The Secret of Florio
This story took place in the glorious city of Florence. In what other city could it have happened? After all, we are talking about beautiful statues. And it is Florence that has become world-famous for its great sculptors, painters, and architects.So, in the glorious city of Florence, there lived a young sculptor named Florio. For the statues he carved from marble or cast in bronze, people paid enormous sums of money. Yet, Florio remained a pitiful pauper, almost a beggar. And hardly anyone knew his name.
Instead, the name of his teacher, Master Fabiano, was always on the lips of art connoisseurs. Fabiano had indeed once been a great sculptor and painter. Young artists from all over Italy came to him to learn the craft. But fame went to Fabiano's head. He thought too much about the brilliance of his name and wealth. He sought friendships only with noble lords and even gained the attention of the duke himself. He wielded his chisel or brush less and less often. It was during this time that the fifteen-year-old Florio became his apprentice.
"Tell me, Master," he asked on the first day, "how do you carve a statue so that it is beautiful?"
"Very simple!" laughed Fabiano. "And very difficult. I will answer you with the words of the greatest of masters—the words of Michelangelo himself. Take a block of marble and cut away everything that is unnecessary."
Florio pondered this advice deeply and worked even harder.
A year passed, then a second, and a third. One evening, Fabiano returned late from a noisy carnival and peeked into his workshop. In the far corner, a single candle was burning. By its light, Florio was working. Fabiano approached silently from behind and froze, amazed—the statue emerging from the young man's chisel was so beautiful. Fabiano thought with bitterness that his pupil had surpassed him.
Admiration turned to envy, then fear. He seemed to hear people everywhere talking about Florio, while he, Fabiano, was forgotten. The festive carnival mask slipped from 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 carelessly. "You haven't labored 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 famous names. But I will help you. I agree to carve my name on the pedestal of the statue. I will do more: I will pay you a hundred florins for it, though no fortune-teller could say whether I will even recoup a tenth of that."
"Thank you, teacher!" Florio exclaimed innocently. "How kind you are to me! The best reward for me is that people will see my statue, and perhaps it will bring someone joy."
"If you continue to work just as well, I may agree to put my name on other statues. And for each of them, I will generously pay you a hundred florins. But remember, no one must know of our agreement."
"I swear by my chisel," the young man replied, "no one will hear of it from my lips."
And so, Florio remained poor and unknown, while Fabiano's fame shone with a new, bright light.
Florio had a friend—a young poet named Simone. Though one worked with a chisel and the other wove words into intricate patterns of verse, their thoughts were as close as blood brothers. They spent long hours together, walking in the outskirts of Florence. Simone often read his own poems and those of other poets, while Florio always spoke of the works of other masters and never of his own.
And Simone often wondered why Florio, who was as sensitive as a fine string to beauty, languished as an apprentice and, it seemed, created nothing himself. He was also puzzled by something else.
"In the name of Bacchus—the god of merriment—explain to me how this courtly sycophant Fabiano can extract statues full of life and thought from marble! I tell you, Florio, there is some mystery here."
Florio only smiled sadly in response.
But one day, something happened. Florio had arranged to meet Simone, but the poet did not come at the appointed hour. Simone had just composed a new sonnet and was eager to read it to his friend. So, without much thought, Simone went to Fabiano's workshop. However, the doors were locked. Then Simone remembered that there was supposedly a second entrance for servants. He entered through the inner courtyard with a fountain, climbed a narrow staircase to the gallery, and entered the house through the kitchen. He did not encounter a single living soul, and the workshop was empty. Yet, Simone felt that someone was in the house. Passing through many rooms and corridors, he entered an annex in the farthest corner of the building.
Finally, Simone unraveled the mystery of Florio and Fabiano.
Florio stood before a statue. It seemed to be finished. But Florio kept touching the white stone with his chisel again and again. And each time, Simone was struck by the necessity of the lines he drew. The statue depicted a girl, almost a child, looking into a mirror. Her face, hands, shoulders—everything spoke of her anticipation of happiness, though she herself did not yet know what that happiness would be. The statue was unlike anything Simone had ever seen, yet it was as if it were the sister of all those statues that had brought true fame to Fabiano, on which his name was inscribed.
"Now I know the truth!" Simone exclaimed. "What a scoundrel he is!"
Florio turned around and paled.
"I beg you, be silent if you do not wish to make me a dishonorable man. I swore to him to keep the agreement sacred."
"But you told me nothing. I saw it myself," Simone objected.
"Fabiano will never believe that," Florio shook his head.
And he pleaded with his friend so earnestly 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 wished could come to see it. On Wednesday, exactly at noon, he would unveil it.
On Wednesday, exactly at noon, many people gathered in Fabiano's workshop. There were artists, musicians, and noble citizens. The duke himself, with his courtiers, came to see the sculptor's new work. Simone, of course, was there too. And standing apart from everyone was the unknown apprentice Florio. Many of those present did not even know his name.
Then Fabiano pulled the cloth off the statue. The crowd in the workshop froze in admiration. The duke spoke first, as he was the most noble and it was fitting for him to have the first word.
"I thank you, my Fabiano, for the joy you have given 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. It only lacks the ability to speak."
"Oh, Your Majesty, I am delighted by your praise," Fabiano replied, bowing low to the duke. "I flatter myself that this praise is deserved. If the statue could indeed speak, it would tell of the many sleepless nights and days of labor it cost its creator."
Everyone burst into applause at this short speech, full of modest dignity. Only Simone did not applaud. He looked at his friend. Florio's eyes were filled with tears. Then Simone stepped forward and addressed the statue:
*From the gentle face flows a quiet light...*
*You are youth, and dream, and mystery,*
*In vain you seek an answer in the mirror,*
*The riddle of your unexpected beauty.*
*And we stand, a bewildered crowd,*
*Gazing at the marble creation.*
*Tell us, silent one, reveal,*
*Whose creation are you?*
And suddenly, the statue spoke. It did not move. Only its curved lips, like a bowstring, slightly parted. The statue said:
*In the silence of nights, a slow chisel*
*Brought me from stone to light.*
*Not Fabiano, no, Florio is my father,*
*The unknown Florio, though he remains silent about it.*
After uttering these words, the statue closed its lips. But then, in angry voices, other statues, its sisters and brothers, cried out: *Erase this unheard-of shame from us! Florio created us! And Fabiano is a thief!*
And again, silence fell in the workshop. Everyone stood as if struck by thunder. Then they looked around, searching for Fabiano with their eyes. But he was no longer in the room. Whether he fled from the reproaches of his guilty conscience or feared the duke's deserved wrath and the contempt of his fellow citizens—no one knows. Only no one ever saw him again.
"Florio! Evviva Florio! Long live Florio!" the crowd in the workshop shouted in unison.
And the duke said:
"Who grazes his sheep on another's pasture will sooner or later lose the entire flock. All foxes will one day meet in the furrier's shop. If the devil hides his horns, his tail will give him away; if he tucks his tail, his hooves will betray him. Let the scoundrel Fabiano now repeat these proverbs to himself."
"But explain to me, Simone, what power made the marble speak? I thought there were no miracles in our enlightened age."
Simone replied.
"But there was no miracle here! Look at the statues, Your Majesty. They are silent, but even now they cry out about who carved them. Every true work of art, be it a painting, sculpture, or music, speaks with the voice of its creator. I merely tried to make that language more audible."
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