'Quickly!'
I ran to the Palace and told Marco Scorsacana what I had come for. We
went into the Hall of the Nymphs; the body was lying on its face,
almost doubled up, and the floor was stained with a horrible stream of
blood; in the back were two wounds. Lodovico had indeed made sure that
the Count was safe.... We caught hold of the body; it was not yet cold,
and dragged it to the window. With difficulty we lifted it on to the
sill.
'Here is your enemy!' I cried.
Then hoisting him, we pushed him out, and he fell on the stones with a
great, dull thud. A mighty shout burst from the mob as they rushed at
the body. One man tore the chain off his neck, but as he was running
away with it another snatched at it. In the struggle it broke, and one
got away with the chain, the other with the jewel. Then, with cries of
hate, they set on the corpse. They kicked him and slapped his face and
spat on him. The rings were wrenched off his fingers, his coat was torn
away; they took his shoes, his hose; in less than a minute everything
had been robbed, and he was lying naked, naked as when he was born. They
had no mercy those people; they began to laugh and jeer, and make foul
jokes about his nakedness.
The piazza was thronged, and every moment people entered; the women of
the lower classes had come, joining their shrill cries to the shouts of
the men. The noise was stupendous, and above all rang the cries of
Liberty and Death.
'The Countess! The Countess!'
It became the general cry, drowning the others, and from all quarters.
'Where is the Countess? Bring her out. Death to the Countess!'