Restored to health, I was taken to see my mother in Florence. My own great joy, as well as her caresses and petitions that I might be left with her, it is impossible to describe. She insisted that she would find me a shop where I could go and continue to learn the art of wood-carving. Thank God, this time my mother's tenderness overcame my father's tenacity (loving though it was), and I was allowed to remain with her. They both looked about to find me a shop, and I was finally placed in Borgo Sant' Jacopo, with the wood-carvers Gaetano Ammanati and Luigi Pieraccini, who worked together. They were both very able men, certainly much more so than my father, who, poor man, owing to the constant requirements of the family, had never been able to perfect himself in his art. In this shop figures were carved, so that I had before me models and teachers, as well as incitement to work. My principals liked me, and I them; and I should have remained with them who knows how long, had I not been carried off by another intagliatore. And the way in which it happened was this: Signor Paolo Sani, a carver in wood who sometimes came on business or for other reasons to Ammanati's, seeing that my work was fairly good, and that I worked with goodwill, determined, if possible, to take me away to work for him. He wrote, therefore, to my father, who had returned to Siena, asking him to remove me from Ammanati's shop, and send me to him, binding himself to pay me double the salary that I was then receiving. As he did not wish, however, to appear to act underhandedly (though this was really the case), he persuaded my father to take me to Siena, and place me at the Academy of Fine Arts, to study drawing; and he promised, after I had passed some months there, to take me to work in his own shop. My father accepted the offer, and I was obliged to go to Siena, where I studied in the Academy at the school of "Ornato," which was then under the direction of Professor Dei. Out of school hours my father let me work upon anything I liked—such as children's heads, angels, and even crucifixes. God knows what rubbish they were! I also took lessons, in drawing the human figure, of Signor Carlo Pini, then the custode of the Academy, and afterwards one of the most distinguished annotators of Vasari, and keeper of the drawings by the old masters in the Royal Gallery of the Uffizi.
ANGELO BARBETTI'S PROPHECY.
At that time Signor Angelo Barbetti, a very skilful wood-carver, was at Siena, and my father wished to place me in his shop, which was in the Piazza di San Giovanni. But Signor Angelo was as irascible and fault-finding as he was intelligent; and one day, when I had not succeeded in executing some work that he had given me, he struck me on the head, accompanying the blow with these words, which hurt me more than the blow itself—"You will always be an ass, harnessed and shod, even when the beard is on your chin." Afterwards I was sent to Signor Antonio Manetti, who not only carved ornaments and figures in wood, but also worked in marble, and was occupied in restoring the façade of the cathedral. Signor Manetti was a man of no common genius—he designed and sculptured ornaments and figures with much facility and cleverness. But even with him I was not fortunate. He gave me a little Napoleonic eagle with thunderbolts in his claws to execute. For what it was intended I do not remember, but apparently I did not succeed in satisfying him. In this case, however, there were neither blows on the head nor bitter words, but, with a certain haughty dignity, he took my poor little eaglet in his hand, and dashed it to the ground, breaking it to atoms in spite of the thunderbolts. Viewed from this long distance of time, this scene has a somewhat comic character, and must seem especially so to one who hears it described. But for me, a poor little boy, anxious to learn and get on, so as to lighten, as far as possible, the burden on my father—who, poor man, earned little, and of that little was obliged to send a portion to his family in Florence—it was quite another thing; and though I felt within myself that I was not a complete donkey, still to see my work thrown thus brutally on the ground was so painful to me that it took away all my little strength. I wept in secret; and as the time assigned by Signor Paolo Sani and my father for my return had arrived, I begged my father to send me back to Florence. He wished, however, to keep me with him still longer, and so I occupied myself in making angels and seraphim heads for churches.
I RUN AWAY FROM SIENA.
WEARINESS AND REMORSE.
I begged and begged my father to take me to Florence, to see my mother. He promised to do so at Easter. Meanwhile, I contented myself with this hope; but on the eve of Easter he told me he could not go, on account of his engagements, which would detain him at Siena, and also for many other reasons that I could not and would not understand. Now, however, my patience gave way before my loving desire to see my mother; and without saying a word, I rose early and ran away from the house. Passing out of the Porta Camollia, I set off on my walk with only a bit of bread in my pocket, in the boyish hope of reaching my destination the same day, and so passing my Easter with my mother, without reflecting that, by so doing, I should pass it neither with my father nor my mother. I was about nine years old, and walked on with courage beyond my strength. So great was my desire to get to Florence, that I passed Staggia and Poggibonsi without feeling tired; but near Barberino—which is about twenty miles from Siena, and half-way to Florence—my mind misgave me that I should not be able to arrive in Florence that evening; and then my strength abandoned me, and I was so overcome with fatigue that I could not get up from a little wall on which I had seated myself to rest. I had not a penny. No carts or carriages were passing that way. It was Easter, and every one was at home resting for his holiday; and I, there I was alone in the middle of the road, oppressed with weariness and remorse for having left my father in such anxiety. At times I hoped that he might come after me with a carriage to take me up, and I quite resigned myself to a sound beating; but even this hope was vain, and I had to continue my walk. How many sad thoughts passed one after another through my little tired head! What will my mother, who is expecting us, do or say? What will my babbo think, left alone, and not knowing where I am? He will be certainly looking for me, and asking after me from every one in Siena. What will become of me in the middle of the road if night overtakes me? This thought gave strength and energy to my will, and on I went. I don't think that I was frightened. At length my strength was exhausted; the sun began to set; I was seven or eight miles from San Casciano, and I could not be certain of arriving even there to pass the night. I stopped at a wretched little house to rest, and asked for a glass of water. A man, a woman, and several children were eating. They asked me where I came from, and I told them. With expressions of compassion, especially from the woman, they gathered round me, gave me some bread, a hard-boiled egg, and a little wine, and I thanked them with emotion. They wanted me to stay with them until the next day—and tired out as I was, I should have stayed and accepted their kindly offer; but at this moment a vettura for Florence passed by, and with my eyes full of tears I told them how infinitely grateful I should be if I could be allowed to fasten myself in any way on to the carriage. The driver, who had stopped to get a glass of wine, seeing the state I was in, and hearing my story from these good country people, took me up on the box by his side, and carried me to Florence, where we arrived in less than three-quarters of an hour, an hour after nightfall. As my mother and the other children lived in Via Toscanelli, when we were near the Sdrucciolo de' Pitti the good driver set me down there. I descended from the box and ran—no, I could not run, for my feet were swollen, and my sides numb, but my heart was glad, exultant, and throbbing. I knocked; my mother came to the window and saw me, but she did not recognise me until I spoke, and then she gave a scream and came down. What followed I cannot recount. Those who have a heart will imagine it better than I can tell it. Neither the good family who welcomed and refreshed me, nor the honest humane carrier, have I ever seen, for I remained in Florence, and did not return to Siena until many years after. Then I made all possible researches to find both the one and the other, but I could never find them. Not, indeed, that I wished to remunerate them with money (the price of charity has not yet been named), but I wished to express to them my gratitude; and this is the only recompense acceptable to charitable hearts.
I REACH FLORENCE—MY MOTHER.
PAOLO SANI'S SHOP.
The day after, as I hoped and feared, the babbo arrived, and as soon as he saw me, his expression, anxious and grieved as it was, became threatening. His few ill-repressed words were the sure sign of the blows to come, and he was just going to strike me when my mother, with indescribable tenderness, caught me in her arms and pressed me to her, with her face and eyes turned towards my father, without uttering a word. Softened by this, he then began a long speech on the obedience and submission due from children to the holy parental authority, not omitting to censure my mother's indulgence and petting. After this I begged his pardon, and all was at an end. My father returned to Siena, and I went to Signor Sani's shop (built with his own money), in the Piazza di San Biagio, under the Piatti printing-office. Signor Paolo Sani was a man of about fifty, thin, pale, and exceedingly active. He had a great deal of work to do, and was employed by the Court and first houses in Florence. His taste was not exquisite, but he understood effects and proportions, so that his decorative carving, either in the way of furniture, caskets, frames, chandeliers, or ornamental work for churches, was greatly in demand. He had many men, and the works succeeded each other with great rapidity. In his house he had portfolios full of designs, and the walls of his shop were covered with plaster casts, bas-reliefs of figures, and ornaments, animals, arabesques, flowers, angels, &c., making a strange fantastic medley full of attraction for me. When the master was not there, the men at their work used to talk and sing; but when any one saw him coming, the scene changed, and there was perfect silence. I came into the shop as an apprentice and errand-boy; so that although I had my little bench, with my tools and work, yet, if there was any glue to be heated or made, or the tools were to be taken to the grinder, or the breakfast to be brought for the men, this duty always fell upon me. But I did not in the least complain. It is true that amongst these duties there was one for which I had a dislike, although I did not show it, and this was carrying a basket full of shavings on my back to the master's house in the Borgo Sant' Jacopo. To go there I had to pass through the Mercato Nuovo and over Ponte Vecchio, which is much frequented at all hours, as every one knows; and during this year I went there with the basket of shavings on my back. Notwithstanding this, I was well off in the shop, and was light-hearted from being near my mother and sisters. One of my sisters—my elder by a year—died soon after my return from my wanderings with my father. Poor Clementina! she was so good, delicate in health, and suffering. Indeed, we all suffered because of our poverty. Father sent us little, for he earned little, and our bread was often wet with tears because we could not help our mother as we wished. Added to this, she could do almost nothing herself on account of her infirmity of eyesight, which little by little so increased, that at last she was no longer able to see us; and as I have already said, Clementina died. God willed it so—to shorten her road, which was too full of thorns and danger, to one pretty as she was, artless, away from the father's watchful eye, and with her mother blind. My other smaller sister Maddalena accompanied her mother when she went out, as she did in the endeavour to earn something by buying and selling women's old clothes. My brother Lorenzo (perhaps because he was too quick-tempered) was obliged to go to the poorhouse, and here he learnt the art of carpet-maker. After a short time, however, he came out and returned to Parenti, who had a carpet manufactory in the ancient refectory of the monks of Santa Croce, where he remained for some time.
DEATH OF MY SISTER.