Thoughts on Art and Autobiographical Memoirs of Giovanni Dupre Part 4

I went to her door and pushed it open a little. She was standing with one hand leaning on the back of a chair; her eyes were cast down, but the expression of her face seemed tranquil. "Marina," I said, "your mother has sent me away, and she has told me that this is also your wish." She lifted her eyes and moved a little. "I therefore obey, but be sure that I will never look into the face of another young girl until I come to claim you for mine. Do you accept my promise willingly?"

"Yes," she answered, with a steadfast quiet voice. Then I stepped nearer to her and put out my hand. First she looked towards her mother, and then she put her hand in mine, and we looked at each other, and in her eyes I saw a little tear, and her faith in my promise.

I went away pierced to the heart, but firm in my resolve. Neither at home nor at the shop could they understand what was the matter with me, for my whole character had so changed. I think my mother understood what it was, for she caressed me more than usual, and asked me no questions; and I set my heart at rest, because I trusted in the strength of character and true nature of the girl. Although it was prohibited me to go to her house, yet I made it a study how to meet her out of doors, and, without being seen, to see her, and even follow her from a distance. I was not at peace, however--not because I had any fears as regards her, but I was afraid of myself. I felt an aching void within me that nothing would fill. I saw smiling dreams of fame and honour vanish little by little. I heard a voice whispering within me--"Put an end, poor fool, to your melancholy; you were born poor and ignorant, and so you will die. Qualities are required to lift one's self above others that you are entirely wanting in. Genius is necessary, and you cannot say that you have it. Education is necessary, and you have none. Money is necessary, and you have not a farthing. Above all, a strong will is needed, and yours is most variable, transient, and weak, bending to the slightest breath of a contrary wind. Put an end to it all, and do as I say: enjoy day by day whatever is given to you to enjoy. Amuse yourself with friends your equals, and whenever any of these thoughts oppress you, drown them in a gla.s.s of wine. As to your young girl, remember it is as her mother has said, 'If it is a rose, it will blossom.' Up! up!

_Viva!_ and keep a light heart." I already felt myself half yielding to these suggestions. I was down-hearted, and had not the strength to shake myself free from this strait of discouragement and desolation.

[Sidenote: I RESUME MY BAD HABITS.]

I had but little religion in me, which alone could have comforted my soul with constancy and faith in these first ebullitions of life; so it is not to be wondered at if, in this state of languor and discontent, I again turned to the amus.e.m.e.nts of my friends, losing not a few hours in the public billiard-rooms. I returned to one of the worst of habits, for him who has a home--that of going to the _osteria_; and I remember to have felt humiliated on finding myself in the midst of that noisy, vulgar merriment, and hearing the coa.r.s.e words uttered in those taverns, where the air was heavy with wine, food, and cigar-smoke. The chaste image and simple gentle words of my good Marina came back to me, and I felt troubled, and, shaking myself, I used to rise abruptly and go away.

[Sidenote: QUARREL AND FIGHT.]

Yes, truly the image of that gentle being aroused me, and made me return to myself with a feeling of shame, and a determination to put an end to all this. It was providential, however, that not only her image but she herself appeared to arrest me on the brink where I had allowed myself to be dragged, and my meeting with her deserves to be narrated.

Months had pa.s.sed since I had been sent away from my Marina's house. It happened one day, it being a _festa_, that I had promised to go out of the Porta San Miniato to meet some friends and eat a fresh plate of salad; and when I was near the Church of San Niccolo, I could not cross the street on account of the procession that was just coming out of the church. I think it was during the Octave of Corpus Domini: there were many people, and I waited until the procession had pa.s.sed; then, perhaps because I was in such a hurry to overtake my friends, in pa.s.sing by I inadvertently knocked against two women who were in the company of a young man. They took it in ill part, and the young man, thinking perhaps that I had knocked against them on purpose, said--

"Has the boor pa.s.sed by?"

"You are a boor yourself," I answered.

"Pa.s.s on, if you want to." And he gave me a push. I turned around on him and hit him a blow in the face, and from that instant I had all three, the youth and the girls, down on me. But they got little good out of it: the young fellow, who was rather slight than otherwise, was put at once out of fighting condition by two blows of my fist in the face; and I freed myself from the girls, who seemed like infuriated harpies. In an instant lace, ribbon, and feathers flew in the air like dry leaves scattered by the wind.

[Sidenote: ESCAPE FROM THE POLICE.]

A s.p.a.ce was cleared around me, and some said, "Oh, what a scandal!"

others, "_Bravo!_" Some ran away, some laughed, and the soldiers came to clear the place and quell the tumult, and the _sbirri_ (for there were _sbirri_ then) to make arrests.

A mounted dragoon stationed himself in front of the church. A strong-built young man, then pract.i.tioner 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 a.s.sert 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 ca.n.a.l 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 ca.n.a.l. At the end of this pa.s.sage was a sort of stand, and a room that was used for undressing, and where, for a few _soldi_, an _employe_ of the munic.i.p.ality 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.

[Sidenote: 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.

[Sidenote: 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 embarra.s.sment.

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 Pa.s.sED MY TIME THERE--"THE DEATH OF FERRUCCIO," BY THE PAINTER BERTOLI--SIGNOR LUIGI MAGI, THE SCULPTOR--HOW I LEARNT TO BECOME ECONOMICAL--s.h.i.+RTS 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.

And now to return to my unfortunate escapade, which, so to speak, was the cause of my good fortune. Whilst they were looking for me, hidden in the crowd, I got away by slow degrees to the Porta San Miniato, and, keeping close to the walls up the hillside, escaped the observation of the police; and then, on thinking over the danger I had run, and the scandal I had created by my folly, I resolved to mend my ways. Here the remembrance of the dear gentle maiden came over me, and I thought if I had been with her and had not been driven away, this disturbance would never have taken place. Her presence, her words, the desire of possessing her, and being loved and esteemed by her, were necessary to me. At last I returned to town by the same road, and, going up by the Renai, I crossed the Ponte alle Grazie, and near there I saw Marina and her mother walking before me. My heart leaped within me! Had they been to the procession? Did they know what had happened, and had they seen me? What a start it gave me! To appear such a poor creature in her eyes was intolerable: what others might say was nothing compared to her condemnation; and, let alone condemnation, what I feared was the loss of her esteem. Under the influence of this fear, I had not the courage to address her; but at last, this uncertainty seeming too bitter to bear, I went up to her mother's side and said, "Good evening, Regina."

[Sidenote: I RETURN TO MARINA'S HOUSE.]

"Oh, see who is here! Good evening," she replied, with a joyful face.

I felt a new life come to me.

"What! have you been to the procession?" she said.

I looked both straight in the face and answered, "I come from that direction. I have been out of the gate of San Miniato."

"Have you heard that there has been a disturbance in the Piazza di San Niccol?"

"I believe so; but it was a mere nothing."

"Ah, not so much of a mere nothing. They came to blows; there were some women among them; the soldiers came--the dragoons. I tell you it was a great row. Besides, some have been arrested, and will be taken to prison; and it serves them right. Pretty business, such a scandal as this!"

After a pause, I began again, turning to Marina--

"Where were you when you saw the procession?"

"We!" answered Marina--"we were in the church. We saw it go out, and a little after the disturbance occurred. I had such a fright!"

[Sidenote: STORY OF A PARROT.]

Having ascertained that they knew nothing of my doings, I was consoled, changed the conversation, and accompanied them down from Santa Croce to their house. When we were on the threshold I sadly said good-night; but Regina, to my great surprise and pleasure, said to me, "Won't you come up for a little while?"

"Well, if you will permit me, I will stop a little while with the greatest pleasure." And looking into the face of my good Marina, her eyes seemed to say, "Yes, I am most happy." We then went up-stairs, and I remained there only a short time, so as not to appear to presume upon their kindness; but in taking leave, I told the mother that I should return the next day, for I had something to say to her. My resolution was taken.

Have you done at last with all your childish follies, your tiresome tirades, your colourless love, fit only for collegians? You promised to give us your memoirs, and we supposed that you had something of importance and interest to tell us. Are these, then, your memoirs? and do you really and seriously think that such things as this are of the least interest to anybody?

Listen, dear reader. You have a thousand good reasons to think so, after your mode of viewing things; but I have quite as many on my side, as I will now prove to you. But first let me tell you a little story. There was once a parrot trained to put together certain words and make a little speech, almost as if it was his own. One day the servant (who was new to the house where the parrot was, and had never seen such a bird before) was struck with astonishment at hearing him, and was so delighted that he stretched out his hand to touch him. As he did this, the bold and loquacious bird opened his beak and said, "What do you want?" The astonished servant at once withdrew his hand, and, lifting his cap, answered, "Excuse me, sir, but I took you for a beast!"

[Sidenote: AM ARRESTED AND SENT TO PRISON.]

I find myself now in the opposite case, and say to you, "Excuse me, I took you for a man"--that is to say, I imagined that you sympathised with me, and even appreciated a man who promises to tell the truth, and to narrate things just as they really were and are; and this I am doing, and mean to do to the end, without caring who likes great effects of light and shade, fearful shadows, and mere inventions, more or less romantic. If you don't like my way of doing this, you know very well what to do--shut the book and lay it aside, or skip what bores you, and perhaps you may find here and there something which pleases you. But I wish to give you fair warning, that these memoirs refer to and describe in part that very love which, though it may seem to you perfectly colourless, was none the less living, deep, and holy, and that retained its warmth and vividness of light for forty years, until she who was its object disappeared from this earth, leaving in my heart the memory of her rare virtues, a love which is ever alive, and the hope that I may again see her.

And now again I take up the thread of my narrative. Truly, when I said to Regina that I should return the next day to speak with her, I counted without my host, as the saying goes. The next day I found myself in "quod"--for but a short time, if you please, but still in prison for fourteen hours from morning to evening. But I was very well off there, as I shall now explain.

The morning after, on Monday--I was at my post, the first bench in Sani's shop--a person, after walking for some time up and down before the shop windows, came in and said, "Be so kind as to come with me to the Commissary of Santo Spirito, and---- Do not be alarmed; it is nothing. The Signor Commissario wishes to learn from you something about the disturbance that occurred yesterday at San Niccol after the procession."

[Sidenote: EXAMINATION BY THE COMMISSARIO.]

"But I--be a.s.sured----"

"Don't stop to deny anything. The Signor Commissario knows all. Your name is Giovanni Dupre. You live in Via del Gelsomino, which is precisely in our quarter; and I did not go to look for you at your house, in order not to disturb the family. But I can a.s.sure you that it is a matter of no importance--perhaps a scolding, but nothing more."

I resigned myself, and went with him. This person was not absolutely a _sbirro_, but something of that kind; and out of a sense of delicacy, and divining my thoughts, he said to me--