His life was devoted with passion to art. He had from the start
no time for frivolity. Art became his religion--and required of
him the sacrifice of all that might keep him below his highest
level of power for work. His father early warned him to have a
care for his health, 'for,' said he, 'in your profession, if
once you were to fall ill you would be a ruined man.' To one so
intent on perfection and so keenly alive to imperfection such
advice must have been nearly superfluous, for the artist could
not but observe the effect upon his work of any depression of
his bodily well-being. He was, besides, too thrifty in all
respects to think of lapsing into bodily neglect or abuse. He
was severely temperate, but not ascetic, save in those times
when devotion to work caused him to sleep with his clothes on,
that he might not lose time in seizing the chisel when he
awoke. He ate to live and to labor, and was pleased with a
present of 'fifteen marzolino cheeses and fourteen pounds of
sausage--the latter very welcome, as was also the cheese.' Over
a gift of choice wines he is not so enthusiastic and the
bottles found their way mostly to the tables of his friends and
patrons. When intent on some work he usually 'confined his diet
to a piece of bread which he ate in the middle of his labors.'
Few hours (we have no accurate statement in the matter) were
devoted to sleep. He ate comparatively little because he worked
better: he slept less than many men because he worked better in
consequence. Partly for protection against cold, partly perhaps
for economy of time, he sometimes left his high dog-skin boots
on for so long that when he removed them the scarf skin came
away like the skin of a moulting serpent.
