Читать книгу Thoughts on Art and Autobiographical Memoirs of Giovanni Duprè - Giovanni Duprè - Страница 10

A DROP TOO MUCH.

I have just said that when we returned to the ship after having got hold of the woman who was drowning, we drank some pipiona wine; and now I must stop and put others who may intend to drink of this pipiona on their guard. It is wretched wine, or perhaps we drank a drop too much, for we, who might have had the medal awarded to courage, went home almost drunk. And whereas an hour before we had been honoured and applauded, on our return we ran the risk of being scorned. So it is; a drop of wine too much may serve one such a turn that I, as a good Christian, warn my equals, and especially inexperienced young men who find themselves in the company of merry companions, against it.

I returned to Florence, and never heard anything more of my Livornese friends. Part of them were in Magagnini's shop, who was then a cabinet-maker, and is now a much-esteemed architect. Others—and amongst these Braccio di Ferro—were with Ricciardelli, cabinet-maker in Via dell'Angiolo. I returned home, therefore, and found the mother always dear and loving, who clasped me in her arms. The day following, I went back to the shop so brisk and well that the principal and all the men were rejoiced.

ATANASIO DUPRÈ'S DEATH.

About this time my uncle, on my father's side, Atanasio Duprè, provost at San Piero di Bagno, died. They wrote to us from there to bring my father to take possession of the inheritance of his brother; and as he was in Rome, by my mother's advice I left at once for Bagno. According to my habit, and also to save a few soldi, I left towards evening on foot, and walked all night. It was winter, beautiful weather, cold, and with clear moonlight. In the middle of the night I met no one, and only towards daybreak some few carts passed me near Borgo alla Collina and Bibbiena, where I stopped at the inn, as I could not go on any farther, having come thirty-six miles without halting. I rested there some hours; but in order to pursue my journey, I hired a mount and guide, because it was necessary to go along the dry river-bed of the Corsalone for some miles, and cross it several times. Through this plain, which was flooded over at times, the river ordinarily kept to a narrow tortuous channel, which, seen from the heights of Bibbiena, produced a wonderful effect. It looked like an enormous serpent with golden scales when lighted up by the rays of the sun. Having gone over this strange and fatiguing road, leaving to the right La Vernia, abode and sanctuary of the "poor one" of Assisi, I mounted the Apennines, and descended again, arriving towards evening at San Piero di Bagno. I went at once to my poor uncle's residence, where I found a woman and some priests, who showed me our inheritance. It was little enough, to speak truly—some modest furniture, a little linen, and a little money. What was really of value was the library; but this he had left to the Eremo of Camaldoli, from whence it originally came, as, at the time of the suppression of convents, he had taken it to save it from the thieving hands of the governors and partisans of Napoleon I.

In order to understand how my uncle was able to save a great part of the books and precious manuscripts belonging to the library at Camaldoli, it is enough to know that he was one of the fathers of that hermitage, and when at the suppression they were all expelled, my uncle became a priest, and was made provost of San Piero di Bagno, where he remained until his death.

A GROUP OF THE HOLY FAMILY.

My father hastened at once to Florence, where I found him at home, after I had stopped a few days at San Piero. He went there and took possession of those few things, and afterwards returned to Florence, and from that time forward never left it. He opened a little shop himself, and I used to help him in spare moments with certain kinds of work that he was unable to do—such as little figures, animals, and other things. It is a great comfort to me to remember those days. I had the will and the ability to help my father to do work that was appreciated and liked as if it were really his, and so increase his reputation and obtain his affection. It happened once, however, that a most miserable man took advantage of my father's good faith about a piece of work that had cost me not a little time and study. This was what occurred:—

One day a man presented himself to my father, and said that he had a commission to have a group made in wood of not very large dimensions, that should represent the Sacred Family—the Virgin Mary, St. Joseph, the Infant Jesus, and St. John—and that it had come into his head to come to him, whom he knew to be so clever at figure-work. My father tried in some way to excuse himself, feeling that the work would be a long one, and not wishing to take too much advantage of my hours of rest and study. But there was no way of avoiding it, and he had to yield and take the order for this work, without even speaking of the price, "for" (so said this man) "the person who gives the order is both intelligent and rich, and will not question the price." Having pledged himself in this way, he spoke to me about it, and said, "Here is a fine opportunity. It is true you will have to work hard, but you will be recompensed. The money for this will belong entirely to you, as I can do absolutely nothing on it." I said yes, to satisfy him; but in reality I intended to leave the gain to him, only taking something not to humiliate him.

THE GROUP IS STOLEN.

The work was begun: I made a little model in clay, gave it a great deal of study, and took much interest in it. I got on with it very well, but slowly, as is natural; and the man in question came almost every week to see it and hurry on the work, saying the person who had given the commission was most desirous of seeing it, and that we must let him know when it would be in a condition to be seen—in brief, when the little group would be nearly finished. To say the truth, it was entirely finished; but as then a doubt came up as to whether, in order to finish it entirely, it would be well to put the lamb at St. John's feet, and as he would not decide upon so important a matter, he proposed to my father—I was not present—to show it to the person who had commissioned it at his house, as he could not come to see it at the shop; and he also congratulated my father on his work, which he felt sure was most praiseworthy. "The house is not far off—a mere step or two for me there and back—and so the question about the lamb will be decided." So saying, he took the little group, wrapped it up in a handkerchief, and begging my father not to move from the shop, that on his return he might not be kept outside waiting with the group, he went away, and never more was seen.

I need not say how my father felt: as for me, for more than a year my fixed idea was, could I but only meet the man who had robbed me! I looked for him in the streets, in the market-places, in the churches—yes, even in the churches. For had he not stolen a Holy Family from me? He might also steal a lamp or a candle hung before some image. The ardent desire I felt to find the thief, was not to put him into the hands of justice—for, more than the actual loss of the money, I felt roused by the insult and mockery of it. I wanted to teach him what a lamb was! I! yes indeed; for although I was young then, I was not at all weak, and there was more than enough strength in me to break his nose and give him a black eye. I foresaw all the consequences, even to my imprisonment, which would undoubtedly have followed, for I was fully aware that one cannot administer justice on one's own account. It did not matter to me; I felt I must break his nose with my own fists! As these were my thoughts then, I am obliged to narrate them as they are, though God forgive me! All this, however, was useless, for I never saw him again.

DESCRIPTION OF THE GROUP.

As wood is not wax, this group must be somewhere now, and will last for some time to come; so I leave the description of it, that he who is the present owner may know that its first possessor was a thief.

The little group is a little more than a palm in height; it is of linden wood, and is composed of four figures in high relief. The Madonna is seated, with the infant Jesus in her arms, who, with both His arms around the Virgin's neck, is in the act of reaching up to kiss her, and she presses Him to her bosom with one hand, whilst the other hangs down on her left side. St. Joseph is bent forward and kneeling, with an expression of love and adoration; and little St. John, also on his knees, behind the Virgin, is pulling aside her mantle that he may see this touching scene. St. Joseph is at the right and St. John on the left of the Virgin.