"Listen, Tonino; you must do me the kindness to say to the maestro, that last night he let fall from his mouth a word that displeased me, because those who heard it did not know why he used it, and having heard his reason did not appreciate it. Take care! not a word more or less, and don't make a mistake."
And having gone over his lesson two or three times, he repeated it quite right.
"You will return to-morrow morning at nine o'clock if Bartolini will let you, and then you will give me his answer."
The day after, at nine, Tria appeared and said to me—
"I told the maestro, you know."
"Well, what did he answer?"
"He replied in these words: 'You must say to Duprè that I thank him. I also was aware that I had done wrong, but it was too late. Salute him.'"
Some evenings afterwards I saw him again at Fenzi's house: I was playing billiards. He shook my hand and said "Good evening," a thing he had not done for a long time.
DESCRIPTION OF MY DESIGN.
After the little ivory casket that I have already spoken of, the Grand Duke ordered me to compose a base for the famous Table of the Muses in pietra dura that is in the Palazzo Pitti. This work made me happier, as I was free to imagine and execute it in the manner I thought best, and a rich and elaborate subject occurred to me at once. The Table of the Muses is round; in the centre is Apollo driving the chariot of the sun, and encircling him are the attributes of the Muses. As the artist who made the top of the table had taken for his subject Apollo as the father of the Muses, I in my work gave to him the attributes of the sun, as fertiliser of the earth. In the base immediately under the table, I preserved its circular form, throwing out at the top a sort of capital supported by jutting brackets, and richly ornamented. Beneath this is a cylinder covered with figures of children (putte) engaged in the rural occupations and pleasures of the various seasons. In the spring they are sporting, and playing on instruments, and dancing among flowers; in the summer they are cutting and bringing in the corn; in the autumn they are harvesting and treading grapes; in the winter they are digging, hoeing, and sowing. This cylinder thus storied over is set upon a large disc with mouldings and bevelled slope, upon which the Seasons are seated, in varied attitudes, and weaving a garland of the flowers and fruits which the earth produces during the year. Spring is peacefully sitting, lightly draped, crowned with daisies, and holding her head somewhat elevated, to express the reawakening of Nature. Summer has her torso nude, is crowned with ears of corn, and is more robust of form than the others. Autumn is crowned with grapes and vine-leaves, entirely dressed, but without a mantle. Winter is crouching down, pressing her knees together, is entirely enveloped in her mantle, has a cloth on her head, and is expressive of cold. The garland which unites the figures is hidden behind Winter, is more slender, and composed solely of fruits. Each of these four figures seated upon the disc stretches forth a foot upon a projecting ledge or bracket, which is in plumb beneath the upper brackets, which support the capital; and these four lower brackets, making part of the disc and jutting forth from it, form the base and foot of the entire column. In the spaces between the figures on the upper bevelled slope of the disc, ornaments with the attributes of the elements are carved—for the earth a growth of acanthus-leaves, for the water a dolphin, for the air an eagle, for the fire a vase with flames. Full of goodwill, I put my hand to the work with new hopefulness. I remember those days of a new awakening within me of interest in my art, and trust in Providence for the support of my little family, which had been increased by the birth of Luisina, dear little angel, whom God took to Himself again, now some four years ago. In going from us, she left behind her the memory of her rare virtues, that softens the bitterness of our great loss. My poor little angel, pray for us. My eyes are dim with tears, but I feel how true it is that sorrow only rekindles the light of faith.