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MY MOTIVE FOR WRITING THESE MEMOIRS—MY FATHER'S FAMILY—REMOVAL OF THE FAMILY TO FLORENCE—MY CHILDHOOD—MY FATHER TAKES ME TO PISTOIA, BUT I RUN AWAY FROM HIS HOUSE TO RETURN TO MY MOTHER—FROM PISTOIA I GO WITH MY FATHER TO PRATO—MY FIRST STUDY IN DRAWING—STRONG IMPRESSION MADE UPON ME BY AN OLD PRINT—MY FATHER'S OPPOSITION TO MY STUDIES—MY SORROW AT BEING SO FAR FROM MY MOTHER—I RUN THE RISK OF BEING BURNT—HAVING GROWN TALL, FEARS ARE ENTERTAINED FOR MY HEALTH—I RETURN TO MY MOTHER AT FLORENCE AND WORK WITH AMMANATI—I GO TO SIENA AND STUDY ORNATE DESIGN IN THE ACADEMY—CARLO PINI GIVES ME LESSONS IN DRAWING THE HUMAN FIGURE—SIGNOR ANGELO BARBETTI'S PROPHECY—I RUN AWAY FROM SIENA, AND ON FOOT GO TO MY MOTHER AT FLORENCE—SIGNOR PAOLO SANI—DEATH OF MY SISTER CLEMENTINA—MY MOTHER'S INFIRMITY OF EYESIGHT—MY BROTHER LORENZO GOES TO THE POORHOUSE—MY AVERSION TO LEARN READING AND WRITING—MY FIRST LIBRARY, AND INEXPERIENCE OF BOOKS.

I have often thought that perhaps it would be well for me to leave some written memoirs of my life—not only for the sake of my family, but also for the young artists of the future; but I have hitherto been deterred from so doing by the fear lest I might seem to have been prompted by pride and vanity. Since, however, various notices of my life and my doings in art have been made public, it may not be either without interest, or indeed without a certain utility, if I venture now to speak at length on these subjects; for it seems to me that these memoirs may not only serve as an encouragement to timid but well-disposed youths, but may at the same time be a severe admonition to those who, presuming too much on themselves, imagine that with little study and great boldness they can wing their way up the steps of Art instead of laboriously climbing them.

MY FATHER'S FAMILY.

My father was Francesco Duprè, the youngest son of Lorenzo Duprè, who came to Siena with the princes of Lorraine. My grandfather kept a draper's shop in the Piazza del Campo, where at first, through his activity and honesty, his business so prospered that he was able to give his family a good education; and my father was just entering on the course of studies that his brothers had already finished, when my grandfather, through the ignorance and bad faith of his debtors and his own determination to be honest himself, was reduced to poverty. In consequence of this, my father was obliged to discontinue his studies, and to set to work to learn a trade, in order that he might earn his bread as soon as possible; and thinking to derive some advantage from the studies he had already made in drawing, he apprenticed himself to a wood-carver. Later he married Victoria Lombardi of Siena, and she was my mother. I was born on the 1st of March 1817, in Via San Salvadore, in the Contrada dell'Onda, and lived in Siena until I was four years old. My family then removed to Florence, where my father went, at the request of the wood-carver, Signor Paolo Sani, to help him in the execution of some intaglio decorations in the Palazzo Borghese, which the Prince was anxious to have finished within the shortest possible time. My recollections of those early days are not worth recording. I grew up from a little boy going with my father to the shop. I had a few lessons in the Catechism and in reading from a schoolmistress who lodged in our house. In the evening my babbo[1] used to read and explain some Latin book (I do not remember what it was), perhaps for the innocent satisfaction of letting us know that he had studied that language, but certainly with no profit to me, who understood nothing and was greatly bored. When, however, he gave me some of his designs of ornamentation, such as leaves, arabesques, and friezes, to copy, I was very happy. The time passed without my knowing it; and such was my delight in this occupation, that I often put off the hour of supper or sleep and gave up any amusement for it. At home we lived very poorly. My father earned little, for his work was badly paid, and by nature he was slow. This poverty of our daily life began to disturb the relations between my father and mother. The family had increased, and besides my eldest sister Clementina, who died soon afterwards, were born Lorenzo and Maddalena. I remember the sharpness of the tones, but not the sense of the words that passed between my parents; and the tears of my mother and sullen silence of my father frightened us little ones, and filled us with sadness.

FAMILY AND CHILDHOOD.

It was impossible that such a state of things could last long, and my father decided to leave Florence and go to Pistoia, where he thought he could earn more money. I was destined to follow him, while the others remained with my mother. For more than three years I stayed with him. My life was sad for me here, as the distance from my mother made it almost unbearable; and all the more so because my father, whenever he went to Florence to see her, as he sometimes did, always left me behind him, alone, at Pistoia. Once, when I was barely seven years old, I ran away from the house, and went on foot to Florence, although I knew for a certainty that I should have to pay dearly for the kisses and caresses of my mother by a thrashing from the babbo. Nor was I mistaken: I got the thrashing, and was brought back.