Note 1. Torrigiani worked in fact for Henry VIII., and his monument to
Henry VII. still exists in the Lady Chapel of Westminster Abbey. From
England he went to Spain, where he modelled a statue of the Virgin for a
great nobleman. Not receiving the pay he expected, he broke his work to
pieces; for which act of sacrilege the Inquisition sent him to prison,
where he starved himself to death in 1522. Such at least is the legend
of his end.
Note 2. The cartoons to which Cellini here alludes were made by Michel
Angelo and Lionardo for the decoration of the Sala del Gran Consiglio in
the Palazzo Vecchio at Florence. Only the shadows of them remain to this
day; a part of Michel Angelo’s, engraved by Schiavonetti, and a
transcript by Rubens from Lionardo’s, called the Battle of the Standard.
Note 3. The Sistine Chapel in the Vatican.
XIII
NOW let us return to Piero Torrigiani, who, with my drawing in his hand,
spoke as follows: “This Buonarroti and I used, when we were boys, to go
into the Church of the Carmine, to learn drawing from the chapel of
Masaccio. [1] It was Buonarroti’s habit to banter all who were drawing
there; and one day, among others, when he was annoying me, I got more
angry than usual, and clenching my fist, gave him such a blow on the
nose, that I felt bone and cartilage go down like biscuit beneath my
knuckles; and this mark of mine he will carry with him to the grave.”
[2] These words begat in me such hatred of the man, since I was always
gazing at the masterpieces of the divine Michel Agnolo, that although I
felt a wish to go with him to England, I now could never bear the sight
of him.
All the while I was at Florence, I studied the noble manner of Michel
Agnolo, and from this I have never deviated. About that time I
contracted a close and familiar friendship with an amiable lad of my own
age, who was also in the goldsmith’s trade. He was called Francesco, son
of Filippo, and grandson of Fra Lippo Lippi, that most excellent
painter. [3] Through intercourse together, such love grew up between us
that, day or night, we never stayed apart. The house where he lived was
still full of the fine studies which his father had made, bound up in
several books of drawings by his hand, and taken from the best
antiquities of Rome. The sight of these things filled me with passionate
enthusiasm; and for two years or thereabouts we lived in intimacy. At
that time I fashioned a silver bas-relief of the size of a little
child’s hand. It was intended for the clasp to a man’s belt; for they
were then worn as large as that. I carved on it a knot of leaves in the
antique style, with figures of children and other masks of great beauty.
This piece I made in the workshop of one Francesco Salimbene; and on its
being exhibited to the trade, the goldsmiths praised me as the best
young craftsman of their art.
There was one Giovan Battista, surnamed Il Tasso, a wood-carver,
precisely of my own age, who one day said to me that if I was willing to
go to Rome, he should be glad to join me. [4] Now we had this
conversation together immediately after dinner; and I being angry with
my father for the same old reason of the music, said to Tasso: “You are
a fellow of words, not deeds.” He answered: “I too have come to anger
with my mother; and if I had cash enough to take me to Rome, I would not
turn back to lock the door of that wretched little workshop I call
mine.” To these words I replied that if that was all that kept him in
Florence I had money enough in my pockets to bring us both to Rome.
Talking thus and walking onwards, we found ourselves at the gate San
Piero Gattolini without noticing that we had got there; whereupon I
said: “Friend Tasso, this is God’s doing that we have reached this gate
without either you or me noticing that we were there; and now that I am
here, it seems to me that I have finished half the journey.” And so,
being of one accord, we pursued our way together, saying, “Oh, what will
our old folks say this evening?” We then made an agreement not to think
more about them till we reached Rome. So we tied our aprons behind our
backs, and trudged almost in silence to Siena. When we arrived at Siena,
Tasso said (for he had hurt his feet) that he would not go farther, and
asked me to lend him money to get back. I made answer: “I should not
have enough left to go forward; you ought indeed to have thought of this
on leaving Florence; and if it is because of your feet that you shirk
the journey, we will find a return horse for Rome, which will deprive
you of the excuse.” Accordingly I hired a horse; and seeing that he did
not answer, I took my way toward the gate of Rome. When he knew that I
was firmly resolved to go, muttering between his teeth, and limping as
well as he could, he came on behind me very slowly and at a great
distance. On reaching the gate, I felt pity for my comrade, and waited
for him, and took him on the crupper, saying: “What would our friends
speak of us to-morrow, if, having left for Rome, we had not pluck to get
beyond Siena?” Then the good Tasso said I spoke the truth; and as he was
a pleasant fellow, he began to laugh and sing; and in this way, always
singing and laughing, we travelled the whole way to Rome. I had just
nineteen years then, and so had the century.
When we reached Rome, I put myself under a master who was known as Il
Firenzuola. His name was Giovanni, and he came from Firenzuola in
Lombardy, a most able craftsman in large vases and big plate of that
kind. I showed him part of the model for the clasp which I had made in
Florence at Salimbene’s. It pleased him exceedingly; and turning to one
of his journeymen, a Florentine called Giannotto Giannotti, who had been
several years with him, he spoke as follows: “This fellow is one of the
Florentines who know something, and you are one of those who know
nothing.” Then I recognised the man, and turned to speak with him; for
before he went to Rome, we often went to draw together, and had been
very intimate comrades. He was so put out by the words his master flung
at him, that he said he did not recognise me or know who I was;
whereupon I got angry, and cried out: “O Giannotto, you who were once my
friend-for have we not been together in such and such places, and drawn,
and ate, and drunk, and slept in company at your house in the country? I
don’t want you to bear witness on my behalf to this worthy man, your
master, because I hope my hands are such that without aid from you they
will declare what sort of a fellow I am.”
Note 1. The Chapel of the Carmine, painted in fresco by Masaccio and
some other artist, possibly Filippino Lippi, is still the most important
monument of Florentine art surviving from the period preceding Raphael.
Note 2. The profile portraits of Michel Angelo Buonarroti confirm this
story. They show the bridge of his nose bent in an angle, as though it
had been broken.
Note 3. Fra Filippo Lippi was a Carmelite monk, whose frescoes at Prato
and Spoleta and oil-paintings in Florence and elsewhere are among the
most genial works of the pre-Raphaelite Renaissance. Vasari narrates his
love-adventures with Lucrezia Buti, and Robert Browning has drawn a
clever portrait of him in his “Men and Women.” His son, Filippo or
Filippino, was also an able painter, some of whose best work survives in
the Strozzi Chapel of S. Maria Novella at Florence, and in the Church of
S. Maria Sopra Minerva at Rome.
Note 4. Tasso was an able artist, mentioned both by Vasari and Pietro
Aretino. He stood high in the favour of Duke Cosimo de’ Medici, who took
his opinion on the work of other craftsmen.
XIV
WHEN I had thus spoken, Firenzuola, who was a man of hot spirit and
brave, turned to Giannotto, and said to him: “You vile rascal, aren’t
you ashamed to treat a man who has been so intimate a comrade with you
in this way?” And with the same movement of quick feeling, he faced
round and said to me: “Welcome to my workshop; and do as you have
promised; let your hands declare what man you are.”
He gave me a very fine piece of silver plate to work on for a cardinal.
It was a little oblong box, copied from the porphyry sarcophagus before
the door of the Rotonda. Beside what I copied, I enriched it with so
many elegant masks of my invention, that my master went about showing it
through the art, and boasting that so good a piece of work had been
turned out from his shop. [1] It was about half a cubit in size, and was
so constructed as to serve for a salt-cellar at table. This was the
first earning that I touched at Rome, and part of it I sent to assist my
good father; the rest I kept for my own use, living upon it while I went
about studying the antiquities of Rome, until my money failed, and I had
to return to the shop for work. Battista del Tasso, my comrade, did not
stay long in Rome, but went back to Florence.
After undertaking some new commissions, I took it into my head, as soon
as I had finished them, to change my master; I had indeed been worried
into doing so by a certain Milanese, called Pagolo Arsago. [2] My first
master, Firenzuola, had a great quarrel about this with Arsago, and
abused him in my presence; whereupon I took up speech in defence of my
new master. I said that I was born free, and free I meant to live, and
that there was no reason to complain of him, far less of me, since some
few crowns of wages were still due to me; also that I chose to go, like
a free journeyman, where it pleased me, knowing I did wrong to no man.
My new master then put in with his excuses, saying that he had not asked
me to come, and that I should gratify him by returning with Firenzuola.
To this I replied that I was not aware of wronging the latter in any
way, and as I had completed his commissions, I chose to be my own master
and not the man of others, and that he who wanted me must beg me of
myself. Firenzuola cried: “I don’t intend to beg you of yourself; I have
done with you; don’t show yourself again upon my premises.” I reminded
him of the money he owed me. He laughed me in the face; on which I said
that if I knew how to use my tools in handicraft as well as he had seen,
I could be quite as clever with my sword in claiming the just payment of
my labour. While we were exchanging these words, an old man happened to
come up, called Maestro Antonio, of San Marino. He was the chief among
the Roman goldsmiths, and had been Firenzuola’s master. Hearing what I
had to say, which I took good care that he should understand, he
immediately espoused my cause, and bade Firenzuola pay me. The dispute
waxed warm, because Firenzuola was an admirable swordsman, far better
than he was a goldsmith. Yet reason made itself heard; and I backed my
cause with the same spirit, till I got myself paid. In course of time
Firenzuola and I became friends, and at his request I stood godfather to
one of his children.
Note 1. Cellini’s use of the word 'arte' for the 'art' or 'trade' of
goldsmiths corresponds to “the art” as used by English writers early in
this century. See Haydon’s Autobiography, 'passim.'
Note 2. The Italian is 'sobbillato,' which might be also translated
'inveigled' or 'instigated.' But Varchi, the contemporary of Cellini,
gives this verb the force of using pressure and boring on until somebody
is driven to do something.
XV
I WENT on working with Pagolo Arsago, and earned a good deal of money,
the greater part of which I always sent to my good father. At the end of
two years, upon my father’s entreaty, I returned to Florence, and put
myself once more under Francesco Salimbene, with whom I earned a great
deal, and took continual pains to improve in my art. I renewed my
intimacy with Francesco di Filippo; and though I was too much given to
pleasure, owing to that accursed music, I never neglected to devote some
hours of the day or night to study. At that time I fashioned a silver
heart’s-key ('chiavaquore'), as it was then so called. This was a girdle
three inches broad, which used to be made for brides, and was executed
in half relief with some small figures in the round. It was a commission
from a man called Raffaello Lapaccini. I was very badly paid; but the
honour which it brought me was worth far more than the gain I might have
justly made by it. Having at this time worked with many different
persons in Florence, I had come to know some worthy men among the
goldsmiths, as for instance, Marcone, my first master; but I also met
with others reputed honest, who did all they could to ruin me, and
robbed me grossly. When I perceived this, I left their company, and held
them for thieves and black-guards. One of the goldsmiths, called
Giovanbattista Sogliani, kindly accommodated me with part of his shop,
which stood at the side of the New Market near the Landi’s bank. There I
finished several pretty pieces, and made good gains, and was able to
give my family much help. This roused the jealousy of the bad men among
my former masters, who were called Salvadore and Michele Guasconti. In
the guild of the goldsmiths they had three big shops, and drove a
thriving trade. On becoming aware of their evil will against me, I
complained to certain worthy fellows, and remarked that they ought to
have been satisfied with the thieveries they practised on me under the
cloak of hypocritical kindness. This coming to their ears, they
threatened to make me sorely repent of such words; but I, who knew not
what the colour of fear was, paid them little or no heed.
XVI
IT chanced one day that I was leaning against a shop of one of these
men, who called out to me, and began partly reproaching, partly
bullying. I answered that had they done their duty by me, I should have
spoken of them what one speaks of good and worthy men; but as they had
done the contrary, they ought to complain of themselves and not of me.
While I was standing there and talking, one of them, named Gherardo
Guasconti, their cousin, having perhaps been put up to it by them, lay
in wait till a beast of burden went by. [1] It was a load of bricks.
When the load reached me, Gherardo pushed it so violently on my body
that I was very much hurt. Turning suddenly round and seeing him
laughing, I struck him such a blow on the temple that he fell down,
stunned, like one dead. Then I faced round to his cousins, and said:
“That’s the way to treat cowardly thieves of your sort;” and when they
wanted to make a move upon me, trusting to their numbers, I, whose blood
was now well up, laid hands to a little knife I had, and cried: “If one
of you comes out of the shop, let the other run for the confessor,
because the doctor will have nothing to do here.” These words so
frightened them that not one stirred to help their cousin. As soon as I
had gone, the fathers and sons ran to the Eight, and declared that I had
assaulted them in their shops with sword in hand, a thing which had
never yet been seen in Florence. The magistrates had me summoned. I
appeared before them; and they began to upbraid and cry out upon
me-partly, I think, because they saw me in my cloak, while the others
were dressed like citizens in mantle and hood; [2] but also because my
adversaries had been to the houses of those magistrates, and had talked
with all of them in private, while I, inexperienced in such matters, had
not spoken to any of them, trusting in the goodness of my cause. I said
that, having received such outrage and insult from Gherardo, and in my
fury having only given him a box on the ear, I did not think I deserved
such a vehement reprimand. I had hardly time to finish the word box,
before Prinzivalle della Stufa, [3] who was one of the Eight,
interrupted me by saying: “You gave him a blow, and not a box, on the
ear.” The bell was rung and we were all ordered out, when Prinzivalle
spoke thus in my defence to his brother judges: “Mark, sirs, the
simplicity of this poor young man, who has accused himself of having
given a box on the ear, under the impression that this is of less
importance than a blow; whereas a box on the ear in the New Market
carries a fine of twenty-five crowns, while a blow costs little or
nothing. He is a young man of admirable talents, and supports his poor
family by his labour in great abundance; I would to God that our city
had plenty of this sort, instead of the present dearth of them.”
Note 1. The Italian is 'apposto che passassi una soma.' The verb
'appostare' has the double meaning of lying in wait and arranging
something on purpose. Cellini’s words may mean, 'caused a beast of
burden to pass by.'
Note 2. Varchi says that a man who went about with only his cloak or
cape by daytime, if he were not a soldier, was reputed an ill-liver. The
Florentine citizens at this time still wore their ancient civil dress of
the long gown and hood called 'lucco.'
Note 3. This man was an ardent supporter of the Medici, and in 1510
organized a conspiracy in their favour against the Gonfalonier Soderini.
XVII
AMONG the magistrates were some Radical fellows with turned-up hoods,
who had been influenced by the entreaties and the calumnies of my
opponents, because they all belonged to the party of Fra Girolamo; and
these men would have had me sent to prison and punished without too
close a reckoning. [1] But the good Prinzivalle put a stop to that. So
they sentenced me to pay four measures of flour, which were to be given
as alms to the nunnery of the Murate. [2] I was called in again; and he
ordered me not to speak a word under pain of their displeasure, and to
perform the sentence they had passed. Then, after giving me another
sharp rebuke, they sent us to the chancellor; I muttering all the while,
“It was a slap and not a blow,” with which we left the Eight bursting
with laughter. The chancellor bound us over upon bail on both sides; but
only I was punished by having to pay the four measures of meal. Albeit
just then I felt as though I had been massacred, I sent for one of my
cousins, called Maestro Annibale, the surgeon, father of Messer
Librodoro Librodori, desiring that he should go bail for me. [3] He
refused to come, which made me so angry, that, fuming with fury and
swelling like an asp, I took a desperate resolve. At this point one may
observe how the stars do not so much sway as force our conduct. When I
reflected on the great obligations which this Annibale owed my family,
my rage grew to such a pitch that, turning wholly to evil, and being
also by nature somewhat choleric, I waited till the magistrates had gone
to dinner; and when I was alone, and observed that none of their
officers were watching me, in the fire of my anger, I left the palace,
ran to my shop, seized a dagger and rushed to the house of my enemies,
who were at home and shop together. I found them at table; and Gherardo,
who had been the cause of the quarrel, flung himself upon me. I stabbed
him in the breast, piercing doublet and jerkin through and through to
the shirt, without however grazing his flesh or doing him the least harm
in the world. When I felt my hand go in, and heard the clothes tear, I
thought that I had killed him; and seeing him fall terror-struck to
earth, I cried: “Traitors, this day is the day on which I mean to murder
you all.” Father, mother, and sisters, thinking the last day had come,
threw themselves upon their knees, screaming out for mercy with all
their might; but I perceiving that they offered no resistance, and that
he was stretched for dead upon the ground, thought it too base a thing
to touch them. I ran storming down the staircase; and when I reached the
street, I found all the rest of the household, more than twelve persons;
one of them had seized an iron shovel, another a thick iron pipe, one
had an anvil, some of them hammers, and some cudgels. When I got among
them, raging like a mad bull, I flung four or five to the earth, and
fell down with them myself, continually aiming my dagger now at one and
now at another. Those who remained upright plied both hands with all
their force, giving it me with hammers, cudgels, and anvil; but inasmuch
as God does sometime mercifully intervene, He so ordered that neither
they nor I did any harm to one another. I only lost my cap, on which my
adversaries seized, though they had run away from it before, and struck
at it with all their weapons. Afterwards, they searched among their dead
and wounded, and saw that not a single man was injured.
Note 1. Cellini calls these magistrates 'arronzinati cappuccetti,' a
term corresponding to our Roundheads. The democratic or anti-Medicean
party in Florence at that time, who adhered to the republican principles
of Fra Girolamo Savonarola, distinguished themselves by wearing the long
tails of their hoods twisted up and turned round their heads. Cellini
shows his Medicean sympathies by using this contemptuous term, and by
the honourable mention he makes of Prinzivalle della Stufa
Note 2. A convent of closely immured nuns.
Note 3. The word I have translated 'massacred' above is 'assassinato.'
It occurs frequently in Italian of this period, and indicates the
extremity of wrong and outrage.
XVIII
I WENT off in the direction of Santa Maria Novella, and stumbling up
against Fra Alessio Strozzi, whom by the way I did not know, I entreated
this good friar for the love of God to save my life, since I had
committed a great fault. He told me to have no fear; for had I done
every sin in the world, I was yet in perfect safety in his little cell.
After about an hour, the Eight, in an extraordinary meeting, caused one
of the most dreadful bans which ever were heard of to be published
against me, announcing heavy penalties against who should harbour me or
know where I was, without regard to place or to the quality of my
protector. My poor afflicted father went to the Eight, threw himself
upon his knees, and prayed for mercy for his unfortunate young son.
Thereupon one of those Radical fellows, shaking the crest of his twisted
hood, stood up and addressed my father with these insulting words: [1]
“Get up from there, and begone at once, for to-morrow we shall send your
son into the country with the lances.” [2] My poor father had still the
spirit to answer: “What God shall have ordained, that will you do, and
not a jot or little more.” Whereto the same man replied that for certain
God had ordained as he had spoken. My father said: “The thought consoles
me that you do not know for certain;” and quitting their presence, he
came to visit me, together with a young man of my own age, called Pierro
di Giovanni Landi-we loved one another as though we had been brothers.
Under his mantle the lad carried a first-rate sword and a splendid coat
of mail; and when they found me, my brave father told me what had
happened, and what the magistrates had said to him. Then he kissed me on
the forehead and both eyes, and gave me his hearty blessing, saying:
“May the power of goodness of God be your protection;” and reaching me
the sword and armour, he helped me with his own hands to put them on.
Afterwards he added: “Oh, my good son, with these arms in thy hand thou
shalt either live or die.” Pier Landi, who was present, kept shedding
tears; and when he had given me ten golden crowns, I bade him remove a
few hairs from my chin, which were the first down of my manhood. Frate
Alessio disguised me like a friar and gave me a lay brother to go with
me. [3] Quitting the convent, and issuing from the city by the gate of
Prato, I went along the walls as far as the Piazza di San Gallo. Then I
ascended the slope of Montui, and in one of the first houses there I
found a man called Il Grassuccio, own brother to Messer Benedetto da
Monte Varchi. [4] I flung off my monk’s clothes, and became once more a
man. Then we mounted two horses, which were waiting there for us, and
went by night to Siena. Grassuccio returned to Florence, sought out my
father, and gave him the news of my safe escape. In the excess of his
joy, it seemed a thousand years to my father till he should meet the
member of the Eight who had insulted him; and when he came across the
man, he said: “See you, Antonio, that it was God who knew what had to
happen to my son, and not yourself?” To which the fellow answered: “Only
let him get another time into our clutches!” And my father: “I shall
spend my time in thanking God that He has rescued him from that fate.”
Note 1. 'Un di queli arrovellati scotendo la cresto dello arronzinato
cappuccio.' See above, p. 31. The democrats in Cellini’s days were
called at Florence 'Arrabbiati' or 'Arrovellati.' In the days of
Savonarola this nickname had been given to the ultra-Medicean party or
Palleschi.
Note 2. 'Lanciotti.' There is some doubt about this word. But it clearly
means men armed with lances, at the disposal of the Signory.
Note 3. 'Un converso,' an attendant on the monks.
Note 4. Benedetto da Monte Varchi was the celebrated poet, scholar, and
historian of Florence, better known as Varchi. Another of his brothers
was a physician of high repute at Florence. They continued throughout
Cellini’s life to live on terms of intimacy with him.
XIX
AT Siena I waited for the mail to Rome, which I afterwards joined; and
when we passed the Paglia, we met a courier carrying news of the new
Pope, Clement VII. Upon my arrival in Rome, I went to work in the shop
of the master-goldsmith Santi. He was dead; but a son of his carried on
the business. He did not work himself, but entrusted all his commissions
to a young man named Lucagnolo from Iesi, a country fellow, who while
yet a child had come into Santi’s service. This man was short but well
proportioned, and was a more skilful craftsman than any one whom I had
met with up to that time; remarkable for facility and excellent in
design. He executed large plate only: that is to say, vases of the
utmost beauty, basons, and such pieces. [1] Having put myself to work
there, I began to make some candelabra for the Bishop of Salamanca, a
Spaniard. [2] They were richly chased, so far as that sort of work
admits. A pupil of Raffaello da Urbino called Gian Francesco, and
commonly known as Il Fattore, was a painter of great ability; and being
on terms of friendship with the Bishop, he introduced me to his favour,
so that I obtained many commissions from that prelate, and earned
considerable sums of money. [3]
During that time I went to draw, sometimes in Michel Agnolo’s chapel,
and sometimes in the house of Agostino Chigi of Siena, which contained
many incomparable paintings by the hand of that great master Raffaello.
[4] This I did on feast-days, because the house was then inhabited by
Messer Gismondo, Agostino’s brother. They plumed themselves exceedingly
when they saw young men of my sort coming to study in their palaces.
Gismondo’s wife, noticing my frequent presence in that house-she was a
lady as courteous as could be, and of surpassing beauty-came up to me
one day, looked at my drawings, and asked me if I was a sculptor or a
painter; to whom I said I was a goldsmith. She remarked that I drew too
well for a goldsmith; and having made one of her waiting-maids bring a
lily of the finest diamonds set in gold, she showed it to me, and bade
me value it. I valued it at 800 crowns. Then she said that I had very
nearly hit the mark, and asked me whether I felt capable of setting the
stones really well. I said that I should much like to do so, and began
before her eyes to make a little sketch for it, working all the better
because of the pleasure I took in conversing with so lovely and
agreeable a gentlewoman. When the sketch was finished, another Roman
lady of great beauty joined us; she had been above, and now descending
to the ground-floor, asked Madonna Porzia what she was doing there. She
answered with a smile: “I am amusing myself by watching this worthy
young man at his drawing; he is as good as he is handsome.” I had by
this time acquired a trifle of assurance, mixed, however, with some
honest bashfulness; so I blushed and said: “Such as I am, lady, I shall
ever be most ready to serve you.” The gentlewoman, also slightly
blushing, said: “You know well that I want you to serve me;” and
reaching me the lily, told me to take it away; and gave me besides
twenty golden crowns which she had in her bag, and added: “Set me the
jewel after the fashion you have sketched, and keep for me the old gold
in which it is now set.” On this the Roman lady observed: “If I were in
that young man’s body, I should go off without asking leave.” Madonna
Porzia replied that virtues rarely are at home with vices, and that if I
did such a thing, I should strongly belie my good looks of an honest
man. Then turning round, she took the Roman lady’s hand, and with a
pleasant smile said: “Farewell, Benvenuto.” I stayed on a short while at
the drawing I was making, which was a copy of a Jove by Raffaello. When
I had finished it and left the house, I set myself to making a little
model of wax, in order to show how the jewel would look when it was
completed. This I took to Madonna Porzia, whom I found with the same
Roman lady. Both of them were highly satisfied with my work, and treated
me so kindly that, being somewhat emboldened, I promised the jewel
should be twice as good as the model. Accordingly I set hand to it, and
in twelve days I finished it in the form of a fleur-de-lys, as I have
said above, ornamenting it with little masks, children, and animals,
exquisitely enamelled, whereby the diamonds which formed the lily were
more than doubled in effect.
Note 1. Cellini calls this 'grosseria.'
Note 2. Don Francesco de Bobadilla. He came to Rome in 1517, was shut up
with Clement in the castle of S. Angelo in 1527, and died in 1529, after
his return to Spain.
Note 3. This painter, Gio. Francesco Penni, surnamed Il Fattore, aided
Raphael in his Roman frescoes and was much beloved by him. Together with
Giulio Romano he completed the imperfect Stanze of the Vatican.
Note 4. Cellini here alludes to the Sistine Chapel and to the Villa
Farnesina in Trastevere, built by the Sienese banker, Agostino Chigi. It
was here that Raphael painted his Galatea and the whole fable of Cupid
and Psyche.
XX
WHILE I was working at this piece, Lucagnolo, of whose ability I have
before spoken, showed considerable discontent, telling me over and over
again that I might acquire far more profit and honour by helping him to
execute large plate, as I had done at first. I made him answer that,
whenever I chose, I should always be capable of working at great silver
pieces; but that things like that on which I was now engaged were not
commissioned every day; and beside their bringing no less honour than
large silver plate, there was also more profit to be made by them. He
laughed me in the face, and said: “Wait and see, Benvenuto; for by the
time that you have finished that work of yours, I will make haste to
have finished this vase, which I took in hand when you did the jewel;
and then experience shall teach you what profit I shall get from my
vase, and what you will get from your ornament.” I answered that I was
very glad indeed to enter into such a competition with so good a
craftsman as he was, because the end would show which of us was
mistaken. Accordingly both the one and the other of us, with a scornful
smile upon our lips, bent our heads in grim earnest to the work, which
both were now desirous of accomplishing; so that after about ten days,
each had finished his undertaking with great delicacy and artistic skill.
Lucagnolo’s was a huge silver piece, used at the table of Pope Clement,
into which he flung away bits of bone and the rind of divers fruits,
while eating; an object of ostentation rather than necessity. The vase
was adorned with two fine handles, together with many masks, both small
and great, and masses of lovely foliage, in as exquisite a style of
elegance as could be imagined; on seeing which I said it was the most
beautiful vase that ever I set eyes on. Thinking he had convinced me,
Lucagnolo replied: “Your work seems to me no less beautiful, but we
shall soon perceive the difference between the two.” So he took his vase
and carried it to the Pope, who was very well pleased with it, and
ordered at once that he should be paid at the ordinary rate of such
large plate. Meanwhile I carried mine to Madonna Porzia, who looked at
it with astonishment, and told me I had far surpassed my promise. Then
she bade me ask for my reward whatever I liked; for it seemed to her my
desert was so great that if I craved a castle she could hardly
recompense me; but since that was not in her hands to bestow, she added
laughing that I must beg what lay within her power. I answered that the
greatest reward I could desire for my labour was to have satisfied her
ladyship. Then, smiling in my turn, and bowing to her, I took my leave,
saying I wanted no reward but that. She turned to the Roman lady and
said: “You see that the qualities we discerned in him are companied by
virtues, and not vices.” They both expressed their admiration, and then
Madonna Porzia continued: “Friend Benvenuto, have you never heard it
said that when the poor give to the rich, the devil laughs?” I replied:
“Quite true! and yet, in the midst of all his troubles, I should like
this time to see him laugh;” and as I took my leave, she said that this
time she had no will to bestow on him that favour.
When I came back to the shop, Lucagnolo had the money for his vase in a
paper packet; and on my arrival he cried out: “Come and compare the
price of your jewel with the price of my plate.” I said that he must
leave things as they were till the next day, because I hoped that even
as my work in its kind was not less excellent than his, so I should be
able to show him quite an equal price for it.
XXI
ON the day following, Madonna Porzia sent a major-domo of hers to my
shop, who called me out, and putting into my hands a paper packet full
of money from his lady, told me that she did not choose the devil should
have his whole laugh out: by which she hinted that the money sent me was
not the entire payment merited by my industry, and other messages were
added worthy of so courteous a lady. Lucagnolo, who was burning to
compare his packet with mine, burst into the shop; then in the presence
of twelve journeymen and some neighbours, eager to behold the result of
this competition, he seized his packet, scornfully exclaiming “Ou! ou!”
three or four times, while he poured his money on the counter with a
great noise. They were twenty-five crowns in giulios; and he fancied
that mine would be four or five crowns 'di moneta.' [1] I for my part,
stunned and stifled by his cries, and by the looks and smiles of the
bystanders, first peeped into my packet; then, after seeing that it
contained nothing but gold, I retired to one end of the counter, and,
keeping my eyes lowered and making no noise at all, I lifted it with
both hands suddenly above my head, and emptied it like a mill hopper.
[2] My coin was twice as much as his; which caused the onlookers, who
had fixed their eyes on me with some derision, to turn round suddenly to
him and say: “Lucagnolo, Benvenuto’s pieces, being all of gold and twice
as many as yours, make a far finer effect.” I thought for certain that,
what with jealousy and what with shame, Lucagnolo would have fallen dead
upon the spot; and though he took the third part of my gain, since I was
a journeyman (for such is the custom of the trade, two-thirds fall to
the workman and one-third to the masters of the shop), yet inconsiderate
envy had more power in him than avarice: it ought indeed to have worked
quite the other way, he being a peasant’s son from Iesi. He cursed his
art and those who taught it him, vowing that thenceforth he would never
work at large plate, but give his whole attention to those brothel
gewgaws, since they were so well paid. Equally enraged on my side, I
answered, that every bird sang its own note; that he talked after the
fashion of the hovels he came from; but that I dared swear that I should
succeed with ease in making his lubberly lumber, while he would never be
successful in my brothel gewgaws. [3] Thus I flung off in a passion,
telling him that I would soon show him that I spoke truth. The
bystanders openly declared against him, holding him for a lout, as
indeed he was, and me for a man, as I had proved myself.
Note 1. 'Scudi di giuli' and 'scudi di moneta.' The 'giulio' was a
silver coin worth 56 Italian centimes. The 'scudi di moneta' was worth
10 'giulios.' Cellini was paid in golden crowns, which had a much higher
value. The 'scuda' and the 'ducato' at this epoch were reckoned at [7]
'lire,' the 'lira' at 20 'soldi.'
Note 2. The packet was funnel-shaped, and Cellini poured the coins out
from the broad end.
Note 3. The two slang phrases translated above are 'bordellerie' and
'coglionerie.'
XXII
NEXT day, I went to thank Madonna Porzia, and told her that her ladyship
had done the opposite of what she said she would; for that while I
wanted to make the devil laugh, she had made him once more deny God. We
both laughed pleasantly at this, and she gave me other commissions for
fine and substantial work.
Meanwhile, I contrived, by means of a pupil of Raffaello da Urbino, to
get an order from the Bishop of Salamanca for one of those great
water-vessels called 'acquereccia,' which are used for ornaments to
place on sideboards. He wanted a pair made of equal size; and one of
them he entrusted to Lucagnolo, the other to me. Giovan Francesco, the
painter I have mentioned, gave us the design. [1] Accordingly I set hand
with marvellous good-will to this piece of plate, and was accommodated
with a part of his workshop by a Milanese named Maestro Giovan Piero
della Tacca. Having made my preparations, I calculated how much money I
should need for certain affairs of my own, and sent all the rest to
assist my poor father.
It so happened that just when this was being paid to him in Florence, he
stumbled upon one of those Radicals who were in the Eight at the time
when I got into that little trouble there. It was the very man who had
abused him so rudely, and who swore that I should certainly be sent into
the country with the lances. Now this fellow had some sons of very bad
morals and repute; wherefore my father said to him: “Misfortunes can
happen to anybody, especially to men of choleric humour when they are in
the right, even as it happened to my son; but let the rest of his life
bear witness how virtuously I have brought him up. Would God, for your
well-being, that your sons may act neither worse nor better toward you
than mine do to me. God rendered me able to bring them up as I have
done; and where my own power could not reach, ‘twas He who rescued them,
against your expectation, out of your violent hands.” On leaving the
man, he wrote me all this story, begging me for God’s sake to practise
music at times, in order that I might not lose the fine accomplishment
which he had taught me with such trouble. The letter so overflowed with
expressions of the tenderest fatherly affection, that I was moved to
tears of filial piety, resolving, before he died, to gratify him amply
with regard to music. Thus God grants us those lawful blessings which we
ask in prayer, nothing doubting.
Note 1. That is, Il Fattore. See above, p. 34.
XXIII
WHILE I was pushing forward Salamanca’s vase, I had only one little boy
as help, whom I had taken at the entreaty of friends, and half against
my own will, to be my workman. He was about fourteen years of age, bore
the name of Paulino, and was son to a Roman burgess, who lived upon the
income of his property. Paulino was the best-mannered, the most honest,
and the most beautiful boy I ever saw in my whole life. His modest ways
and actions, together with his superlative beauty and his devotion to
myself, bred in me as great an affection for him as a man’s breast can
hold. This passionate love led me oftentimes to delight the lad with
music; for I observed that his marvellous features, which by complexion
wore a tone of modest melancholy, brightened up, and when I took my
cornet, broke into a smile so lovely and so sweet, that I do not marvel
at the silly stories which the Greeks have written about the deities of
heaven. Indeed, if my boy had lived in those times, he would probably
have turned their heads still more. [1] He had a sister, named Faustina,
more beautiful, I verily believe, than that Faustina about whom the old
books gossip so. Sometimes he took me to their vineyard, and, so far as
I could judge, it struck me that Paulino’s good father would have
welcomed me as a son-in-law. This affair led me to play more than I was
used to do.
It happened at that time that one Giangiacomo of Cesena, a musician in
the Pope’s band, and a very excellent performer, sent word through
Lorenzo, the trumpeter of Lucca, who is now in our Duke’s service, to
inquire whether I was inclined to help them at the Pope’s Ferragosto,
playing soprano with my cornet in some motets of great beauty selected
by them for that occasion. [2] Although I had the greatest desire to
finish the vase I had begun, yet, since music has a wondrous charm of
its own, and also because I wished to please my old father, I consented
to join them. During eight days before the festival we practised two
hours a day together; then on the first of August we went to the
Belvedere, and while Pope Clement was at table, we played those
carefully studied motets so well that his Holiness protested he had
never heard music more sweetly executed or with better harmony of parts.
He sent for Giangiacomo, and asked him where and how he had procured so
excellent a cornet for soprano, and inquired particularly who I was.
Giangiacomo told him my name in full. Whereupon the Pope said: “So,
then, he is the son of Maestro Giovanni?” On being assured I was, the
Pope expressed his wish to have me in his service with the other
bandsmen. Giangiacomo replied: “Most blessed Father, I cannot pretend
for certain that you will get him, for his profession, to which he
devotes himself assiduously, is that of a goldsmith, and he works in it
miraculously well, and earns by it far more than he could do by
playing.” To this the Pope added: “I am the better inclined to him now
that I find him possessor of a talent more than I expected. See that he
obtains the same salary as the rest of you; and tell him from me to join
my service, and that I will find work enough by the day for him to do in
his other trade.” Then stretching out his hand, he gave him a hundred
golden crowns of the Camera in a handkerchief, and said: [3] “Divide
these so that he may take his share.”
When Giangiacomo left the Pope, he came to us, and related in detail all
that the Pope had said; and after dividing the money between the eight
of us, and giving me my share, he said to me: “Now I am going to have
you inscribed among our company.” I replied: “Let the day pass;
to-morrow I will give my answer.” When I left them, I went meditating
whether I ought to accept the invitation, inasmuch as I could not but
suffer if I abandoned the noble studies of my art. The following night
my father appeared to me in a dream, and begged me with tears of
tenderest affection, for God’s love and his, to enter upon this
engagement. Methought I answered that nothing would induce me to do so.
In an instant he assumed so horrible an aspect as to frighten me out of
my wits, and cried: “If you do not, you will have a father’s curse; but
if you do, may you be ever blessed by me!” When I woke, I ran, for very
fright, to have myself inscribed. Then I wrote to my old father, telling
him the news, which so affected him with extreme joy that a sudden fit
of illness took him, and well-nigh brought him to death’s door. In his
answer to my letter, he told me that he too had dreamed nearly the same
as I had.
Note 1. 'Gli Arebbe fatti piu uscire de’ gangheri;' would have taken
them still more off the hinges.
Note 2. Lit., “the largest piece left of me should be my ears.”
Note 3. The Camera Apostolica was the Roman Exchequer.
XXIV
KNOWING now that I had gratified my father’s honest wish, I began to
think that everything would prosper with me to a glorious and honourable
end. Accordingly, I set myself with indefatigable industry to the
completion of the vase I had begun for Salamanca. That prelate was a
very extraordinary man, extremely rich, but difficult to please. He sent
daily to learn what I was doing; and when his messenger did not find me
at home, he broke into fury, saying that he would take the work out of
my hands and give it to others to finish. This came of my slavery to
that accursed music. Still I laboured diligently night and day, until,
when I had brought my work to a point when it could be exhibited, I
submitted it to the inspection of the Bishop. This so increased his
desire to see it finished that I was sorry I had shown it. At the end of
three months I had it ready, with little animals and foliage and masks,
as beautiful as one could hope to see. No sooner was it done than I sent
it by the hand of my workman, Paulino, to show that able artist
Lucagnolo, of whom I have spoken above. Paulino, with the grace and
beauty which belonged to him, spoke as follows: “Messer Lucagnolo,
Benvenuto bids me say that he has sent to show you his promises and your
lumber, expecting in return to see from you his gewgaws.” This message
given, Lucagnolo took up the vase, and carefully examined it; then he
said to Paulino: “Fair boy, tell your master that he is a great and able
artist, and that I beg him to be willing to have me for a friend, and
not to engage in aught else.” The mission of that virtuous and
marvellous lad caused me the greatest joy; and then the vase was carried
to Salamanca, who ordered it to be valued. Lucagnolo took part in the
valuation, estimating and praising it far above my own opinion.
Salamanca, lifting up the vase, cried like a true Spaniard: “I swear by
God that I will take as long in paying him as he has lagged in making
it.” When I heard this, I was exceedingly put out, and fell to cursing
all Spain and every one who wished well to it.
Amongst other beautiful ornaments, this vase had a handle, made all of
one piece, with most delicate mechanism, which, when a spring was
touched, stood upright above the mouth of it. While the prelate was one
day ostentatiously exhibiting my vase to certain Spanish gentlemen of
his suite, it chanced that one of them, upon Monsignor’s quitting the
room, began roughly to work the handle, and as the gentle spring which
moved it could not bear his loutish violence, it broke in his hand.
Aware what mischief he had done, he begged the butler who had charge of
the Bishop’s plate to take it to the master who had made it, for him to
mend, and promised to pay what price he asked, provided it was set to
rights at once. So the vase came once more into my hands, and I promised
to put it forthwith in order, which indeed I did. It was brought to me
before dinner; and at twenty-two o’clock the man who brought it
returned, all in a sweat, for he had run the whole way, Monsignor having
again asked for it to show to certain other gentlemen. [1] The butler,
then, without giving me time to utter a word, cried: “Quick, quick,
bring the vase.” I, who wanted to act at leisure and not to give up to
him, said that I did not mean to be so quick. The serving-man got into
such a rage that he made as though he would put one hand to his sword,
while with the other he threatened to break the shop open. To this I put
a stop at once with my own weapon, using therewith spirited language,
and saying: “I am not going to give it to you! Go and tell Monsignor,
your master, that I want the money for my work before I let it leave
this shop.” When the fellow saw he could not obtain it by swaggering, he
fell to praying me, as one prays to the Cross, declaring that if I would
only give it up, he would take care I should be paid. These words did
not make me swerve from my purpose; but I kept on saying the same thing.
At last, despairing of success, he swore to come with Spaniards enough
to cut me in pieces. Then he took to his heels; while I, who inclined to
believe partly in their murderous attack, resolved that I would defend
myself with courage. So I got an admirable little gun ready, which I
used for shooting game, and muttered to myself: “He who robs me of my
property and labour may take my life too, and welcome.” While I was
carrying on this debate in my own mind, a crowd of Spaniards arrived,
led by their major-domo, who, with the headstrong rashness of his race,
bade them go in and take the vase and give me a good beating. Hearing
these words, I showed them the muzzle of my gun, and prepared to fire,
and cried in a loud voice: “Renegade Jews, traitors, is it thus that one
breaks into houses and shops in our city of Rome? Come as many of you
thieves as like, an inch nearer to this wicket, and I’ll blow all their
brains out with my gun.” Then I turned the muzzle toward their
major-domo, and making as though I would discharge it, called out: “And
you big thief, who are egging them on, I mean to kill you first.” He
clapped spurs to the jennet he was riding, and took flight headlong. The
commotion we were making stirred up all the neighbours, who came
crowding round, together with some Roman gentlemen who chanced to pass,
and cried: “Do but kill the renegades, and we will stand by you.” These
words had the effect of frightening the Spaniards in good earnest. They
withdrew, and were compelled by the circumstances to relate the whole
affair to Monsignor. Being a man of inordinate haughtiness, he rated the
members of his household, both because they had engaged in such an act
of violence, and also because, having begun, they had not gone through
with it. At this juncture the painter, who had been concerned in the
whole matter, came in, and the Bishop bade him go and tell me that if I
did not bring the vase at once, he would make mincemeat of me; [2] but
if I brought it, he would pay its price down. These threats were so far
from terrifying me, that I sent him word I was going immediately to lay
my case before the Pope.
In the meantime, his anger and my fear subsided; whereupon, being
guaranteed by some Roman noblemen of high degree that the prelate would
not harm me, and having assurance that I should be paid, I armed myself
with a large poniard and my good coat of mail, and betook myself to his
palace, where he had drawn up all his household. I entered, and Paulino
followed with the silver vase. It was just like passing through the
Zodiac, neither more nor less; for one of them had the face of the lion,
another of the scorpion, a third of the crab. However, we passed onward
to the presence of the rascally priest, who spouted out a torrent of
such language as only priests and Spaniards have at their command. In
return I never raised my eyes to look at him, nor answered word for
word. That seemed to augment the fury of his anger; and causing paper to
be put before me, he commanded me to write an acknowledgment to the
effect that I had been amply satisfied and paid in full. Then I raised
my head, and said I should be very glad to do so when I had received the
money. The Bishop’s rage continued to rise; threats and recriminations
were flung about; but at last the money was paid, and I wrote the
receipt. Then I departed, glad at heart and in high spirits.
Note 1. The Italians reckoned time from sundown till sundown, counting
twenty-four hours. Twenty-two o’clock was therefore two hours before
nightfall. One hour of the night was one hour after nightfall, and so
forth. By this system of reckoning, it is clear that the hours varied
with the season of the year; and unless we know the exact month in which
an event took place, we cannot translate any hour into terms of our own
system.
Note 2. Lit., “the largest piece left of me should be my ears.” |
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