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 passion. 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.
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 passed 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.
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 passions 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 thorny 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.
TRIENNIAL COMPETITION.
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.