He looked very authoritative and
fierce and solemn, I am sure. He made, anyhow, a deep impression on
the mayor and councillors, and the only question was as to just where
he should be erected. The granite pedestal had already been hewn and
graven; but a worthy site was to seek. Outside the railway station? He
would obstruct the cabs. In the Giardino Pubblico? He would clash with
Garibaldi. Every councillor had a pet site, and every other one a pet
objection to it. That strip of waste ground where the fishermen sat
pottering? It was too humble, too far from the centre of things.
Meanwhile, Umberto stayed in the studio. Dust settled on his
epaulettes. A year went by. Spiders ventured to spin their webs from
his plumes to his mustachios. Another year went by. Whenever the
councillors had nothing else to talk about they talked about the site
for Umberto.
Presently they became aware that among the poorer classes of the town
had arisen a certain hostility to the statue. The councillors
suspected that the priesthood had been at work. The forces of reaction
against the forces of progress! Very well! The councillors hurriedly
decided that the best available site, on the whole, was that strip of
waste ground where the fishermen sat pottering. The pedestal was
promptly planted.
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