Stop!" said he—"stop!" and with these words he interposed and warded off the blows aimed at me. The words and resolute action of this man in sergeant's uniform carried weight with them, and to put an end to all this excitement he shouted out, "I bear witness, on my honour, that this is the Professor Duprè, sculptor, corporal in our company, and not at all a Livornese."
The crowd had thickened more and more, and in it there were some who knew me and echoed the words of this courageous and spirited man, so that I was saved. In the meantime my scholars, Enrico Pazzi and Luigi Majoli, armed with long iron compasses, had rushed to my succour; and it was fortunate that they were no longer needed, as, being young and brave-spirited, and Romagnoli, with these weapons in their hands, who knows what might have been the consequence?