No sooner had I left off school, being then well
on in my teens, than my father and his friends
began to discuss what he should have me taught
next. Most of them thought that higher education
required great labour, much time, considerable
expense, and conspicuous social position, while our
circumstances were but moderate and demanded .
speedy relief; but that if I were to learn one of
the handicrafts, in the first place I myself would
immediately receive my support from the trade
instead of continuing to share the family table at
my age; besides, at no distant day I would delight
my father by bringing home my earnings regularly.

 

The next topic for discussion was opened by
raising the question, which of the trades was best,
easiest to learn, suitable for a man of free birth,
required an outfit that was easy to come by, and
offered an income that was sufficient. Each praised
a different trade, according to his own judgement or
experience ; but my father looked at my uncle (for
among the company was my uncle on my mother’s
side, who had the reputation of being an excellent.
sculptor) and said: “It isn’t right that any other

 

trade should have the preference while you are by.
Come, take this lad in hand’—with a gesture
toward me—“and teach him to be a good stone-cutter, mason, and sculptor, for he is capable of it,
since, as you know, he has a natural gift for it.”’
He drew this inference from the way in which I
had played with wax; for whenever my teachers
dismissed me I would scrape the wax from my
tablets and model cattle or horses or even men, and’
they were true to life, my father thought. I used
to get thrashings from my teachers on account of
them, but at that time they brought me praise for
my cleverness, and good hopes were entertained of
me, on the ground that I would soon learn the trade,
to judge from that modelling.
 

So, as soon as it seemed to be a suitable day to
begin a trade, I was turned over to my uncle, and I
was not greatly displeased with the arrangement, I
assure you; on the contrary, I thought it involved
interesting play of a sort, and a chance to show off
to my schoolmates if I should turn out to be carving
gods and fashioning little figures for myself and for
those I liked best. Then came the first step and
the usual experience of beginners. My uncle gave
me a chisel and told me to strike a light blow on a
slab that lay at hand, adding the trite quotation:
“Well begun, half done.” But in my inexperience
I struck too hard; the slab broke, and in a gust of
anger he seized a stick that lay close by and put me
through an initiation of no gentle or encouraging
sort, so that tears were the overture to my apprenticeship.
 
I ran away from the place and came home sobbing
continuously, with my eyes abrim with tears. I told

 

about the stick, showed the welts and charged my
uncle with great cruelty, adding that he did it out of
jealousy, for fear that I should get ahead of him in
his trade. My mother comforted me and roundly
abused her brother, but when night came on, I fell
asleep, still tearful and thinking of the stick.
 
Up to this point my story has been humorous and
childish, but what you shall hear next, gentlemen,
is not to be made light of; it deserves a very
receptive audience. The fact is that, to use the
words of Homer,

 a god-sent vision appeared unto me in my slumber
Out of immortal night, Iliad2, 56. 


so vivid as not to fall short of reality in any way.
Indeed, even after all this time, the figures that I
saw continue to abide in my eyes and the words that
I heard in my ears, so plain was it all.