[Sidenote: CHRIST ON THE CROSS.]

I answered that they would rather help the subject, and it might be called The Virgin, Hope.

"_Oh! c'est tres-bien_," he replied.

There remained the crown of roses on her head, but in regard to this everything was easy. Roses are the symbol of joy, and Hope in the purity of its aspirations is crowned with joy. Truly that day I was a more eloquent orator than artist.

The Russian, quite content (and I more than he), counted me out the price of the statuette in golden napoleons, and before it was boxed up, had inscribed on the base of the Filomena these words--_La Vera Speranza_.

After this work, Magi advised me to begin to work in marble. This cost me little trouble, practised as I was in carving wood, which, though it is a softer material, is more ungrateful and irresponsive. After a few weeks' practice, I was able to execute some works, and to a.s.sure myself that henceforward, whenever I wished, I could go from one material to the other. Remember, however, that I then did not even dream of becoming an artist. I only hoped to succeed as a workman in marble, as I then was in wood. The idea of being an artist came to me afterwards, slowly and by degrees--the appet.i.te growing, as the saying is, by eating; or I should rather say, I was driven and drawn to it, out of pique and self-a.s.sertion (_punto d'onore_). But let us proceed regularly.

About this time Signor Sani received an order from certain nuns--I do not now remember whom--to make a Christ upon the cross, which was to be of small size and executed in boxwood. Naturally Sani thought of me, and gave it to me to execute. I set to work upon it with such love and such a desire to do well, that I neglected nothing. After making studies of parts from life, and pilfering here and there, I succeeded in making an _ensemble_, movement, character, and expression appropriate to the subject, and this I executed with patience and intelligence. But the excellence of the work was superior to the importance of the commission.

Let me explain myself. The time it cost me, and consequently the price I was paid by my princ.i.p.al for my weeks of labour, far exceeded that which had been agreed upon by the persons giving the commission. Sani, a little grudgingly, but still feeling that it did honour to his shop, showed himself half pleased and half annoyed; and when other persons afterwards came to urge forward the work on which he was engaged for them, and praised this Christ of mine, Sani took all the praise to himself as if it belonged to him. Nor was he to blame for this. The Christ, however, on account of the difference of price, remained in his shop shut up in his chest. But as it had been somewhat noised about, many came expressly to see it. Among these was the Cavaliere Professore Giuseppe Martelli, who lately died, and who having seen it, told Sani that he hoped to induce the Cavaliere Priore Emanuel Fenzi to buy it. He was then putting in order the princ.i.p.al suite of rooms in the palace of the Via San Gallo for the wedding of the Cavaliere Fenzi's eldest son, Orazio, with the n.o.ble Lady Emilia de' Conte della Gherardesca, and he hoped to place this Christ at the head of the bed of this young couple.

And this in fact happened. The Christ was seen and bought, and I believe that it is still in that house. I saw it there myself when poor Orazio, who honoured me with his friendship, was alive.

[Sidenote: THE "CHRIST" SOLD.]

I shall again refer to this Christ; but for the present, let us go on. I had a great desire to give up once for all this working in wood--not because I thought that material less worthy than marble, for the excellence of a work depends upon the skill and knowledge of the artist, and not upon the material which he has used. Very worthless statues have been seen, and still may be seen, in beautiful marble, and, _vice versa_, beautiful statues in simple _terra cotta_ or wood.

[Sidenote: WORK AT MAGI'S.]

"You will be n.o.ble if you are virtuous," answered D'Azeglio to his son, when the latter asked him, with the ingenuousness of a child, if their family was n.o.ble.

Let us then understand that the n.o.bility of any one is founded upon his deeds, and the excellence of a work depends upon the work itself, and not upon the material. We shall return to this consideration hereafter; now let us proceed. I say that I wished to give up working in wood, because it was my business at the shop to make all sorts of little things, such as candlesticks, cornices, masks, &c. Naturally it fell to me to make them; and not always--on the contrary, very rarely--it happened that I had a Christ, an angel, or anything of that kind to execute: and on this account I was irritable and irascible (except when I was at home) with everybody, and specially with myself.

At Magi's I had as much work as I wished. I had already finished for him two busts,--one of the Grand Duke in Roman drapery, according to the style then in vogue among the academic sculptors, who dressed in Roman or Greek costume the portrait of their own uncle or G.o.dfather; the other of an old woman, whom I did not know. Work enough I had; but naturally I wished to earn something by it, and this was soon spoken of. I understand very well that the master has a kind of right to all the profits of the first works of his pupil; but with me this went on so long, that at last he saw its impropriety; and he proposed to engage me to finish the group of Charity which he had made for the Chapel of the Poggio Imperiale, as a subst.i.tute for that wonderful work of Bartolini, which is still admired in the Palatine Gallery. But the proposition of Magi was in every way impossible to accept, as he only agreed to pay me when the work was completed--that is to say, I and my family were to go for at least a year without anything to eat.

[Sidenote: DEATH OF MY DAUGHTER--POEM.]

I tried here and there; but I could not make a satisfactory arrangement, and I had to resign myself to the making of candlesticks. I had now become a father. My wife had given me a little girl, whom I lost afterwards when she was seven years old; and as I have never made mention of my dear angel, let me embellish the meagreness of my prose with the charming verses of Giovanni Battista Niccolini, who then honoured me with his friendship, and which he wrote with his own hand under the portrait of my little child. They are as follows:--

Few were the evils that Life brought to thee, Dear little one, ere thou from us wast torn, Even as a rosebud plucked in early morn.

Tears thou hast left, and many a memory, To those who gave thee birth, But thou from Life's short dream on earth Hast waked the perfect bliss of heaven to see; And thou art safe in port, and in the tempest we.

Pochi a te della vita Furono i mali, o pargoletta, e mori Come rose ch'e colta ai primi albori.

Ognor memoria e pianto Al genitor sarai, benche per sempre Dal sogno della vita in ciel gia desta.

Tu stai nel porto e noi siamo in tempesta.

CHAPTER V.

A WARNING TO YOUNG ARTISTS--PROFESSOR CAMBI'S PROPOSITIONS--A FINANCIAL PROBLEM: TO INCREASE GAIN BY DIMINISHING THE MEANS THAT PRODUCE IT--I LEAVE SANI'S SHOP TO HAVE MORE TIME AND LIBERTY TO STUDY--AN IMITATION IS NOT SO BAD, BUT A FALSIFICATION IS INDEED AN UGLY THING--THE MARCHESA POLDI AND A CASKET, SUPPOSED TO BE AN ANTIQUE--HOW A MASTER SHOULD BE--THE DEATH OF MY MOTHER, SEPTEMBER 1840--OPINION OF THE ACADEMY--THE "TIPSY BACCHANTE"--A DIVIDED VOTE--THE "CARIATIDI" OF THE ROSSINI THEATRE AT LEGHORN.

Let us consider for a moment the state of my mind at this time. I felt within me an unconquerable inclination for the study of sculpture; and even as a child, I gave vent to my feeling as well as I was able. As I increased in years, the more this desire was repressed and opposed, whether by my poverty or the aversion of my father, the more it developed into a settled pa.s.sion. But after the progress I had made in my studies gave me a right to hope, and my masters had encouraged me, and I had acquired some skill in working the marble, no work was given me to do. Nor was this all. I was humiliated at last, being told by a workman to whom I applied--who was the administrator of the studio of a foreign artist--that there was nothing for me to do there, because the work in that studio was so difficult as to be beyond my ability. I swallowed this bitter mouthful, but I did not despair. Not only did I not despair, but I determined, by study and force of will, to prove that I was right and they were wrong. Add to this that I was not alone; I had a wife and children. But no matter. Since the first prophecies that I never should be good for anything as a wood-carver had proved false, this also, which was both a humiliation and an insult, might prove to be untrue. My poor wife saw that my mind was greatly disturbed, and, with her sweetness, strove to calm me by representing to me that we were fairly well off and without troubles, and exhorted me to drive from my head a thought which was rendering my life bitter to me. These words, dictated by love, made me still more unhappy; but dissimulating and caressing her, I told her that she was right.

[Sidenote: RIVALSHIP AND CRITICISM.]

One day, in the studio of Magi, I and another young man were modelling together a man's _torso_ which had been cast from nature. A friend of Magi, a painter, as he pa.s.sed by us paused, and after looking at our two copies, said, turning to my rival and patting him gently on the shoulder, "I am delighted: this is an artist!" Then turning to me with an expression of regret, he said, "_A rivederla._" My good reader, do you think that made me despair? No, by the Lord! I tell you rather that these words were seared upon my brain as with a red-hot iron, and there they still remain--and they did me a great deal of good. The Professor who spoke them (yes, he was a Professor), three years afterwards embraced me in the Accademia delle Belle Arti before my "Abel." My rival? My rival is perfectly sound in health, and is fatter and more vigorous than I am, but he is not a sculptor. So, my dear young artist, courage! in the face of poverty, and opposition, and abuse, and contempt, and even (remember this) of blandishments and flatteries, which are more destructive than even abuse and contempt.

[Sidenote: INDICATIONS OF GENIUS.]

But be careful to consider well what your vocation really is, and do not allow yourself to be deluded by false appearances. It is absolutely necessary that your calling should be imperious, tenacious, persistent; that it should enter into all your thoughts; that it should give its form and pressure to all your feelings; that it should not abandon you even in your sleep; and that it should drive from your memory your hour of dinner, your appointments, your ease, your pleasures. If, when you take a walk in the country, the hills and groves do not awaken in you in the least the idea that it would be pleasant to own them; but, instead of this, if you feel yourself enamoured by the beautiful harmony of nature, with its varied outlines, and swelling bosoms, and slopes sadly illuminated by the setting sun, and all seems to you an exquisite picture--then hope. If at the theatre you see a drama represented, and you feel impelled to judge within yourself whether this or that character is well played--whether the gestures, the expression of face, and the inflections of voice are such as properly belong to the character, and accord with the affections that move him, or the pa.s.sions which agitate him--then hope. If, while you are walking along, you see the face of a beautiful woman, and if it does not immediately awaken in you the idea of a statue with its name and expression, but, on the contrary, you idly or improperly admire it--then fear. If in reading of a pathetic incident you feel your heart grow tender; if the triumph of pride and arrogance rouse your scorn--then hope. And if you do not feel your faculties debilitated by the long and th.o.r.n.y path of study, but, on the contrary, tempered and strengthened every day by constant and patient labour, then hope--hope--hope. If you have property, attend to the management of it. If you are poor, learn some trade. It is better to be a good carpenter than a bad artist.

[Sidenote: TRIENNIAL COMPEt.i.tION.]

In my own case, I armed myself with stout patience, and pursued my ordinary work of wood-carving; and when I returned home in the evening, I applied myself to study, and, in the simple and frank conversation of my wife, felt a calm come over my agitated mind; and my powers, enervated by ungrateful labour, were thus restored. But the opportunity which was to launch me once and for ever in art was already near, and I seized upon it with all my strength, hope, and love. Many and sad were the first steps against opposition and division; but I pushed on, and I have never stopped since.

Professor Ulisse Cambi, who had seen me modelling in Magi's studio, and who had his own studio close by, now began to talk to me about the triennial compet.i.tion in sculpture, which took place precisely in this year, and he proposed that I should go in for it, and hoped that I should succeed; but even if I did not, he said, at all events the study incident to it would be no loss to me. Flattered by this suggestion, which showed that he had some confidence in me, I replied that I would think of it, and would speak about it to Magi, who might possibly lend me one of his rooms which he did not use, and also give me his a.s.sistance. I spoke to him on the subject, but I did not find him at all disposed to favour the project. In the first place, he told me that he could not give me a room; then that he did not think that I had gone on sufficiently far in my studies to be able to attempt such a compet.i.tion; and finally, that he would not undertake to direct my work. This answer having been repeated to Cambi, he told me that he was convinced that I should succeed, and that if Magi would neither give me a room nor superintend my work, he would do both--and this he did.

[Sidenote: MODEL OF "JUDGMENT OF PARIS."]

The subject of the ba.s.so-relievo was "The Judgment of Paris," and required five figures--Paris, Venus, Minerva, Juno, and Mercury. I made a sketch; but it did not please Cambi, and taking a piece of paper, he sketched with a pen a new composition, saying, "That, I think, will do very well." I then made a new sketch founded upon this by Cambi. Some one will now say, "This is not right; you ought to have worked out an idea of your own, and not one of your master's." Agreed; but these considerations will come afterwards. For the present, let us go on.

In the meantime it was necessary to come to a decision, and to take into consideration that the work required much time, and could not be completed in my off-hours, as I had hitherto done with my other studies, and also that money would be required to pay the models; so that, as it would be necessary to give less time to my ordinary work, I should earn less, while I should have need of more money in order to pay the models.

The problem was a difficult one, and at first sight not easily solved.

The reader will remember the Brothers Pacetti, in whose shop I had sold the Santa Filomena. One of these, Tonino, had often said to me that if I would work for them they would give me anything to do that I might prefer--whether cornices rich with figures and _putti_ and arabesques, or coffers and chests _all'antica_, or whatever I liked with figures, with the prices agreed upon, and liberty to work when and how I liked.

The offer was excellent, as you see; but it involved leaving my old master Sani, and I was affectionately attached to him, and he and all in the shop were attached to me; and on this account I felt repugnance to leaving the place and the persons who had helped me on when I was a child. So, thanking Pacetti, I repeatedly refused his offer. But now it was necessary to come to a decision between two alternatives--either to abandon the compet.i.tion and remain in the shop, or to abandon the shop and accept the offer of the Brothers Pacetti. I spoke of this to my good Marina, who at first did not look upon it at all favourably, fearing that if I left the shop, which had always given me work, I should find myself left in the lurch by the other, in spite of all the fine promises of gain and liberty and the like. But at last, seeing that I was decided, she contented herself with saying, "Do as you think best." O blessed woman, may G.o.d reward thee!

[Sidenote: MODELLING BAS-RELIEF FOR COMPEt.i.tION.]

When I stated to old Sani my determination to leave his shop, angry as a hornet, he said, "Do as you like," and spoke to me no more the whole day. The next day, however, more softened, but still severe, he asked me the reason of this strange resolution, and I told him. Then he proposed an increase of salary and a diminution of work, and at last agreed (I must do justice to this good man) to allow me to have all the hours which were necessary for the compet.i.tion. But I had already made my contract with Pacetti, had decided upon a work after my own choice, arranged the room given me by Pacetti, and which was the Hospital for Horses in the old stable of the Palazzo Borghese, and I could not withdraw from it.

I began to model the ba.s.so-relievo for the compet.i.tion in the studio Cambi, and my _intaglio_ work I did in the little studio or stable of the Palazzo Borghese. The work that I had undertaken for Pacetti was curious. It had every recommendation except that of honesty. Let me explain. There was at this time a great pa.s.sion among strangers for antique objects: great chests, cornices, and coffers, provided they were old, were sought for and purchased; but modern works, though of incontestable merit, no one cared for, and they brought very low prices.

It came into the head either of Pacetti or myself--I do not remember which--to make something in imitation of the antique (and so far it was all right), and to sell it for antique, and here was the maggot.

[Sidenote: I CARVE A SEICENTO COFFER.]

It was settled, then, that I should make a coffer or chest in the beautiful and rich style of the _Seicento_--rectangular of form and not high. The cover was slightly pointed, with various arabesque ornaments, and in the centre of this cover in the front I carved a Medusa crying out loudly; and by looking at myself in the mirror, I succeeded in giving a good deal of truth to the sad expression of this head--indeed the muscles of the face and the eyes had such a truth of expression that I would not promise to do as well again even now. This is the portion of the work which is really original; all the divisions in panels, and the external faces, were an absolute counterfeit representation of the ornaments on the bookshelves in the Libreria Laurenziana, which were carved by Ta.s.so the carver, the friend of Benvenuto Cellini, and, as some say, were designed by Cellini himself. Every precaution was taken--the wood was antique but not worm-eaten, so that I could carve with delicacy all the ornaments, dragons, and chimerae; and when it was finished, here and there a worm-hole was counterfeited and filled up with wax, but so as to be visible. The hinges and ironwork were also imitations of the antique, which were first oxidated and then repolished. In a word, it was a veritable trap, and I give an account of it for the sake of the truth; and I hope that the first statement of this falsification does not come from me. But however this may be, we laughed at it, and it amused me then, though now it displeases me.

[Sidenote: COFFER IS ATTRIBUTED TO CELLINI.]

This coffer was seen by many persons, some of whom asked the price; but Pacetti set a high value upon it, and he had spread about some sort of story that it was a work of Benvenuto Cellini's. Finally, after some time, the Marchioness Poldi of Milan, who had gone to Florence to urge Bartolini to finish the famous group of Astyanax which he was making for her, saw this coffer, liked it, and took it for an antique; but in regard to the excellence of the work, and above all the name of the artist to whom it was sought to attribute it, she determined to consult Bartolini himself, and if his judgment was favourable, to buy it for the price that was asked, but which naturally was not what I had been paid.

Bartolini decided that it was one of the finest works of Ta.s.so the _intagliatore_, made after the designs of Benvenuto Cellini; and the Marchioness Poldi then bought the coffer, and carried it to Milan.

Four years later, I finished my "Abel" and "Cain." I had made a name, which had been rendered still more attractive by the curious story of my origin; for all of a sudden, while n.o.body knew who I was, I seemed to be an artist who had been born one morning and grown up before night. The only thing that was reported about me was, that I had never studied, and that I had suddenly leaped from the bench of the _intagliatore_ on to that of the sculptor. The reader who has thus far followed me, and who will continue with me up to the completion of my "Abel" and "Cain," will see with what heedlessness these reports were propagated. Let us go on.

The Marchioness Poldi came to my studio, and having heard the story of my life, which was in the hands of all, and was written in that easy, attractive, and poetic style of which Farini is master, told me that she possessed a magnificent work in _intaglio_ by the famous _intagliatore_ Ta.s.so, and said that this work was imagined and executed with such grace and excellence that it might truly be called a work of art, and she added that these were the very words of Bartolini.

[Sidenote: IN THE STUDIO CAMBI.]

The reader may imagine whether I was flattered by this; and in consequence of this praise, as well as to pluck out this thorn from my heart by a confession of my fault, I said, "I beg your pardon, Signora Marchesa, but that work was made by me."

The Marchioness looked at me with a kind of wonder, and then said, "No matter--nay, all the better."

I begged her not to tell Bartolini.