XXV
WHEN Pope Clement heard the story-he had seen the vase before, but it
was not shown him as my work-he expressed much pleasure and spoke warmly
in my praise, publicly saying that he felt very favourably toward me.
This caused Monsignor Salamanca to repent that he had hectored over me;
and in order to make up our quarrel, he sent the same painter to inform
me that he meant to give me large commissions. I replied that I was
willing to undertake them, but that I should require to be paid in
advance. This speech too came to Pope Clement’s ears, and made him laugh
heartily. Cardinal Cibo was in the presence, and the Pope narrated to
him the whole history of my dispute with the Bishop. [1] Then he turned
to one of his people, and ordered him to go on supplying me with work
for the palace. Cardinal Cibo sent for me, and after some time spent in
agreeable conversation, gave me the order for a large vase, bigger than
Salamanca’s. I likewise obtained commissions from Cardinal Cornaro, and
many others of the Holy College, especially Ridolfi and Salviati; they
all kept me well employed, so that I earned plenty of money. 2
Madonna Porzia now advised me to open a shop of my own. This I did; and
I never stopped working for that excellent and gentle lady, who paid me
exceedingly well, and by whose means perhaps it was that I came to make
a figure in the world.
I contracted close friendship with Signor Gabbriello Ceserino, at that
time Gonfalonier of Rome, and executed many pieces for him. One, among
the rest, is worthy of mention. It was a large golden medal to wear in
the hat. I engraved upon it Leda with her swan; and being very well
pleased with the workmanship, he said he should like to have it valued,
in order that I might be properly paid. Now, since the medal was
executed with consummate skill, the valuers of the trade set a far
higher price on it than he had thought of. I therefore kept the medal,
and got nothing for my pains. The same sort of adventures happened in
this case as in that of Salamanca’s vase. But I shall pass such matters
briefly by, lest they hinder me from telling things of greater
importance.
Note 1. Innocenzio Cibo Malaspina, Archbishop of Genoa, and nephew of
Lorenzo de’ Medici. He was a prelate of vast wealth and a great patron
of arts and letters.
Note 2. Marco Cornaro was a brother of Caterina, the Queen of Cyprus. He
obtained the hat in 1492. Niccolo Ridolfi was a nephew of Leo X.
Giovanni Salviati, the son of Jacopo mentioned above, was also a nephew
of Leo X, who gave him the hat in 1517.
XXVI
SINCE I am writing my life, I must from time to time diverge from my
profession in order to describe with brevity, if not in detail, some
incidents which have no bearing on my career as artist. On the morning
of Saint John’s Day I happened to be dining with several men of our
nation, painters, sculptors, goldsmiths, amongst the most notable of
whom was Rosso and Gainfrancesco, the pupil of Raffaello. [1] I had
invited them without restraint or ceremony to the place of our meeting,
and they were all laughing and joking, as is natural when a crowd of men
come together to make merry on so great a festival. It chanced that a
light-brained swaggering young fellow passed by; he was a soldier of
Rienzo da Ceri, who, when he heard the noise that we were making, gave
vent to a string of opprobrious sarcasms upon the folk of Florence. [2]
I, who was the host of those great artists and men of worth, taking the
insult to myself, slipped out quietly without being observed, and went
up to him. I ought to say that he had a punk of his there, and was going
on with his stupid ribaldries to amuse her. When I met him, I asked if
he was the rash fellow who was speaking evil of the Florentines. He
answered at once: “I am that man.” On this I raised my hand, struck him
in the face, and said: “And I am 'this' man.” Then we each of us drew
our swords with spirit; but the fray had hardly begun when a crowd of
persons intervened, who rather took my part than not, hearing and seeing
that I was in the right.
On the following day a challenge to fight with him was brought me, which
I accepted very gladly, saying that I expected to complete this job far
quicker than those of the other art I practised. So I went at once to
confer with a fine old man called Bevilacqua, who was reputed to have
been the first sword of Italy, because he had fought more than twenty
serious duels and had always come off with honour. This excellent man
was a great friend of mine; he knew me as an artist and had also been
concerned as intermediary in certain ugly quarrels between me and
others. Accordingly, when he had learned my business, he answered with a
smile: “My Benvenuto, if you had an affair with Mars, I am sure you
would come out with honour, because through all the years that I have
known you, I have never seen you wrongfully take up a quarrel.” So he
consented to be my second, and we repaired with sword in hand to the
appointed place, but no blood was shed, for my opponent made the matter
up, and I came with much credit out of the affair. [3] I will not add
further particulars; for though they would be very interesting in their
own way, I wish to keep both space and words for my art, which has been
my chief inducement to write as I am doing, and about which I shall have
only too much to say.
The spirit of honourable rivalry impelled me to attempt some other
masterpiece, which should equal, or even surpass, the productions of
that able craftsman, Lucagnolo, whom I have mentioned. Still I did not
on this account neglect my own fine art of jewellery; and so both the
one and the other wrought me much profit and more credit, and in both of
them I continued to produce things of marked originality. There was at
that time in Rome a very able artist of Perugia named Lautizio, who
worked only in one department, where he was sole and unrivalled
throughout the world. [4] You must know that at Rome every cardinal has
a seal, upon which his title is engraved, and these seals are made just
as large as a child’s hand of about twelve years of age; and, as I have
already said, the cardinal’s title is engraved upon the seal together
with a great many ornamental figures. A well-made article of the kind
fetches a hundred, or more than a hundred crowns. This excellent
workman, like Lucagnolo, roused in me some honest rivalry, although the
art he practised is far remote from the other branches of gold-smithery,
and consequently Lautizio was not skilled in making anything but seals.
I gave my mind to acquiring his craft also, although I found it very
difficult; and, unrepelled by the trouble which it gave me, I went on
zealously upon the path of profit and improvement.
There was in Rome another most excellent craftsman of ability, who was a
Milanese named Messer Caradosso. [5] He dealt in nothing but little
chiselled medals, made of plates of metal, and such-like things. I have
seen of his some paxes in half relief, and some Christs a palm in length
wrought of the thinnest golden plates, so exquisitely done that I
esteemed him the greatest master in that kind I had ever seen, and
envied him more than all the rest together. There were also other
masters who worked at medals carved in steel, which may be called the
models and true guides for those who aim at striking coins in the most
perfect style. All these divers arts I set myself with unflagging
industry to learn.
I must not omit the exquisite art of enamelling, in which I have never
known any one excel save a Florentine, our countryman, called Amerigo.
[6] I did not know him, but was well acquainted with his incomparable
masterpieces. Nothing in any part of the world or by craftsman that I
have seen, approached the divine beauty of their workmanship. To this
branch too I devoted myself with all my strength, although it is
extremely difficult, chiefly because of the fire, which, after long time
and trouble spent in other processes, has to be applied at last, and not
unfrequently brings the whole to ruin. In spite of its great
difficulties, it gave me so much pleasure that I looked upon them as
recreation; and this came from the special gift which the God of nature
bestowed on me, that is to say, a temperament so happy and of such
excellent parts that I was freely able to accomplish whatever it pleased
me to take in hand. The various departments of art which I have
described are very different one from the other, so that a man who
excels in one of them, if he undertakes the others, hardly ever achieves
the same success; whereas I strove with all my power to become equally
versed in all of them: and in the proper place I shall demonstrate that
I attained my object.
Note 1. St. John’s Day was the great Florentine Festival, on which all
the Guilds went in procession with pageants through the city. Of the
Florentine painter, II Rosso, or Maitre Roux, this is the first mention
by Cellini. He went to France in 1534, and died an obscure death there
in 1541.
Note 2. This Rienzo, Renzo, or Lorenzo da Ceri, was a captain of
adventurers or Condottiere, who hired his mercenary forces to
paymasters. He defended Crema for the Venetians in 1514, and conquered
Urbino for the Pope in 1515. Afterwards he fought for the French in the
Italian wars. We shall hear more of him again during the sack of Rome.
Note 3. The Italian, 'restando dal mio avversario,' seems to mean that
Cellini’s opponent proposed an accommodation, apologized, or stayed the
duel at a certain point.
Note 4. See Cellini’s Treatise 'Oreficeria,' cap. vi., for more
particulars about this artist.
Note 5. His real name was Ambrogio Foppa. The nickname Caradosso is said
to have stuck to him in consequence of a Spaniard calling him
Bear’s-face in his own tongue. He struck Leo X’s coins; and we possess
some excellent medallion portraits by his hand.
Note 6. For him, consult Cellini’s 'Oreficeria.'
XXVII
AT that time, while I was still a young man of about twenty-three, there
raged a plague of such extraordinary violence that many thousands died
of it every day in Rome. Somewhat terrified at this calamity, I began to
take certain amusements, as my mind suggested, and for a reason which I
will presently relate. I had formed a habit of going on feast-days to
the ancient buildings, and copying parts of them in wax or with the
pencil; and since these buildings are all ruins, and the ruins house
innumerable pigeons, it came into my head to use my gun against these
birds. So then, avoiding all commerce with people, in my terror of the
plague, I used to put a fowling-piece on my boy Pagolino’s shoulder, and
he and I went out alone into the ruins; and oftentimes we came home
laden with a cargo of the fattest pigeons. I did not care to charge my
gun with more than a single ball; and thus it was by pure skill in the
art that I filled such heavy bags. I had a fowling-piece which I had
made myself; inside and out it was as bright as any mirror. I also used
to make a very fine sort of powder, in doing which I discovered secret
processes, beyond any which have yet been found; and on this point, in
order to be brief, I will give but one particular, which will astonish
good shots of every degree. This is, that when I charged my gun with
powder weighing one-fifth of the ball, it carried two hundred paces
point-blank. It is true that the great delight I took in this exercise
bid fair to withdraw me from my art and studies; yet in another way it
gave me more than it deprived me of, seeing that each time I went out
shooting I returned with greatly better health, because the open air was
a benefit to my constitution. My natural temperament was melancholy, and
while I was taking these amusements, my heart leapt up with joy, and I
found that I could work better and with far greater mastery than when I
spent my whole time in study and manual labour. In this way my gun, at
the end of the game, stood me more in profit than in loss.
It was also the cause of my making acquaintance with certain hunters
after curiosities, who followed in the track [1] of those Lombard
peasants who used to come to Rome to till the vineyards at the proper
season. While digging the ground, they frequently turned up antique
medals, agates, chrysoprases, cornelians, and cameos; also sometimes
jewels, as, for instance, emeralds, sapphires, diamonds, and rubies. The
peasants used to sell things of this sort to the traders for a mere
trifle; and I very often, when I met them, paid the latter several times
as many golden crowns as they had given giulios for some object.
Independently of the profit I made by this traffic, which was at least
tenfold, it brought me also into agreeable relations with nearly all the
cardinals of Rome. I will only touch upon a few of the most notable and
the rarest of these curiosities. There came into my hands, among many
other fragments, the head of a dolphin about as big as a good-sized
ballot-bean. Not only was the style of this head extremely beautiful,
but nature had here far surpassed art; for the stone was an emerald of
such good colour, that the man who bought it from me for tens of crowns
sold it again for hundreds after setting it as a finger-ring. I will
mention another kind of gem; this was a magnificent topaz; and here art
equalled nature; it was as large as a big hazel-nut, with the head of
Minerva in a style of inconceivable beauty. I remember yet another
precious stone, different from these; it was a cameo, engraved with
Hercules binding Cerberus of the triple throat; such was its beauty and
the skill of its workmanship, that our great Michel Agnolo protested he
had never seen anything so wonderful. Among many bronze medals, I
obtained one upon which was a head of Jupiter. It was the largest that
had ever been seen; the head of the most perfect execution; and it had
on the reverse side a very fine design of some little figures in the
same style. I might enlarge at great length on this curiosity; but I
will refrain for fear of being prolix.
Note 1. 'Stavano alle velette.' Perhaps 'lay in wait for.'
XXVIII
AS I have said above, the plague had broken out in Rome; but though I
must return a little way upon my steps, I shall not therefore abandon
the main path of my history. There arrived in Rome a surgeon of the
highest renown, who was called Maestro Giacomo da Carpi. [1] This able
man, in the course of his other practice, undertook the most desperate
cases of the so-called French disease. In Rome this kind of illness is
very partial to the priests, and especially to the richest of them.
When, therefore, Maestro Giacomo had made his talents known, he
professed to work miracles in the treatment of such cases by means of
certain fumigations; but he only undertook a cure after stipulating for
his fees, which he reckoned not by tens, but by hundreds of crowns. He
was a great connoisseur in the arts of design. Chancing to pass one day
before my shop, he saw a lot of drawings which I had laid upon the
counter, and among these were several designs for little vases in a
capricious style, which I had sketched for my amusement. These vases
were in quite a different fashion from any which had been seen up to
that date. He was anxious that I should finish one or two of them for
him in silver; and this I did with the fullest satisfaction, seeing they
exactly suited my own fancy. The clever surgeon paid me very well, and
yet the honour which the vases brought me was worth a hundred times as
much; for the best craftsmen in the goldsmith’s trade declared they had
never seen anything more beautiful or better executed.
No sooner had I finished them than he showed them to the Pope; and the
next day following he betook himself away from Rome. He was a man of
much learning, who used to discourse wonderfully about medicine. The
Pope would fain have had him in his service, but he replied that he
would not take service with anybody in the world, and that whoso had
need of him might come to seek him out. He was a person of great
sagacity, and did wisely to get out of Rome; for not many months
afterwards, all the patients he had treated grew so ill that they were a
hundred times worse off than before he came. He would certainly have
been murdered if he had stopped. He showed my little vases to several
persons of quality; amongst others, to the most excellent Duke of
Ferrara, and pretended that he had got them from a great lord in Rome,
by telling this nobleman that if he wanted to be cured, he must give him
those two vases; and that the lord had answered that they were antique,
and besought him to ask for anything else which it might be convenient
for him to give, provided only he would leave him those; but, according
to his own account, Maestro Giacomo made as though he would not
undertake the cure, and so he got them.
I was told this by Messer Alberto Bendedio in Ferrara, who with great
ostentation showed me some earthenware copies he possessed of them. [2]
Thereupon I laughed, and as I said nothing, Messer Alberto Bendedio, who
was a haughty man, flew into a rage and said: “You are laughing at them,
are you? And I tell you that during the last thousand years there has
not been born a man capable of so much as copying them.” I then, not
caring to deprive them of so eminent a reputation, kept silence, and
admired them with mute stupefaction. It was said to me in Rome by many
great lords, some of whom were my friends, that the work of which I have
been speaking was, in their opinion of marvellous excellence and genuine
antiquity; whereupon, emboldened by their praises, I revealed that I had
made them. As they would not believe it, and as I wished to prove that I
had spoken truth, I was obliged to bring evidence and to make new
drawings of the vases; for my word alone was not enough, inasmuch as
Maestro Giacomo had cunningly insisted upon carrying off the old
drawings with him. By this little job I earned a fair amount of money.
Note 1. Giacomo Berengario da Carpi was, in fact, a great physician,
surgeon, and student of anatomy. He is said to have been the first to
use mercury in the cure of syphilis, a disease which was devastating
Italy after the year 1495. He amassed a large fortune, which, when he
died at Ferrara about 1530, he bequeathed to the Duke there.
Note 2. See below, Book II. Chap. viii., for a full account of this
incident at Ferrara.
XXIX
THE PLAGUE went dragging on for many months, but I had as yet managed to
keep it at bay; for though several of my comrades were dead, I survived
in health and freedom. Now it chanced one evening that an intimate
comrade of mine brought home to supper a Bolognese prostitute named
Faustina. She was a very fine woman, but about thirty years of age; and
she had with her a little serving-girl of thirteen or fourteen. Faustina
belonging to my friend, I would not have touched her for all the gold in
the world; and though she declared she was madly in love with me, I
remained steadfast in my loyalty. But after they had gone to bed, I
stole away the little serving-girl, who was quite a fresh maid, and woe
to her if her mistress had known of it! The result was that I enjoyed a
very pleasant night, far more to my satisfaction than if I had passed it
with Faustina. I rose upon the hour of breaking fast, and felt tired,
for I had travelled many miles that night, and was wanting to take food,
when a crushing headache seized me; several boils appeared on my left
arm, together with a carbuncle which showed itself just beyond the palm
of the left hand where it joins the wrist. Everybody in the house was in
a panic; my friend, the cow and the calf, all fled. Left alone there
with my poor little prentice, who refused to abandon me, I felt stifled
at the heart, and made up my mind for certain I was a dead man.
Just then the father of the lad went by, who was physician to the
Cardinal Iacoacci, [1] and lived as member of that prelate’s household.
[2] The boy called out: “Come, father, and see Benvenuto; he is in bed
with some trifling indisposition.” Without thinking what my complaint
might be, the doctor came up at once, and when he had felt my pulse, he
saw and felt what was very contrary to his own wishes. Turning round to
his son, he said: “O traitor of a child, you’ve ruined me; how can I
venture now into the Cardinal’s presence?” His son made answer: “Why,
father, this man my master is worth far more than all the cardinals in
Rome.” Then the doctor turned to me and said: “Since I am here, I will
consent to treat you. But of one thing only I warn you, that if you have
enjoyed a woman, you are doomed.” To this I replied: “I did so this very
night.” He answered: “With whom, and to what extent?” [3] I said: “Last
night, and with a girl in her earliest maturity.” Upon this, perceiving
that he had spoken foolishly, he made haste to add: “Well, considering
the sores are so new, and have not yet begun to stink, and that the
remedies will be taken in time, you need not be too much afraid, for I
have good hopes of curing you.” When he had prescribed for me and gone
away, a very dear friend of mine, called Giovanni Rigogli, came in, who
fell to commiserating my great suffering and also my desertion by my
comrade, and said: “Be of good cheer, my Benvenuto, for I will never
leave your side until I see you restored to health.” I told him not to
come too close, since it was all over with me. Only I besought him to be
so kind as to take a considerable quantity of crowns, which were lying
in a little box near my bed, and when God had thought fit to remove me
from this world, to send them to my poor father, writing pleasantly to
him, in the way I too had done, so far as that appalling season of the
plague permitted. [4] My beloved friend declared that he had no
intention whatsoever of leaving me, and that come what might, in life or
death, he knew very well what was his duty toward a friend. And so we
went on by the help of God: and the admirable remedies which I had used
began to work a great improvement, and I soon came well out of that
dreadful sickness.
The sore was still open, with a plug of lint inside it and a plaster
above, when I went out riding on a little wild pony. He was covered with
hair four fingers long, and was exactly as big as a well-grown bear;
indeed he looked just like a bear. I rode out on him to visit the
painter Rosso, who was then living in the country, toward Civita
Vecchia, at a place of Count Anguillara’s called Cervetera. I found my
friend, and he was very glad to see me; whereupon I said: “I am come to
do to you that which you did to me so many months ago.” He burst out
laughing, embraced and kissed me, and begged me for the Count’s sake to
keep quiet. I stayed in that place about a month, with much content and
gladness, enjoying good wines and excellent food, and treated with the
greatest kindness by the Count; every day I used to ride out alone along
the seashore, where I dismounted, and filled my pockets with all sorts
of pebbles, snail shells, and sea shells of great rarity and beauty.
On the last day (for after this I went there no more) I was attacked by
a band of men, who had disguised themselves, and disembarked from a
Moorish privateer. When they thought that they had run me into a certain
passage, where it seemed impossible that I should escape from their
hands, I suddenly mounted my pony, resolved to be roasted or boiled
alive at that pass perilous, seeing I had little hope to evade one or
the other of these fates; [5] but, as God willed, my pony, who was the
same I have described above, took an incredibly wide jump, and brought
me off in safety, for which I heartily thanked God. I told the story to
the Count; he ran to arms; but we saw the galleys setting out to sea.
The next day following I went back sound and with good cheer to Rome.
Note 1. Probably Domenico Iacobacci, who obtained the hat in 1517.
Note 2. 'A sua provisione stava, i. e.,' he was in the Cardinal’s
regular pay.
Note 3. 'Quanto.' Perhaps we ought to read 'quando-when?'
Note 4. 'Come ancora io avevo fatto secondo l’usanza che promettava
quell’ arrabbiata stagione.' I am not sure that I have given the right
sense in the text above. Leclanche interprets the words thus: “that I
too had fared according to the wont of that appalling season,” 'i. e.,'
had died of the plague. But I think the version in my sense is more true
both to Italian and to Cellini’s special style.
Note 5. 'I. e.,' to escape either being drowned or shot.
XXX
THE PLAGUE had by this time almost died out, so that the survivors, when
they met together alive, rejoiced with much delight in one another’s
company. This led to the formation of a club of painters, sculptors, and
goldsmiths, the best that were in Rome; and the founder of it was a
sculptor with the name of Michel Agnolo. [1] He was a Sienese and a man
of great ability, who could hold his own against any other workman in
that art; but, above all, he was the most amusing comrade and the
heartiest good fellow in the universe. Of all the members of the club,
he was the eldest, and yet the youngest from the strength and vigour of
his body. We often came together; at the very least twice a week. I must
not omit to mention that our society counted Giulio Romano, the painter,
and Gian Francesco, both of them celebrated pupils of the mighty
Raffaello da Urbino.
After many and many merry meetings, it seemed good to our worthy
president that for the following Sunday we should repair to supper in
his house, and that each one of us should be obliged to bring with him
his crow (such was the nickname Michel Agnolo gave to women in the
club), and that whoso did not bring one should be sconced by paying a
supper to the whole company. Those of us who had no familiarity with
women of the town, were forced to purvey themselves at no small trouble
and expense, in order to appear without disgrace at that distinguished
feast of artists. I had reckoned upon being well provided with a young
woman of considerable beauty, called Pantasilea, who was very much in
love with me; but I was obliged to give her up to one of my dearest
friends, called Il Bachiacca, who on his side had been, and still was,
over head and ears in love with her. [2] This exchange excited a certain
amount of lover’s anger, because the lady, seeing I had abandoned her at
Bachiacca’s first entreaty, imagined that I held in slight esteem the
great affection which she bore me. In course of time a very serious
incident grew out of this misunderstanding, through her desire to take
revenge for the affront I had put upon her; whereof I shall speak
hereafter in the proper place.
Well, then, the hour was drawing nigh when we had to present ourselves
before that company of men of genius, each with his own crow; and I was
still unprovided; and yet I thought it would be stupid to fail of such a
madcap bagatelle; [3] but what particularly weighed upon my mind was
that I did not choose to lend the light of my countenance in that
illustrious sphere to some miserable plume-plucked scarecrow. All these
considerations made me devise a pleasant trick, for the increase of
merriment and the diffusion of mirth in our society.
Having taken this resolve, I sent for a stripling of sixteen years, who
lived in the next house to mine; he was the son of a Spanish
coppersmith. This young man gave his time to Latin studies, and was very
diligent in their pursuit. He bore the name of Diego, had a handsome
figure, and a complexion of marvellous brilliancy; the outlines of his
head and face were far more beautiful than those of the antique
Antinous: I had often copied them, gaining thereby much honour from the
works in which I used them. The youth had no acquaintances, and was
therefore quite unknown; dressed very ill and negligently; all his
affections being set upon those wonderful studies of his. After bringing
him to my house, I begged him to let me array him in the woman’s clothes
which I had caused to be laid out. He readily complied, and put them on
at once, while I added new beauties to the beauty of his face by the
elaborate and studied way in which I dressed his hair. In his ears I
placed two little rings, set with two large and fair pearls; the rings
were broken; they only clipped his ears, which looked as though they had
been pierced. Afterwards I wreathed his throat with chains of gold and
rich jewels, and ornamented his fair hands with rings. Then I took him
in a pleasant manner by one ear, and drew him before a great
looking-glass. The lad, when he beheld himself, cried out with a burst
of enthusiasm: “Heavens! is that Diego?” I said: “That is Diego, from
whom until this day I never asked for any kind of favour; but now I only
beseech Diego to do me pleasure in one harmless thing; and it is this-I
want him to come in those very clothes to supper with the company of
artists whereof he has often heard me speak.” The young man, who was
honest, virtuous, and wise, checked his enthusiasm, bent his eyes to the
ground, and stood for a short while in silence. Then with a sudden move
he lifted up his face and said: “With Benvenuto I will go; now let us
start.”
I wrapped his head in a large kind of napkin, which is called in Rome a
summer-cloth; and when we reached the place of meeting, the company had
already assembled, and everybody came forward to greet me. Michel Agnolo
had placed himself between Giulio and Giovan Francesco. I lifted the
veil from the head of my beauty; and then Michel Agnolo, who, as I have
already said, was the most humorous and amusing fellow in the world,
laid his two hands, the one on Giulio’s and the other on Gian
Francesco’s shoulders, and pulling them with all his force, made them
bow down, while he, on his knees upon the floor, cried out for mercy,
and called to all the folk in words like these: “Behold ye of what sort
are the angels of paradise! for though they are called angels, here
shall ye see that they are not all of the male gender.” Then with a loud
voice he added:
“Angel beauteous, angel best,
Save me thou, make thou me blest.”
Upon this my charming creature laughed, and lifted the right hand and
gave him a papal benediction, with many pleasant words to boot. So
Michel Agnolo stood up, and said it was the custom to kiss the feet of
the Pope and the cheeks of angels; and having done the latter to Diego,
the boy blushed deeply, which immensely enhanced his beauty.
When this reception was over, we found the whole room full of sonnets,
which every man of us had made and sent to Michel Agnolo, My lad began
to read them, and read them all aloud so gracefully, that his infinite
charms were heightened beyond the powers of language to describe. Then
followed conversation and witty sayings, on which I will not enlarge,
for that is not my business; only one clever word must be mentioned, for
it was spoken by that admirable painter Giulio, who, looking round with
meaning [4] in his eyes on the bystanders, and fixing them particularly
upon the women, turned to Michel Agnolo and said: “My dear Michel
Agnolo, your nickname of crow very well suits those ladies to-day,
though I vow they are somewhat less fair than crows by the side of one
of the most lovely peacocks which fancy could have painted”
When the banquet was served and ready, and we were going to sit down to
table, Giulio asked leave to be allowed to place us. This being granted,
he took the women by the hand, and arranged them all upon the inner
side, with my fair in the centre; then he placed all the men on the
outside and me in the middle, saying there was no honour too great for
my deserts.; As a background to the women, there was spread an espalier
of natural jasmines in full beauty, [5] which set off their charms, and
especially Diego’s, to such great advantage, that words would fail to
describe the effect. Then we all of us fell to enjoying the abundance of
our host’s well-furnished table. The supper was followed by a short
concert of delightful music, voices joining in harmony with instruments;
and forasmuch as they were singing and playing from the book, my beauty
begged to be allowed to sing his part. He performed the music better
than almost all the rest, which so astonished the company that Giulio
and Michel Agnolo dropped their earlier tone of banter, exchanging it
for well-weighed terms of sober heartfelt admiration.
After the music was over, a certain Aurelio Ascolano, [6]remarkable for
his gift as an improvisatory poet, began to extol the women in choice
phrases of exquisite compliment. While he was chanting, the two girls
who had my beauty between them never left off chattering. One of them
related how she had gone wrong; the other asked mine how it had happened
with her, and who were her friends, and how long she had been settled in
Rome, and many other questions of the kind. It is true that, if I chose
to describe such laughable episodes, I could relate several odd things
which then occurred through Pantasilea’s jealousy on my account; but
since they form no part of my design, I pass them briefly over. At last
the conversation of those loose women vexed my beauty, whom we had
christened Pomona for the nonce; and Pomona, wanting to escape from
their silly talk, turned restlessly upon her chair, first to one side
and then to the other. The female brought by Giulio asked whether she
felt indisposed. Pomona answered, yes, she thought she was a month or so
with a child; this gave them the opportunity of feeling her body and
discovering the real sex of the supposed woman. Thereupon they quickly
withdrew their hands and rose from table, uttering such gibing words as
are commonly addressed to young men of eminent beauty. The whole room
rang with laughter and astonishment, in the midst of which Michel
Agnolo, assuming a fierce aspect, called out for leave to inflict on me
the penance he thought fit. When this was granted, he lifted me aloft
amid the clamour of the company, crying: “Long live the gentleman! long
live the gentleman!” and added that this was the punishment I deserved
for having played so fine a trick. Thus ended that most agreeable
supper-party, and each of us returned to his own dwelling at the close
of day.
Note 1. This sculptor came to Rome with his compatriot Baldassare
Peruzzi, and was employed upon the monument of Pope Adrian VI., which he
executed with some help from Tribolo.
Note 2. There were two artists at this epoch surnamed Bachiacca, the
twin sons of Ubertino Verdi, called respectively Francesco and Antonio.
Francesco was an excellent painter of miniature oil-pictures; Antonio
the first embroiderer of his age. The one alluded to here is probably
Francesco.
Note 3. 'Mancare di una sipazza cosa.' The 'pazza cosa' may be the
supper-party or the 'cornacchia.'
Note 4. 'Virtuosamente.' Cellini uses the word 'virtuoso' in many
senses, but always more with reference to intellectual than moral
qualities. It denotes genius, artistic ability, masculine force, &c.
Note 5. 'Un tessuto di gelsumini naturali e bellissimi. Tessuto' is
properly something woven, a fabric; and I am not sure whether Cellini
does not mean that the ladies had behind their backs a tapestry
representing jasmines in a natural manner.
Note 6. Probably Eurialo d’Ascoli, a friend of Caro, Molza, Aretino.
XXXI
IT would take too long to describe in detail all the many and divers
pieces of work which I executed for a great variety of men. At present I
need only say that I devoted myself with sustained diligence and
industry to acquiring mastery in the several branches of art which I
enumerated a short while back. And so I went on labouring incessantly at
all of them; but since no opportunity has presented itself as yet for
describing my most notable performances, I shall wait to report them in
their proper place before very long. The Sienese sculptor, Michel
Agnolo, of whom I have recently been speaking, was at that time making
the monument of the late Pope Adrian. Giulio Romano went to paint for
the Marquis of Mantua. The other members of the club betook themselves
in different directions, each to his own business; so that our company
of artists was well-nigh altogether broken up.
About this time there fell into my hands some little Turkish poniards;
the handle as well as the blade of these daggers was made of iron, and
so too was the sheath. They were engraved by means of iron implements
with foliage in the most exquisite Turkish style, very neatly filled in
with gold. The sight of them stirred in me a great desire to try my own
skill in that branch, so different from the others which I practiced;
and finding that I succeeded to my satisfaction, I executed several
pieces. Mine were far more beautiful and more durable than the Turkish,
and this for divers reasons. One was that I cut my grooves much deeper
and with wider trenches in the steel; for this is not usual in Turkish
work. Another was that the Turkish arabesques are only composed of arum
leaves a few small sunflowers; [1] and though these have a certain
grace, they do not yield so lasting a pleasure as the patterns which we
use. It is true that in Italy we have several different ways of
designing foliage; the Lombards, for example, construct very beautiful
patterns by copying the leaves of briony and ivy in exquisite curves,
which are extremely agreeable to the eye; the Tuscans and the Romans
make a better choice, because they imitate the leaves of the acanthus,
commonly called bear’s-foot, with its stalks and flowers, curling in
divers wavy lines; and into these arabesques one may excellently well
insert the figures of little birds and different animals, by which the
good taste of the artist is displayed. Some hints for creatures of this
sort can be observed in nature among the wild flowers, as, for instance,
in snap-dragons and some few other plants, which must be combined and
developed with the help of fanciful imaginings by clever draughtsmen.
Such arabesques are called grotesques by the ignorant. They have
obtained this name of grotesques among the moderns through being found
in certain subterranean caverns in Rome by students of antiquity; which
caverns were formerly chambers, hot-baths, cabinets for study, halls,
and apartments of like nature. The curious discovering them in such
places (since the level of the ground has gradually been raised while
they have remained below, and since in Rome these vaulted rooms are
commonly called grottoes), it has followed that the word grotesque is
applied to the patterns I have mentioned. But this is not the right term
for them, inasmuch as the ancients, who delighted in composing monsters
out of goats, cows, and horses, called these chimerical hybrids by the
name of monsters; and the modern artificers of whom I speak, fashioned
from the foliage which they copied monsters of like nature; for these
the proper name is therefore monsters, and not grotesques. Well, then, I
designed patterns of this kind, and filled them in with gold, as I have
mentioned; and they were far more pleasing to the eye than the Turkish.
It chanced at that time that I lighted upon some jars or little antique
urns filled with ashes, and among the ashes were some iron rings inlaid
with gold (for the ancients also used that art), and in each of the
rings was set a tiny cameo of shell. On applying to men of learning,
they told me that these rings were worn as amulets by folk desirous of
abiding with mind unshaken in any extraordinary circumstance, whether of
good or evil fortune. Hereupon, at the request of certain noblemen who
were my friends, I undertook to fabricate some trifling rings of this
kind; but I made them of refined steel; and after they had been well
engraved and inlaid with gold, they produced a very beautiful effect;
and sometimes a single ring brought me more than forty crowns, merely in
payment for my labour.
It was the custom at that epoch to wear little golden medals, upon which
every nobleman or man of quality had some device or fancy of his own
engraved; and these were worn in the cap. Of such pieces I made very
many, and found them extremely difficult to work. I have already
mentioned the admirable craftsman Caradosso, who used to make such
ornaments; and as there were more than one figure on each piece, he
asked at least a hundred gold crowns for his fee. This being so-not,
however, because his prices were so high, but because he worked so
slowly-I began to be employed by certain noblemen, for whom, among other
things, I made a medal in competition with that great artist, and it had
four figures, upon which I had expended an infinity of labour. These men
of quality, when they compared my piece with that of the famous
Caradosso, declared that mine was by far the better executed and more
beautiful, and bade me ask what I liked as the reward of my trouble; for
since I had given them such perfect satisfaction, they wished to do the
like by me. I replied that my greatest reward and what I most desired
was to have rivalled the masterpieces of so eminent an artist; and that
if their lordships thought I had, I acknowledged myself to be most amply
rewarded. With this I took my leave, and they immediately sent me such a
very liberal present, that I was well content; indeed there grew in me
so great a spirit to do well, that to this event I attributed what will
afterwards be related of my progress.
Note 1. 'Gichero,' arum maculatum, and 'clizia,' the sunflower.
XXXII
I SHALL be obliged to digress a little from the history of my art,
unless I were to omit some annoying incidents which have happened in the
course of my troubled career. One of these, which I am about to
describe, brought me into the greatest risk of my life. I have already
told the story of the artists’ club, and of the farcical adventures
which happened owing to the woman whom I mentioned, Pantasilea, the one
who felt for me that false and fulsome love. She was furiously enraged
because of the pleasant trick by which I brought Diego to our banquet,
and she swore to be revenged on me. How she did so is mixed up with the
history of a young man called Luigi Pulci, who had recently come to
Rome. He was the son of one of the Pulcis, who had been beheaded for
incest with his daughter; and the youth possessed extraordinary gifts
for poetry together with sound Latin scholarship; he wrote well, was
graceful in manners, and of surprising personal beauty; he had just left
the service of some bishop, whose name I do not remember, and was
thoroughly tainted with a very foul disease. While he was yet a lad and
living in Florence, they used in certain places of the city to meet
together during the nights of summer on the public streets; and he,
ranking among the best of the improvisatori, sang there. His recitations
were so admirable, that the divine Michel Agnolo Buonarroti, that prince
of sculptors and of painters, went, wherever he heard that he would be,
with the greatest eagerness and delight to listen to him. There was a
man called Piloto, a goldsmith, very able in his art, who, together with
myself, joined Buonarroti upon these occasions. [1] Thus acquaintance
sprang up between me and Luigi Pulci; and so, after the lapse of many
years, he came, in the miserable plight which I have mentioned, to make
himself known to me again in Rome, beseeching me for God’s sake to help
him. Moved to compassion by his great talents, by the love of my
fatherland, and by my own natural tenderness of heart, I took him into
my house, and had him medically treated in such wise that, being but a
youth, he soon regained his health. While he was still pursuing his
cure, he never omitted his studies, and I provided him with books
according to the means at my disposal. The result was that Luigi,
recognising the great benefits he had received from me, oftentimes with
words and tears returned me thanks, protesting that if God should ever
put good fortune in his way, he would recompense me for my kindness. To
this I replied that I had not done for him as much as I desired, but
only what I could, and that it was the duty of human beings to be
mutually serviceable. Only I suggested that he should repay the service
I had rendered him by doing likewise to some one who might have the same
need of him as he had had of me.
The young man in question began to frequent the Court of Rome, where he
soon found a situation, and enrolled himself in the suite of a bishop, a
man of eighty years, who bore the title of Gurgensis. [2] This bishop
had a nephew called Messer Giovanni: he was a nobleman of Venice; and
the said Messer Giovanni made show of marvellous attachment to Luigi
Pulci’s talents; and under the pretence of these talents, he brought him
as familiar to himself as his own flesh blood. Luigi having talked of
me, and of his great obligations to me, with Messer Giovanni, the latter
expressed a wish to make my acquaintance. Thus then it came to pass,
that when I had upon a certain evening invited that woman Pantasilea to
supper, and had assembled a company of men of parts who were my friends,
just at the moment of our sitting down to table, Messer Giovanni and
Luigi Pulci arrived, and after some complimentary speeches, they both
remained to sup with us. The shameless strumpet, casting her eyes upon
the young man’s beauty, began at once to lay her nets for him;
perceiving which, when the supper had come to an agreeable end, I took
Luigi aside, and conjured him, by the benefits he said he owed me, to
have nothing whatever to do with her. To this he answered: “Good
heavens, Benvenuto! do you then take me for a madman?” I rejoined: “Not
for a madman, but for a young fellow;” and I swore to him by God: “I do
not give that woman the least thought; but for your sake I should be
sorry if through her you come to break your neck.” Upon these words he
vowed and prayed to God, that, if ever he but spoke with her, he might
upon the moment break his neck. I think the poor lad swore this oath to
God with all his heart, for he did break his neck, as I shall presently
relate. Messer Giovanni showed signs too evident of loving him in a
dishonourable way; for we began to notice that Luigi had new suits of
silk and velvet every morning, and it was known that he abandoned
himself altogether to bad courses. He neglected his fine talents, and
pretended not to see or recognise me, because I had once rebuked him,
and told him he was giving his soul to foul vices, which would make him
break his neck, as he had vowed.
Note 1. Piloto, of whom we shall hear more hereafter, was a prominent
figure in the Florentine society of artists, and a celebrated practical
joker. Vasari says that a young man of whom he had spoken ill murdered
him. Lasca’s Novelle, 'Le Cene,' should be studied by those who seek an
insight into this curious Bohemia of the sixteenth century.
Note 2. Girolamo Balbo, of the noble Venetian family, Bishop of Gurck,
in Carinthia.
XXXIII
NOW Messer Giovanni bought his favourite a very fine black horse, for
which he paid 150 crowns. The beast was admirably trained to hand, so
that Luigi could go daily to caracole around the lodgings of that
prostitute Pantasilea. Though I took notice of this, I paid it no
attention, only remarking that all things acted as their nature
prompted; and meanwhile I gave my whole mind to my studies. It came to
pass one Sunday evening that we were invited to sup together with the
Sienese sculptor, Michel Agnolo, and the time of the year was summer.
Bachiacca, of whom I have already spoken, was present at the party; and
he had brought with him his old flame, Pantasilea. When we were at
table, she sat between me and Bachiacca; but in the very middle of the
banquet she rose, and excused herself upon the pretext of a natural
need, saying she would speedily return. We, meanwhile, continued talking
very agreeably and supping; but she remained an unaccountably long time
absent. It chanced that, keeping my ears open, I thought I heard a sort
of subdued tittering in the street below. I had a knife in hand, which I
was using for my service at the table. The window was so close to where
I sat, that, by merely rising, I could see Luigi in the street, together
with Pantasilea; and I heard Luigi saying: “Oh, if that devil Benvenuto
only saw us, shouldn’t we just catch it!” She answered: “Have no fear;
only listen to the noise they’re making; we are the last thing they’re
thinking of.” At these words, having made them both well out, I leaped
from the window, and took Luigi by the cape; and certainly I should then
have killed him with the knife I held, but that he was riding a white
horse, to which he clapped spurs, leaving his cape in my grasp, in order
to preserve his life. Pantasilea took to her heels in the direction of a
neighbouring church. The company at supper rose immediately, and came
down, entreating me in a body to refrain from putting myself and them to
inconvenience for a strumpet. I told them that I should not have let
myself be moved on her account, but that I was bent on punishing the
infamous young man, who showed how little he regarded me. Accordingly I
would not yield to the remonstrances of those ingenious and worthy men,
but took my sword, and went alone toward Prati:-the house where we were
supping, I should say, stood close to the Castello gate, which led to
Prati. [1] Walking thus upon the road to Prati, I had not gone far
before the sun sank, and I re-entered Rome itself at a slow pace. Night
had fallen; darkness had come on; but the gates of Rome were not yet shut. |
|
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기