MY WIFE, MY LITTLE GIRLS, AND MY WORK—DEATH OF MY BROTHER LORENZO—DEATH OF LORENZO BARTOLINI—THE BASE FOR THE "TAZZA"—EIGHT YEARS OF WORK, ONLY TO OBTAIN A LIVING—MUSSINI AND HIS SCHOOL—POLLASTRINI—THE SCHOOL IN VIA SANT'APOLLINI—PRINCE DEMIDOFF AND THE MONUMENT BY BARTOLINI—THE NYMPH OF THE SCORPION AND THE NYMPH OF THE SERPENT, BY BARTOLINI—MARCHESE ABA—COUNT ARESE—THE FOUR STATUETTES FOR DEMIDOFF—AMERIGO OF THE PRINCE CORSINIS—HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS COUNT OF SYRACUSE, A SCULPTOR—"SANT'ANTONINO" STATUE AT THE UFFIZI.
The events of that day already belong to history, and it is not for me to narrate them. Those of the Livornese who could escape from the fury of the populace were part of them shut up in the Fortress da Basso, and part of them packed like anchovies in the railway-carriages. Guerrazzi was imprisoned in the fortress of the Belvedere, and the reins of the government were provisionally put into the hands of the Municipality, Ubaldino Peruzzi being gonfaloniere. That same evening the ensigns of liberty that the republicans had hoisted in the piazze and the street-crossings in Florence, were torn to the ground. Thus ended the enormities of these so-called democrats, who were in fact only the scum and unrestrained rabble of the flourishing and active city of Leghorn.
In the meantime affairs in my studio went from bad to worse. The political vicissitudes, the uncertainty of the present, and fears for the future, preoccupied every one, and no thought was given to the Arts. I had no work to do, and lived a secluded life of poverty with my little family, fearing that the apprehensions of my poor wife would be realised: often we were in need even of the mere necessaries of life, and one thing after another went to the monte di pietà in order to supply our most pressing wants. Sorrows, disillusions, and mortifications were not wanting: one of my children died, the only boy that I ever had; the statue of Pope Pius II. that I had made for Siena was despised and kept shut up in its box for month after month, the aversion taken to it being, they said, occasioned by the disaffection of Pius IX. What Pius II. had to do with Pius IX. I do not know.
THE GRAND DUKE RETURNS.
The Grand Duke returned; but the joy felt for his return was embittered by the presence of foreigners, and thence there were fears, suspicions, and ill-repressed rage, so that Art suffered in consequence—Art, that lives and breathes in the quiet and life-giving atmosphere of peace.
DESIGN OF A CASKET FOR THE GRAND DUKE.
The Grand Duke having returned, I went to make my bow to him. He received me with his usual kindness, and asked me about my works and my family. I spoke out sincerely to him, touching lightly, not to distress him, on my misfortunes. He remained thoughtful, and dismissed me with benevolence. Some days after, he sent his secretary Luigi Venturi for me, and talked at length with me about works that he was thinking of giving me. In the meanwhile, remembering that in times gone by I had occupied myself with wood-carving, he asked me if I could make or direct some work that he was thinking of having executed for a present he wished to make to his daughter Princess Isabella, who was to be married to Prince Francesco of Naples. Already, before Isabella, his eldest daughter, the Princess Augusta, to whom he had given my two little statuettes of Dante and Beatrice, had been married. The work for the Princess Isabella was, however, of an entirely different kind, being a casket for jewels. I accepted this commission with gratitude, although it was not a real work of sculpture; but remembering that our old artists had executed works of the same kind, and that Baccio d'Agnolo, a famous architect, used to make the cassone that contained the trousseau of the young Florentine brides, and gloried in signing himself Baccio d'Agnolo, carpenter, I was contented. And besides, to speak my mind clearly, it is not the material or the thing itself that counts for anything. A little terra cotta of Luca della Robbia, or an intaglio of Barili, is worth more than a hundred thousand wretched statues in marble or bronze. I therefore made and showed him the design for the casket. In shape it was rectangular, and stood on two squares, ornamented on all sides; the cover was slightly elevated, and on the top was a group of three figures representing maternal love; in the six spaces were six subjects taken from the Bible representing holy marriages. These, I thought, were real jewels—family jewels. They came in order as follows: Adam and Eve in the terrestrial paradise before the Fall, Isaac and Rebecca, Boaz and Ruth, Esther and Ahasuerus, Tobit and Sarah, David and Abigail. The Grand Duke liked the idea and the design, and asked me in what wood I should carve it. I answered, in ivory, for two reasons: on account of the smallness of the figures, which would not admit of another material; and then because ivory is in itself beautiful, rich, and most adapted for this kind of work. Fortunately, it was not necessary to look for the ivory, as in the Grand Duke's laboratory there was a most beautiful elephant's tusk. He gave it to me; and after having cut it up into as many pieces for the formelie, cornice, and lamine as were required for this work, there remained a large piece, which I still keep. I set myself to the task, and worked with a will, as the marriage of the Princess was soon to take place. In the construction of the square I employed a man from the cabinetmaker's, Ciacchi; for the ornaments, Paolino Fanfani, a clever wood-carver and my good friend, whom I had known when a boy in Sani's shop, where I used to work at wood-carving. Two poems by Luigi Venturi, "Lo sposo, la sposa e gli sposi," which form part of his poem "L'Uomo," were placed inside of the box.
I AM DISPIRITED.
And here I am at work. Consider, friendly reader, if you are an artist, and after long study and anxiety have ever obtained the hoped-for compensations and triumphs, the more deserved because so earnestly laboured for, that you now see an artist occupied, on a work difficult indeed, but very far from being of that ideal greatness that his hopes and the applause previously given him have led him to anticipate and desire. The smallness of the work, the material, and even the tools for working it, reminded me of the humbleness of my origin. I felt sick at heart, and then flashed into my mind the fear that I might be obliged to return to wood-carving. Not that I despised that art—I have already said the material is of no account; but I wanted to be a sculptor, and meantime I had nothing to do, and my family looked to me for support. This thought gave me strength, drove away the golden dreams of the future, even the memory of the smiling past, and I worked all day long and part of the night. My poor wife, who was always so good and active, attending to the household economy and to the education of our little girls, comforted me with her simple and affectionate words. Sometimes, returning home with the children, she would stop to see me, and would look at and praise my work, and perhaps, because it reminded her of our early years, would say—