This story happened in the glorious city of Florence. In what other city could it happen? We're talking about beautiful statues. But it was Florence that became famous throughout the world for its great sculptors, artists and architects.
So, the young sculptor Florio lived in the glorious city of Florence. Huge sums of money were paid for the statues he carved from marble or cast from bronze. Meanwhile, Florio remained a pitiful poor man, almost a beggar. And almost no one knew his name.
But the name of his teacher, Master Fabiano, never left the lips of art connoisseurs. Fabiano was indeed once a good sculptor and painter. Young artists came to him from all over Italy to learn his craft. But fame went to Fabiano's head. He thought too much about the brilliance of his name and wealth. He tried to make friends only with noble lords and obtained signs of attention even from the Duke himself. He took up a chisel or brush less and less often. At this time, the fifteen-year-old young man Florio became his student.
“Tell me, master,” he asked on the first day, “how to sculpt a statue so that it is beautiful?”
- Very simple! – Fabiano laughed. - And it’s very difficult. I will answer you in the words of the greatest of masters - the words of Michelangelo himself. Take a block of marble and cut off everything unnecessary from it.
Florio thought a lot about this advice, and worked even harder.
A year passed, a second and a third. One day Fabiano, returning late in the evening from a noisy carnival, looked into his workshop. A lone candle burned in the far corner. Florio worked in its light, Fabiano silently approached from behind and froze, delighted - the sculpture that emerged from under the young man’s chisel was so beautiful. Fabiano thought with bitterness that the student was ahead of him.
Admiration gave way to envy, then fear. It was as if he heard people talking about Florio everywhere, but they were silent about him, Fabiano. The cheerful carnival mask fell out of his hands. Florio shuddered and turned around. Seeing Fabiano, he bowed and said:
- Look, master! Have I achieved anything?
“Well, the work is not bad,” Fabiano replied casually. “You didn’t work in vain.” But trust my experience. No one will want to look at the creations of an unknown artist, no matter how good they are. The crowd worships big names. But I will help you. I agree to have my name carved on the pedestal of the statue. I will do more: I will pay you a hundred florins for it, although no soothsayer can tell whether I will get even a tenth of it.
- Thank you, teacher! - exclaimed Florio innocently. - How kind you are to me! The best reward for me is that people will see my statue and maybe it will bring joy to someone.
“If you work just as well, I’ll probably agree to put my name on other statues.” And for each of them I will generously pay you one hundred florins. But remember, no one should know about our agreement.
“I swear by my chisel,” answered the young man, “no one will hear about this from my lips.”
That's why Florio remained poor and unknown, while Fabiano's fame shone in a new bright light.
Florio had a friend - the young poet Simone. Although one worked as a chisel, and the second weaved words into intricate patterns of poetry, they were close in thoughts, like blood brothers. They spent long hours together walking around Florence. Simone often read his own poems and those of other poets, but Florio always talked about the works of other masters and never about his own.
And Simone asked himself more than once why Florio, who, like a sensitive string, responds to beauty, vegetates as an apprentice and, apparently, does not create anything himself. He was also surprised by something else.
“In the name of Bacchus, the god of fun, explain to me how this court dish-licker Fabiano can extract statues full of life and thought from marble!”
I'm telling you, Florio, there's a secret here.
Florio only smiled sadly in response.
But one day this happened. Florio agreed to meet with Simone, but he did not come at the appointed time. And Simone had just composed a new sonnet and definitely wanted to read it to his friend. And so, without thinking twice, Simone went to Fabiano’s workshop. However, the workshop doors were locked. Then Simone remembered that there was also a second passage in the house, for the servants. He walked into the courtyard with the fountain, climbed the narrow stairs to the gallery and entered the house through the kitchen. Not a single living soul came across him, and the workshop was empty. And yet Simone felt that there was someone in the house. After passing through many rooms and corridors, he entered the annex, located in the farthest corner of the building.
Finally, Simone unraveled the mystery of Florio and Fabiano.
Florio stood in front of the statue. It seemed to be already finished. But Florio touched the white stone with his chisel again and again. And every time Simone was amazed at the necessity of the drawn line. The statue depicted a girl, almost a girl, looking in the mirror. Her face, arms, shoulders - everything said that she had a presentiment of happiness, without yet knowing what this happiness would be like. The statue was unlike any creation Simone had ever seen, and at the same time it was like the sister of all those statues that brought real fame to Fabiano and on which his name stood.
– Now I know the truth! - Simone exclaimed. - What a scoundrel he is!
Florio looked around and turned pale.
“I beg you, be silent, if you do not want to make me a dishonest person.” I swore to him to sacredly abide by the agreement.
- But you didn’t tell me anything. “I saw it myself,” Simone objected.
“Fabiano will never believe this,” Florio shook his head.
And he so asked his friend to keep the accidentally revealed secret that Simone agreed.
A week later, Fabiano announced to the Florentines that he had completed a new statue and that anyone who wanted could come and see it. On Wednesday, at exactly twelve o'clock, he will remove the covers from her.
On Wednesday, at exactly twelve o'clock, a lot of people gathered in Fabiano's workshop. There were artists, musicians, and noble citizens. The Duke himself and his courtiers came to see the sculptor’s new work. Simone was here, of course. And away from everyone stood the unknown apprentice Florio. Many of those present did not even know his name.
Here Fabiano pulled off the canvas covering the statue. The crowd gathered in the workshop froze in admiration. The Duke spoke first, because he was the most noble, and it was fitting for him to say the first word.
“Thank you, my Fabiano, for the joy you brought us.” The sly charm of this girl takes us back to the distant days of our youth, when everything was still ahead of us and everything was unknown and alluring. Your statue is full of life. All that's missing is for her to speak.
“Oh, Your Majesty, I am happy with your praise,” answered Fabiano, bowing low to the Duke. “I flatter myself that this is well-deserved praise.” If the statue could really speak, it would tell how many sleepless nights and days full of labor it cost its creator.
Everyone burst into applause in response to this short speech, full of modest dignity. Only Simone did not applaud. He looked at his friend. Florio's eyes were full of tears. Then Simone stepped forward and addressed the statue:
A quiet light flows from a gentle face...
You are youth, and a dream, and a mystery, You are looking in vain for the answer in the mirror, The answer to your unexpected beauty.
And we stand in an embarrassed crowd, looking at the marble statue.
Tell us, silent one, open, Whose creation are you?
And suddenly the statue spoke. She didn't make a single move. She only slightly opened her lips, curved like an arrow’s bow. The statue said:
In the silence of the night, a slow chisel brought me out of the stone into the light.
Not Fabiano, no, Florio is my father, the Unknown Florio, although he is silent about it.
Having uttered these words, the statue closed its lips. But then the other statues, her sisters and brothers, shouted in angry voices: Erase the unheard-of shame from us! Florio created us! And Fabiano is a thief!
And again there was silence in the workshop. Everyone stood as if struck by thunder. Then they looked around, looking for Fabiano. But he was no longer in the room. Whether he fled from the reproaches of his bad conscience, whether he was afraid of the duke’s well-deserved anger and the contempt of his fellow citizens is unknown. Only no one ever saw him again.
- Florio! Evviva Florio! Long live Florio! – those gathered in the workshop shouted in unison.
And the Duke said:
– Whoever grazes his sheep in someone else’s pasture will sooner or later lose his entire flock. All foxes will one day meet in a furrier's shop. If the devil covers his horns, his tail will give him away; if he picks up his tail, he will be recognized by his hooves. Let the scoundrel Fabiano now repeat these sayings to himself.
But explain to me, Simone, with what power did you make the marble speak? I thought that in our enlightened age miracles do not happen.
Simone replied.
– But there was no miracle here! Look at the statues, Your Majesty. They are silent, but even now they shout about who sculpted them. Every true work of art, be it a painting, sculpture, music, speaks in the voice of its creator. I only tried to make this language more intelligible.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru