One of the commonest faults with young scholars is their slothfulness in trying to discover for themselves their own way to express their ideas. For the most part, they are completely deficient in this, and prefer to seek among the works of their master, or of some other master, for their subjects, types, and movements—and thus, with little fatigue and less honour, they only succeed in giving a colourless reminiscence of works already known; and one of the faults of the master is this—not only to allow his scholars to imitate and steal from him, but what is worse, to desire to impose upon them his own works as models.
ILLNESS OF MY MOTHER.
I return to my narrative. In my stable I pursued my artistic life freely and happily, with power to select the work I was to do, to carry out my own designs in whatever style I liked, and almost to fix their prices. In this way, with only a half-day's work, I was able to carry home my ordinary earnings for the maintenance of my family; and beyond this, I had two francs over to pay my model for the remainder of the day, which I spent on my basso-relievo. My daily life, therefore, was gay and free in my stable, timorous and gloomy in the studio Cambi, and peaceful, glad, and quiet all the evening at home. But for all this, the bitterness had to come. The other competitor, Ludovico Caselli, was already hinting it about that the basso-relievo was not made by me, and that Professor Cambi worked upon it. Caselli was modelling under the direction of Professor Pampaloni; but I never complained that Pampaloni worked upon it, although there were some who affirmed that he did. I kept my peace, and resolved formally in my own mind that whatever should be the issue of this competition, I would again make an attempt the next year. When the time of the exhibition and the decision approached, I began to hear contemptuous and insolent rumours, which, whether I failed or was successful, would equally afflict me. To this is to be added, that my poor mother was suffering from a very severe illness—an illness, indeed, that carried her in a few days to her grave. I remember, as something that still pierces my heart, the interest she showed during that illness for me, for my competition, and for my triumph (as she called it); and it seemed as if this belief of my loving mother gave a certain alleviation to the terrible anguish of her disease, which every day grew worse and worse. This was in the first days of September 1840. On Sunday the 15th the decision was to be given, and my poor mother was at the point of death. What I felt in my heart may be imagined, it cannot be told. The instant I heard that the prize had been given to me, I ran to my mother—from whom I had of late been somewhat separated—with almost a hope that this good news might bring her back to life again. And in fact, on hearing this news her face became radiant, her cheeks glowed, her eyes, which for a time had seen nothing, became animated and seemed to gaze at me. Then she stretched out her arms, and, pressing me to her, said, "Now I die willingly." She lived a few days longer, and then, comforted by the sacrament of our holy religion, died. She had finished her short life of about fifty years, in the restrictions of poverty and in the bitterness of one of the greatest misfortunes—blindness. God has taken her to the joy of His infinite mercy.
DECISION OF THE ACADEMY.
The conflict of judgment among the professors of the Academy at the competition was tempestuous, and the result extraordinary. The votes were divided thus: Ten votes were given for my model, four or five (if I mistake not) to that of my competitor, and there were eleven votes for a division of the prize. I thought that votes for a division could not properly be given; and at all events, as I received ten and the other four, I considered myself the superior. But no. The legal adviser declared that the number eleven was superior to the number ten, and as eleven had voted for the division, that the prize must be divided. But the matter did not end here. My competitor, not satisfied with his prize, went about saying that it was not I who had competed; that he did not know who I was, nor where I had studied; and he threatened to challenge me to I know not what trial in design or modelling. I answered that I intended to continue to study, and that naturally we should be measured against each other often, if he chose to have it so; and this put an end to it. More than this, we became friends, and still are; and I believe he is now employed in the foundry of Cavaliere Pietro Bonini, as a designer or mechanic, I don't well know which. He is a man of talent, and has made several works of sculpture, among which are Hagar and Ishmael, Susannah, and the statue of Mascagni which is under the Uffizi.
MODEL OF YOUTHFUL BACCHANTE.
But in the opinion of the young students at that time there still remained a doubt whether that work was all grist from my mill, and in consequence I had a strong desire to do something by myself in my own studio. In order to put an end to all this gossiping, I put up a figure of life size representing a drunken and youthful Bacchante leaning against the trunk of a tree as half falling, while she smiled and held to her lips a goblet. The difficulty of the subject was as great as my inexperience. The tender age of the model, who could not be made to stand still, the difficult and fatiguing attitude, my own total want of practice in setting up the irons and clay, the smallness of the room, and the deficiency of light, were obstacles which conquered at last all my poor capacity, and my figure fell, and I had not the courage to put it up again; and it was all the better that I did not.
After this came new attacks, new gossip, and new affronts, all carefully covered and veiled, and, as Giusti says, "Tramati in regola, alla sordina."
I have already spoken of the voting on the competition, and I may as well return to this here—for these memoirs are not solely a meagre narrative of my life, but also an examination of principles; and whenever it seems to me proper to make this examination, I shall do so, endeavouring, as usual, to be brief and clear.
And first of all, you must believe that I do not return to this decision to complain that the prize was divided between me and my rival; and I wish you to understand that even had the entire prize been adjudged to me, I should equally have returned to this question. The subject I mean to examine is the false principle of a vote of division.