But all these difficulties and sorrows one feels less in early years, and in spite of them I was light-hearted. I had the master's goodwill, and the men in the shop treated me with the open cordial heartiness belonging to that class in those days. My love for the study of design increased, and in the off-hours of work I used to stay behind in the shop and eat a bit of bread there, and draw from some of the casts hanging on the walls, without taking them down or even dusting them. I began with little things such as leaves, branches, small figures, capitals of columns, heads of animals, and so on and so on, until I got to figures. In the shop there were two beautiful bas-reliefs from the pulpit in Santa Croce, two from the doors of the sacristy of the Duomo by Luca della Robbia, and several of those little figures by Ghiberti which surround the principal door of San Giovanni. All these casts I drew during this period—badly, as one may imagine, and without guide or method; but still, this served to occupy me pleasantly, and also to keep alive within me the craving to learn and advance myself, so as to be able to do other and more important work in the shop, and thus gain distinction.
BACKWARDNESS AT SCHOOL.
MY FIRST LIBRARY.
BOOKS AT CHURCH.
This desire of distinguishing myself has always been very strong in me; and through all my privations, discomforts, loss of sleep, harsh corrections, irony, and scorn, I was borne up by this desire to do myself credit, and see my father and mother rejoice in me and for me; and also, I must confess, by the hope of seeing the rage of those who had treated me with irony and scorn. But if I learned, more and more every day, how to design and to carve in wood—for this was very attractive to me—in everything else I was perfectly ignorant. I had not even learned to read well, and could not write at all. My father had tried placing me at a public school, but I learned absolutely nothing there. The rudiments of writing and arithmetic were so irksome to me that the master in despair sent me home again, and would have nothing to do with such a little dunce. For all this, I had my little library at home, which I kept with great care locked up in a small box in my room, and it was composed of seven or eight books. These I had bought in the streets from book-stalls set against old walls, and they were as follows: A volume of the 'Capitoli of Berni,' 'Paul and Virginia,' and 'Atala and Chatta' (translations of course), a volume of the comedies of Alberto Nota, and the 'Jerusalem Liberated,' 'Guerrino Meschino agli Alberi del Sole,' 'Oreste,' and the 'Pazzi Conspiracy.' At first I understood almost nothing excepting some of the adventures of Guerrino. Afterwards 'Atala and Chatta' and 'Paul and Virginia' became my favourite reading; and so much did I like them, and so often did I read them, that whole pages remained in my memory. Then I fell in love with the 'Jerusalem,' and this my memory more easily retained. Some of the verses I tried to write from memory, in a little running hand, copying the letters from my father's writing, for, as I have said before, I never learnt the rudiments of writing; and those pot-hooks, and big letters between two lines, never were to my taste. As to other things, I had the innocence and good faith belonging to my age and the imperfect education I had received. I thought all books good—good because they were printed—and not only good at home, but good everywhere else; and so I used to take my books to read in church during the Mass. One day (it was Sunday) at mid-day Mass in Sant' Jacopo, while I was reading the 'Conspiracy of the Pazzi,' my master, Signor Sani, who lived opposite the church, and was also at Mass, observed me, and suspecting that the book I was reading was not a proper one to take to church, stopped me as he was going out and asked to see it, and finding what it was, told me that I was not to bring it again to church, as it was not a book of prayers. More also he added that I did not understand, especially when he wanted to explain to me the verses—
"Il putrido
Annoso tronco, a cui s'appoggia fraude."[2]
I obeyed, however, and never took this or any of my other books to church; and so I learnt that books you can read at home you cannot read in church. Later I learnt there are others not to be read anywhere.