When I remember this life of mine, with its painful anxieties and struggles, it makes me angry to see some of the youths of to-day, with every opportunity and all their time, and without a care in the world, either for their family or any thing or person, who rot in idleness, assume airs of scorn for others, even for their masters, and then swear out against adverse fortune, and deplore their genius crushed and unrecognised, and similar insipidities. My two hours of rest during the day, which were from one to three o'clock, were thus occupied: one hour was given to study, and the other was but just sufficient to enable me to go from my shop in the Piazza di San Biagio to the Liceo di Candeli, and there take my dinner, and then return to the shop. I was punctual too, for I was determined to do my duty, and to keep my promise to my wife never to allow my study of sculpture to interfere with my regular occupation.
A HOME-PICTURE.
It was indeed a life full of agitations, anxieties, fears, and privations, but animated with what joyous hopes! Every evening when I came back from my work, I devoted myself at home to making anatomical drawings from casts, while my wife did her ironing in the same room; and I drew until the hour of supper came. It was a pure sweet pleasure to me to see that strong and lively creature coming and going with her flat-irons from the fireplace to the table, and gaily ironing, and singing
"Muskets and broadswords; fire—fire—poum!"[4]
as she smoothed and beat with the flat-iron on the linen, while her mother sat silently spinning in the corner. Truly that blessed woman was right when she said, "We are so happy as we are"—for one of the purest joys that cheers my present life is the memory of those days. No joy is purer than that which comes from the memory of that past time of work, of study, and of domestic peace. Those days of narrow means and agitations now shine upon me with a serene and lovely light; and I bless the Lord, who softens by His grace the bitterness of poverty and the harshness of fatigue, and so preserves this sweetness of remembrance in the heart, that neither time nor fortune has the power to extinguish it, or even to diminish it.
In the opinion of my master, Signor Magi, I had arrived at that point in my studies that I could be permitted to make portraits from life. Accordingly he proposed that I should find some friend who had time and patience to stand for me as a model. I soon found one, and his was the first bust I modelled. The likeness was good, and Magi and the others began to have a strong faith in my future. Encouraged by this trial from life, I determined to make a statuette of small dimensions. The subject which was given to me by Magi was Santa Filomena standing with her head and eyes turned to heaven, one hand on her breast and the other holding a bunch of lilies, while the anchor, the sign of her martyrdom, lay at her feet. The statuette was liked; and I pleased myself with executing it in wood, and finished it with great care of handling and delicacy of detail. It was exhibited at the Accademia delle Belle Arti in 1838; was praised by distinguished artists, such as Benvenuti and Bartolini; and the latter recalled it to me when, some time afterwards, I went to ask for work in his studio, and said—
STATUETTE OF SANTA FILOMENA.
"Believe me, my dear sir, if I had any work to give you to do, I would give it with pleasure, for I have seen that statuette of yours, which shows that you have intelligence and love."
My Santa Filomena was liked—liked by artists and by those who were not artists; but no purchaser presented himself, and I was anxious to sell it, not only for the sake of a little money, which would have been very opportune, but still more for the satisfaction of my amore proprio as an artist. But the purchaser did not come, and I was obliged to place my statuette in the magazine of antiquities of the Brothers Pacetti, on the ground-floor of the Borghese Palace in the Via del Palagio. It did not long remain here, however. It was frequented by many strangers, who found there a great number of things which were curious, and some of which were really beautiful. In this magazine there were, first of all, old pictures of our Florentine school: whence they had been excavated I know not, but the exportation of them out of the country was not as difficult as it now is. There were also terre cotte of the school of Luca della Robbia, statuettes in bronze, marble busts of the Roman school, to ornament halls or staircases in palaces; chests of ebony inlaid with pietra dura, ivory, tortoise-shell, &c. Specially rich was it in Venetian glass, antique plates, enamels, laces, &c., &c. There, among all these antiquities, figured my Santa Filomena, which seemed more pure and white from contrast with all the chests of drawers, and stuffs, and tapestries which formed its background.
SANTA FILOMENA.