It is like a jam of people all trying at once to get through a door: they get so wedged in that none can go through.

But the dome on the Cathedral of Florence was to be so big no one knew how to hold it up while it was being built. It would have taken a whole forest of trees to build a big enough framework underneath. Some one said, “Let’s pile up a mountain of dirt and put pennies all through the dirt, then build the dome on top of this mountain. After the dome has been built people will cart away the dirt in order to get the money out of the dirt and that will leave the dome standing alone.” But this very foolish scheme was never tried.

At last two artists who were rivals said they knew a way to build the dome, but neither one would tell how he would do it. One artist was named Brunelleschi. As Brunelleschi is such a long name, I’m going to call him Mr. B. for short. The other artist was named Ghiberti, and I shall call him Mr. G. Mr. B. got the job and Mr. G. was made his helper. Mr. G. didn’t like to be only a helper, so he went about saying that Mr. B. did not really know how to build the dome at all, and would never finish it.

Mr. B. and his men went on with the work for some time, until the sides of the dome reached the place where the stones had to be built over the center to cover the vast space beneath. This was the hard part, for the sides of the dome had to meet in the middle with nothing underneath to hold them up. Mr. G. kept on with his talking against Mr. B. , and even made fun of him, until Mr. B. , tired of being nagged in this way, made believe he was sick and stopped work. Time went on and Mr. B. staid home—still sick—and the dome stood unfinished. Mr. G. said, “Oh, Mr. B. isn’t really sick; he is only making believe he is sick—as a school-boy sometimes does—because he doesn’t know how to go on.” So the people of Florence went to Mr. B. s house and begged him to go on with the dome.