Milan. The rioters attempt to storm the Palazzo del Genio. Anfossi’s plan, pistol on his right hip and saber on his left, is simple: break down the gate with a small cannon and throw in a handful of armed volunteers. But the gate holds. On the third attempt, Anfossi is hit in the forehead by a bullet. Command passes to Manara, but the situation is at a stalemate. Until a young stranger, Pasquale Sottocorno, limping on a crutch because he’s crippled, steps forward: “I’ll take care of it!” The elegant, refined, cultured Manara faces the last of the last. Sottocorno advances close to the walls, a constant target of snipers, reaches the gate and douses it with turpentine, and throws in a lit match. But it’s not enough. He drags himself back, grabs two bundles of firewood, and carries them back to the gate. He’s hit, collapses, but then gets up, and, leaving a trail of blood, reaches the gate, which this time burns and crackles with the dry bundles. Shortly afterward, the 160 officers surrender to the cheers of the crowd. It’s the greatest victory of the insurrection.
