LXIX
IT happened on one feast-day that I went to the palace after dinner, and
when I reached the clockroom, I saw the door of the wardrobe standing
open. As I drew nigh it, the Duke called me, and after a friendly
greeting said: “You are welcome! Look at that box which has been sent me
by my lord Stefano of Palestrina. [1] Open it, and let us see what it
contains.” When I had opened the box, I cried to the Duke: “My lord,
this is a statue in Greek marble, and it is a miracle of beauty. I must
say that I have never seen a boy’s figure so excellently wrought and in
so fine a style among all the antiques I have inspected. If your
Excellency permits, I should like to restore it--head and arms and feet.
I will add an eagle, in order that we may christen the lad Ganymede. It
is certainly not my business to patch up statues, that being the trade
of botchers, who do it in all conscience villainously ill; yet the art
displayed by this great master of antiquity cries out to me to help
him.” The Duke was highly delighted to find the statue so beautiful, and
put me a multitude of questions, saying: “Tell me, Benvenuto, minutely,
in what consists the skill of this old master, which so excites your
admiration.” I then attempted, as well as I was able, to explain the
beauty of workmanship, the consummate science, and the rare manner
displayed by the fragment. I spoke long upon these topics, and with the
greater pleasure because I saw that his Excellency was deeply interested.
Note 1. Stefano Colonna, of the princely house of Palestrina. He was a
general of considerable repute in the Spanish, French, and Florentine
services successively.
LXX
WHILE I was thus pleasantly engaged in entertaining the Duke, a page
happened to leave the wardrobe, and at the same moment Bandinello
entered. When the Duke saw him, his countenance contracted, and he asked
him drily: “What are you about here?” Bandinello, without answering,
cast a glance upon the box, where the statue lay uncovered. Then
breaking into one of his malignant laughs and wagging his head, he
turned to the Duke and said: “My lord, this exactly illustrates the
truth of what I have so often told your Excellency. You must know that
the ancients were wholly ignorant of anatomy, and therefore their works
abound in mistakes.” I kept silence, and paid no heed to what he was
saying; nay, indeed, I had turned my back on him. But when the brute had
brought his disagreeable babble to an end, the Duke exclaimed: “O
Benvenuto, this is the exact opposite of what you were just now
demonstrating with so many excellent arguments. Come and speak a word in
defence of the statue.” In reply to this appeal, so kindly made me by
the Duke, I spoke as follows: “My lord, your most illustrious Excellency
must please to know that Baccio Bandinello is made up of everything bad,
and thus has he ever been; therefore, whatever he looks at, be the thing
superlatively excellent, becomes in his ungracious eyes as bad as can
be. I, who incline to the good only, discern the truth with purer sense.
Consequently, what I told your Excellency about this lovely statue is
mere simple truth; whereas what Bandinello said is but a portion of the
evil out of which he is composed.” The Duke listened with much
amusement; but Bandinello writhed and made the most ugly faces--his face
itself being by nature hideous beyond measure--which could be imagined
by the mind of man.
The Duke at this point moved away, and proceeded through some ground
floor rooms, while Bandinello followed. The chamberlains twitched me by
the mantle, and sent me after; so we all attended the Duke until he
reached a certain chamber, where he seated himself, with Bandinello and
me standing at his right hand and his left. I kept silence, and the
gentlemen of his Excellency’s suite looked hard at Bandinello, tittering
among themselves about the speech I had made in the room above. So then
Bandinello began again to chatter, and cried out: “Prince, when I
uncovered my Hercules and Cacus, I verily believe a hundred sonnets were
written on me, full of the worst abuse which could be invented by the
ignorant rabble.” [1] I rejoined: “Prince, when Michel Agnolo Buonarroti
displayed his Sacristy to view, with so many fine statues in it, the men
of talent in our admirable school of Florence, always appreciative of
truth and goodness, published more than a hundred sonnets, each vying
with his neighbour to extol these masterpieces to the skies. [2] So
then, just as Bandinello’s work deserved all the evil which, he tells
us, was then said about it, Buonarroti’s deserved the enthusiastic
praise which was bestowed upon it.” These words of mine made Bandinello
burst with fury; he turned on me, and cried: “And you, what have you got
to say against my work?” “I will tell you if you have the patience to
hear me out.” “Go along then,” he replied. The Duke and his attendants
prepared themselves to listen. I began and opened by oration thus: “You
must know that it pains me to point out the faults of your statue; I
shall not, however, utter my own sentiments, but shall recapitulate what
our most virtuous school of Florence says about it.” The brutal fellow
kept making disagreeable remarks and gesticulating with his hands and
feet, until he enraged me so that I began again, and spoke far more
rudely than I should otherwise have done, if he had behaved with
decency. “Well, then, this virtuous school says that if one were to
shave the hair of your Hercules, there would not be skull enough left to
hold his brain; it says that it is impossible to distinguish whether his
features are those of a man or of something between a lion and an ox;
the face too is turned away from the action of the figure, and is so
badly set upon the neck, with such poverty of art and so ill a grace,
that nothing worse was ever seen; his sprawling shoulders are like the
two pommels of an ass’ pack-saddle; his breasts and all the muscles of
the body are not portrayed from a man, but from a big sack full of
melons set upright against a wall. The loins seem to be modelled from a
bag of lanky pumpkins; nobody can tell how his two legs are attached to
that vile trunk; it is impossible to say on which leg he stands, or
which he uses to exert his strength; nor does he seem to be resting upon
both, as sculptors who know something of their art have occasionally set
the figure. It is obvious that the body is leaning forward more than
one-third of a cubit, which alone is the greatest and most insupportable
fault committed by vulgar commonplace pretenders. Concerning the arms,
they say that these are both stretched out without one touch of grace or
one real spark of artistic talents, just as if you had never seen a
naked model. Again, the right leg of Hercules and that of Cacus have got
one mass of flesh between them, so that if they were to be separated,
not only one of them, but both together, would be left without a calf at
the point where they are touching. They say, too, that Hercules has one
of his feet underground, while the other seems to be resting on hot
coals.”
Note 1. Vasari confirms this statement. The statue, which may still be
seen upon the great piazza, is, in truth, a very poor performance. The
Florentines were angry because Bandinello had filched the commission
away from Michel Angelo. It was uncovered in 1534, and Duke Alessandro
had to imprison its lampooners.
Note 2. Cellini alludes of course to the Sacristy of S. Lorenzo,
designed by Michel Angelo, with the portraits of the Medici and statues
of Day, Night, Dawn, and Twilight.
LXXI
THE FELLOW could not stand quiet to hear the damning errors of his Cacus
in their turn enumerated. For one thing, I was telling the truth; for
another, I was unmasking him to the Duke and all the people present, who
showed by face and gesture first their surprise, and next their
conviction that what I said was true. All at once he burst out: “Ah, you
slanderous tongue! why don’t you speak about my design?” I retorted: “A
good draughtsman can never produce bad works; therefore I am inclined to
believe that your drawing is no better than your statues.” When he saw
the amused expression on the Duke’s face and the cutting gestures of the
bystanders, he let his insolence get the better of him, and turned to me
with that most hideous face of his, screaming aloud: “Oh, hold your
tongue, you ugly…” [1] At these words the Duke frowned, and the
others pursed their lips up and looked with knitted grows toward him.
The horrible affront half maddened me with fury; but in a moment I
recovered presence of mind enough to turn it off with a jest; “You
madman! you exceed the bounds of decency. Yet would to God that I
understood so noble an art as you allude to; they say that Jove used it
with Ganymede in paradise, and here upon this earth it is practised by
some of the greatest emperors and kings. I, however, am but a poor
humble creature, who neither have the power nor the intelligence to
perplex my wits with anything so admirable.” When I had finished this
speech, the Duke and his attendants could control themselves no longer,
but broke into such shouts of laughter that one never heard the like.
You must know, gentle readers, that though I put on this appearance of
pleasantry, my heart was bursting in my body to think that a fellow, the
foulest villain who ever breathed, should have dared in the presence of
so great a prince to cast an insult of that atrocious nature in my
teeth; but you must also know that he insulted the Duke, and not me; for
had I not stood in that august presence, I should have felled him dead
to earth. When the dirty stupid scoundrel observed that those gentlemen
kept on laughing, he tried to change the subject, and divert them from
deriding him; so he began as follows: “This fellow Benvenuto goes about
boasting that I have promised him a piece of marble.” I took him up at
once. “What! did you not send to tell me by your journeyman, Francesco,
that if I wished to work in marble you would give me a block? I accepted
it, and mean to have it.” He retorted: “Be very well assured that you
will never get it.” Still smarting as I was under the calumnious insults
he had flung at me, I lost my self-control, forgot I was in the presence
of the Duke, and called out in a storm of fury: “I swear to you that if
you do not send the marble to my house, you had better look out for
another world, for if you stay upon this earth I will most certainly rip
the wind out of your carcass. [2] Then suddenly awaking to the fact that
I was standing in the presence of so great a duke, I turned submissively
to his Excellency and said: “My lord, one fool makes a hundred; the
follies of this man have blinded me for a moment to the glory of your
most illustrious Excellency and to myself. I humbly crave your pardon.”
Then the Duke said to Bandinello: “Is it true that you promised him the
marble?” He replied that it was true. Upon this the Duke addressed me:
“Go to the Opera, and choose a piece according to your taste.” I
demurred that the man had promised to sent it home to me. The words that
passed between us were awful, and I refused to take the stone in any
other way. Next morning a piece of marble was brought to my house. On
asking who had sent it, they told me it was Bandinello, and that this
was the very block which he had promised. 3
Note 1. 'Oh sta cheto, soddomitaccio.'
Note 2. 'In questo' ('mondo') 'ti sgonfiero a ogni modo.'
Note 3. Vasari, in his 'Life of Bandinello,' gives a curious
confirmation of Cellini’s veracity by reporting this quarrel, with some
of the speeches which pdssed between the two rival artists. Yet he had
not read Cellini’s 'Memoirs,' and was far from partial to the man.
Comparing Vasari’s with Cellini’s account, we only notice that the
latter has made Bandinello play a less witty part in the wordy strife
than the former assigned him.
LXXII
I HAD it brought at once in to my studio, and began to chisel it. While
I was rough-hewing the block, I made a model. But my eagerness to work
in marble was so strong, that I had not patience to finish the model as
correctly as this art demands. I soon noticed that the stone rang false
beneath my strokes, which made me often-times repent commencing on it.
Yet I got what I could out of the piece--that is, the Apollo and
Hyacinth, which may still be seen unfinished in my workshop. While I was
thus engaged, the Duke came to my house, and often said to me: “Leave
your bronze awhile, and let me watch you working on the marble.” Then I
took chisel and mallet, and went at it blithely. He asked about the
model I had made for my statue; to which I answered: “Duke, this marble
is all cracked, but I shall carve something from it in spite of that;
therefore I have not been able to settle the model, but shall go on
doing the best I can.”
His Excellency sent to Rome post-haste for a block of Greek marble, in
order that I might restore his antique Ganymede, which was the cause of
that dispute with Bandinello. When it arrived, I thought it a sin to cut
it up for the head and arms and other bits wanting in the Ganymede; so I
provided myself with another piece of stone, and reserved the Greek
marble for a Narcissus which I modelled on a small scale in wax. I found
that the block had two holes, penetrating to the depth of a quarter of a
cubit, and two good inches wide. This led me to choose the attitude
which may be noticed in my statue, avoiding the holes and keeping my
figure free from them. But rain had fallen scores of years upon the
stone, filtering so deeply from the holes into its substance that the
marble was decayed. Of this I had full proof at the time of a great
inundation of the Arno, when the river rose to the height of more than a
cubit and a half in my workshop. [1] Now the Narcissus stood upon a
square of wood, and the water overturned it, causing the statue to break
in two above the breasts. I had to join the pieces; and in order that
the line of breakage might not be observed, I wreathed that garland of
flowers round it which may still be seen upon the bosom. I went on
working at the surface, employing some hours before sunrise, or now and
then on feast-days, so as not to lose the time I needed for my Perseus.
It so happened on one of those mornings, while I was getting some little
chisels into trim to work on the Narcissus, that a very fine splinter of
steel flew into my right eye, and embedded itself so deeply in the pupil
that it could not be extracted. I thought for certain I must lose the
sight of that eye. After some days I sent for Maestro Raffaello de
Pilli, the surgeon, who obtained a couple of live pigeons, and placing
me upon my back across a table, took the birds and opened a large vein
they have beneath the wing, so that the blood gushed out into my eye. I
felt immediately relieved, and in the space of two days the splinter
came away, and I remained with eyesight greatly improved. Against the
feast of S. Lucia, [2] which came round in three days, I made a golden
eye out of a French crown, and had it presented at her shrine by one of
my six nieces, daughters of my sister Liperata; the girl was ten years
of age, and in her company I returned thanks to God and S. Lucia. For
some while afterwards I did not work at the Narcissus, but pushed my
Perseus forward under all the difficulties I have described. It was my
purpose to finish it, and then to bid farewell to Florence.
Note 1. Cellini alludes to a celebrated inundation of the year 1547.
Note 2. S. Lucy, I need hardly remark, is the patroness of the eyes. In
Italian art she is generally represented holding her own eyes upon a
plate.
LXXIII
HAVING succeeded so well with the cast of the Medusa, I had great hope
of bringing my Perseus through; for I had laid the wax on, and felt
confident that it would come out in bronze as perfectly as the Medusa.
The waxen model produced so fine an effect, that when the Duke saw it
and was struck with its beauty--whether somebody had persuaded him it
could not be carried out with the same finish in metal, or whether he
thought so for himself--he came to visit me more frequently than usual,
and on one occasion said: “Benvenuto, this figure cannot succeed in
bronze; the laws of art do not admit of it.” These words of his
Excellency stung me so sharply that I answered: “My lord, I know how
very little confidence you have in me; and I believe the reason of this
is that your most illustrious Excellency lends too ready an ear to my
calumniators, or else indeed that you do not understand my art.” He
hardly let me close the sentence when he broke in: “I profess myself a
connoisseur, and understand it very well indeed.” I replied: “Yes, like
a prince, not like an artist; for if your Excellency understood my trade
as well as you imagine, you would trust me on the proofs I have already
given. These are, first, the colossal bronze bust of your Excellency,
which is now in Elba; [1] secondly, the restoration of the Ganymede in
marble, which offered so many difficulties and cost me so much trouble,
that I would rather have made the whole statue new from the beginning;
thirdly, the Medusa, cast by me in bronze, here now before your
Excellency’s eyes, the execution of which was a greater triumph of
strength and skill than any of my predecessors in this fiendish art have
yet achieved. Look you, my lord! I constructed that furnace anew on
principles quite different from those of other founders; in addition to
many technical improvements and ingenious devices, I supplied it with
two issues for the metal, because this difficult and twisted figure
could not otherwise have come out perfect. It is only owing to my
intelligent insight into means and appliances that the statue turned out
as it did; a triumph judged impossible by all the practitioners of this
art. I should like you furthermore to be aware, my lord, for certain,
that the sole reason why I succeeded with all those great arduous works
in France under his most admirable Majesty King Francis, was the high
courage which that good monarch put into my heart by the liberal
allowances he made me, and the multitude of workpeople he left at my
disposal. I could have as many as I asked for, and employed at times
above forty, all chosen by myself. These were the causes of my having
there produced so many masterpieces in so short a space of time. Now
then, my lord, put trust in me; supply me with the aid I need. I am
confident of being able to complete a work which will delight your soul.
But if your Excellency goes on disheartening me, and does not advance me
the assistance which is absolutely required, neither I nor any man alive
upon this earth can hope to achieve the slightest thing of value.”
Note 1. At Portoferraio. It came afterwards to Florence.
LXXIV
IT was as much as the Duke could do to stand by and listen to my
pleadings. He kept turning first this way and then that; while I, in
despair, poor wretched I, was calling up remembrance of the noble state
I held in France, to the great sorrow of my soul. All at once he cried:
“Come, tell me, Benvenuto, how is it possible that yonder splendid head
of Medusa, so high up there in the grasp of Perseus, should ever come
out perfect?” I replied upon the instant: “Look you now, my lord! If
your Excellency possessed that knowledge of the craft which you affirm
you have, you would not fear one moment for the splendid head you speak
of. There is good reason, on the other hand, to feel uneasy about this
right foot, so far below and at a distance from the rest.” When he heard
these words, the Duke turned, half in anger, to some gentlemen in
waiting, and exclaimed: “I verily believe that this Benvenuto prides
himself on contradicting everything one says.” Then he faced round to me
with a touch of mockery, upon which his attendants did the like, and
began to speak as follows: “I will listen patiently to any argument you
can possibly produce in explanation of your statement, which may
convince me of its probability.” I said in answer: “I will adduce so
sound an argument that your Excellency shall perceive the full force of
it.” So I began: “You must know, my lord, that the nature of fire is to
ascend, and therefore I promise you that Medusa’s head will come out
famously; but since it is not in the nature of fire to descend, and I
must force it downwards six cubits by artificial means, I assure your
Excellency upon this most convincing ground of proof that the foot
cannot possibly come out. It will, however, be quite easy for me to
restore it.” “Why, then,” said the Duke, “did you not devise it so that
the foot should come out as well as you affirm the head will?” I
answered: “I must have made a much larger furnace, with a conduit as
thick as my leg; and so I might have forced the molten metal by its own
weight to descend so far. Now, my pipe, which runs six cubits to the
statue’s foot, as I have said, is not thicker than two fingers. However,
it was not worth the trouble and expense to make a larger; for I shall
easily be able to mend what is lacking. But when my mould is more than
half full, as I expect, from this middle point upwards, the fire
ascending by its natural property, then the heads of Perseus and Medusa
will come out admirably; you may be quite sure of it.” After I had thus
expounded these convincing arguments, together with many more of the
same kind, which it would be tedious to set down here, the Duke shook
his head and departed without further ceremony.
LXXV
ABANDONED thus to my own resources, I took new courage, and banished the
sad thoughts which kept recurring to my mind, making me often weep
bitter tears of repentance for having left France; for though I did so
only to revisit Florence, my sweet birthplace, in order that I might
charitably succour my six nieces, this good action, as I well perceived,
had been the beginning of my great misfortune. Nevertheless, I felt
convinced that when my Perseus was accomplished, all these trials would
be turned to high felicity and glorious well-being.
Accordingly I strengthened my heart, and with all the forces of my body
and my purse, employing what little money still remained to me, I set to
work. First I provided myself with several loads of pinewood from the
forests of Serristori, in the neighbourhood of Montelupo. While these
were on their way, I clothed my Perseus with the clay which I had
prepared many months beforehand, in order that it might be duly
seasoned. After making its clay tunic (for that is the term used in this
art) and properly arming it and fencing it with iron girders, I began to
draw the wax out by means of a slow fire. This melted and issued through
numerous air-vents I had made; for the more there are of these, the
better will the mould fill. When I had finished drawing off the wax, I
constructed a funnel-shaped furnace all round the model of my Perseus.
[1] It was built of bricks, so interlaced, the one above the other, that
numerous apertures were left for the fire to exhale at. Then I began to
lay on wood by degrees, and kept it burning two whole days and nights.
At length, when all the wax was gone, and the mould was well baked, I
set to work at digging the pit in which to sink it. This I performed
with scrupulous regard to all the rules of art. When I had finished that
part of my work, I raised the mould by windlasses and stout ropes to a
perpendicular position, and suspending it with the greatest care one
cubit above the level of the furnace, so that it hung exactly above the
middle of the pit, I next lowered it gently down into the very bottom of
the furnace, and had it firmly placed with every possible precaution for
its safety. When this delicate operation was accomplished, I began to
bank it up with the earth I had excavated; and, ever as the earth grew
higher, I introduced its proper air-vents, which were little tubes of
earthenware, such as folk use for drains and such-like purposes. [2] At
length, I felt sure that it was admirably fixed, and that the filling-in
of the pit and the placing of the air-vents had been properly performed.
I also could see that my work people understood my method, which
differed very considerably from that of all the other masters in the
trade. Feeling confident, then, that I could rely upon them, I next
turned to my furnace, which I had filled with numerous pigs of copper
and other bronze stuff. The pieces were piled according to the laws of
art, that is to say, so resting one upon the other that the flames could
play freely through them, in order that the metal might heat and liquefy
the sooner. At last I called out heartily to set the furnace going. The
logs of pine were heaped in, and, what with the unctuous resin of the
wood and the good draught I had given, my furnace worked so well that I
was obliged to rush from side to side to keep it going. The labour was
more than I could stand; yet I forced myself to strain every nerve and
muscle. To increase my anxieties, the workshop took fire, and we were
afraid lest the roof should fall upon our heads; while, from the garden,
such a storm of wind and rain kept blowing in, that it perceptibly
cooled the furnace.
Battling thus with all these untoward circumstances for several hours,
and exerting myself beyond even the measure of my powerful constitution,
I could at last bear up no longer, and a sudden fever, [3] of the utmost
possible intensity, attacked me. I felt absolutely obliged to go and
fling myself upon my bed. Sorely against my will having to drag myself
away from the spot, I turned to my assistants, about ten or more in all,
what with master-founders, hand-workers, country-fellows, and my own
special journeymen, among whom was Bernardino Mannellini of Mugello, my
apprentice through several years. To him in particular I spoke: “Look,
my dear Bernardino, that you observe the rules which I have taught you;
do your best with all despatch, for the metal will soon be fused. You
cannot go wrong; these honest men will get the channels ready; you will
easily be able to drive back the two plugs with this pair of iron
crooks; and I am sure that my mould will fill miraculously. I feel more
ill than I ever did in all my life, and verily believe that it will kill
me before a few hours are over. [4] Thus, with despair at heart, I left
them, and betook myself to bed.
Note 1. This furnace, called 'manica,' was like a grain-hopper, so that
the mould could stand upright in it as in a cup. The word 'manica' is
the same as our 'manuch,' an antique form of sleeve.
Note 2. These air-vents, or 'sfiatatoi,' were introduced into the outer
mould, which Cellini calls the 'tonaca,' or clay tunic laid upon the
original model of baked clay and wax. They served the double purpose of
drawing off the wax, whereby a space was left for the molten bronze to
enter, and also of facilitating the penetration of this molten metal by
allowing a free escape of air and gas from the outer mould.
Note 3. 'Una febbre efimera.' Lit., 'a fever of one day’s duration.'
Note 4. Some technical terms require explanation in this sentence. The
'canali' or channels were sluices for carrying the molten metal from the
furnace into the mould. The 'mandriani,' which I have translated by
'iron crooks,' were poles fitted at the end with curved irons, by which
the openings of the furnace, 'plugs,' or in Italian 'spine,' could be
partially or wholly driven back, so as to the molten metal flow through
the channels into the mould. When the metal reached the mould, it
entered in a red-hot stream between the 'tonaca,' or outside mould, and
the 'anima,' or inner block, filling up exactly the space which had
previously been occupied by the wax extracted by a method of slow
burning alluded to above. I believe that the process is known as
'casting a cire perdue.' The 'forma,' or mould, consisted of two pieces;
one hollow ('la tonaca'), which gave shape to the bronze; one solid and
rounded ('la anima'), which stood at a short interval within the former,
and regulated the influx of the metal. See above, p. 354, note.
LXXVI
NO sooner had I got to bed, than I ordered my serving-maids to carry
food and wine for all the men into the workshop; at the same time I
cried: “I shall not be alive tomorrow.” They tried to encourage me,
arguing that my illness would pass over, since it came from excessive
fatigue. In this way I spent two hours battling with the fever, which
steadily increased, and calling out continually: “I feel that I am
dying.” My housekeeper, who was named Mona Fiore da Castel del Rio, a
very notable manager and no less warm-hearted, kept chiding me for my
discouragement; but, on the other hand, she paid me every kind attention
which was possible. However, the sight of my physical pain and moral
dejection so affected her, that, in spite of that brave heart of hers,
she could not refrain from shedding tears; and yet, so far as she was
able, she took good care I should not see them. While I was thus
terribly afflicted, I beheld the figure of a man enter my chamber,
twisted in his body into the form of a capital S. He raised a
lamentable, doleful voice, like one who announces their last hour to men
condemned to die upon the scaffold, and spoke these words: “O Benvenuto!
your statue is spoiled, and there is no hope whatever of saving it.” No
sooner had I heard the shriek of that wretch than I gave a howl which
might have been heard from the sphere of flame. Jumping from my bed, I
seized my clothes and began to dress. The maids, and my lads, and every
one who came around to help me, got kicks or blows of the fist, while I
kept crying out in lamentation: “Ah! traitors! enviers! This is an act
of treason, done by malice prepense! But I swear by God that I will sift
it to the bottom, and before I die will leave such witness to the world
of what I can do as shall make a score of mortals marvel.”
When I had got my clothes on, I strode with soul bent on mischief toward
the workshop; there I beheld the men, whom I had left erewhile in such
high spirits, standing stupefied and downcast. I began at once and
spoke: “Up with you! Attend to me! Since you have not been able or
willing to obey the directions I gave you, obey me now that I am with
you to conduct my work in person. Let no one contradict me, for in cases
like this we need the aid of hand and hearing, not of advice.” When I
had uttered these words, a certain Maestro Alessandro Lastricati broke
silence and said: “Look you, Benvenuto, you are going to attempt an
enterprise which the laws of art do not sanction, and which cannot
succeed.” I turned upon him with such fury and so full of mischief, that
he and all the rest of them exclaimed with one voice: “On then! Give
orders! We will obey your least commands, so long as life is left in
us.” I believe they spoke thus feelingly because they thought I must
fall shortly dead upon the ground. I went immediately to inspect the
furnace, and found that the metal was all curdled; an accident which we
express by “being caked.” [1] I told two of the hands to cross the road,
and fetch from the house of the butcher Capretta a load of young
oak-wood, which had lain dry for above a year; this wood had been
previously offered me by Madame Ginevra, wife of the said Capretta. So
soon as the first armfuls arrived, I began to fill the grate beneath the
furnace. [2] Now oak-wood of that kind heats more powerfully than any
other sort of tree; and for this reason, where a slow fire is wanted, as
in the case of gun-foundry, alder or pine is preferred. Accordingly,
when the logs took fire, oh! how the cake began to stir beneath that
awful heat, to glow and sparkle in a blaze! At the same time I kept
stirring up the channels, and sent men upon the roof to stop the
conflagration, which had gathered force from the increased combustion in
the furnace; also I caused boards, carpets, and other hangings to be set
up against the garden, in order to protect us from the violence of the
rain.
Note 1. 'Essersi fatto un migliaccio.'
Note 2. The Italian is 'bracciaiuola,' a pit below the grating, which
receives the ashes from the furnace.
LXXVII
WHEN I had thus provided against these several disasters, I roared out
first to one man and then to another: “Bring this thing here! Take that
thing there!” At this crisis, when the whole gang saw the cake was on
the point of melting, they did my bidding, each fellow working with the
strength of three. I then ordered half a pig of pewter to be brought,
which weighed about sixty pounds, and flung it into the middle of the
cake inside the furnace. By this means, and by piling on wood and
stirring now with pokers and now with iron rods, the curdled mass
rapidly began to liquefy. Then, knowing I had brought the dead to life
again, against the firm opinion of those ignoramuses, I felt such vigour
fill my veins, that all those pains of fever, all those fears of death,
were quite forgotten.
All of a sudden an explosion took place, attended by a tremendous flash
of flame, as though a thunderbolt had formed and been discharged amongst
us. Unwonted and appalling terror astonished every one, and me more even
than the rest. When the din was over and the dazzling light
extinguished, we began to look each other in the face. Then I discovered
that the cap of the furnace had blown up, and the bronze was bubbling
over from its source beneath. So I had the mouths of my mould
immediately opened, and at the same time drove in the two plugs which
kept back the molten metal. But I noticed that it did not flow as
rapidly as usual, the reason being probably that the fierce heat of the
fire we kindled had consumed its base alloy. Accordingly I sent for all
my pewter platters, porringers, and dishes, to the number of some two
hundred pieces, and had a portion of them cast, one by one, into the
channels, the rest into the furnace. This expedient succeeded, and every
one could now perceive that my bronze was in most perfect liquefaction,
and my mould was filling; whereupon they all with heartiness and happy
cheer assisted and obeyed my bidding, while I, now here, now there, gave
orders, helped with my own hands, and cried aloud: “O God! Thou that by
Thy immeasurable power didst rise from the dead, and in Thy glory didst
ascend to heaven!”…. even thus in a moment my mould was filled;
and seeing my work finished, I fell upon my knees, and with all my heart
gave thanks to God.
After all was over, I turned to a plate of salad on a bench there, and
ate with hearty appetite, and drank together with the whole crew.
Afterwards I retired to bed, healthy and happy, for it was now two hours
before morning, and slept as sweetly as though I had never felt a touch
of illness. My good housekeeper, without my giving any orders, had
prepared a fat capon for my repast. So that, when I rose, about the hour
for breaking fast, she presented herself with a smiling countenance, and
said: “Oh! is that the man who felt that he was dying? Upon my word, I
think the blows and kicks you dealt us last night, when you were so
enraged, and had that demon in your body as it seemed, must have
frightened away your mortal fever! The fever feared that it might catch
it too, as we did!” All my poor household, relieved in like measure from
anxiety and overwhelming labour, went at once to buy earthen vessels in
order to replace the pewter I had cast away. Then we dined together
joyfully; nay, I cannot remember a day in my whole life when I dined
with greater gladness or a better appetite.
After our meal I received visits from the several men who had assisted
me. They exchanged congratulations, and thanked God for our success,
saying they had learned and seen things done which other masters judged
impossible. I too grew somewhat glorious; and deeming I had shown myself
a man of talent, indulged a boastful humour. So I thrust my hand into my
purse, and paid them all to their full satisfaction.
That evil fellow, my mortal foe, Messer Pier Francesco Ricci, majordomo
of the Duke, took great pains to find out how the affair had gone. In
answer to his questions, the two men whom I suspected of having caked my
metal for me, said I was no man, but of a certainty some powerful devil,
since I had accomplished what no craft of the art could do; indeed they
did not believe a mere ordinary fiend could work such miracles as I in
other ways had shown. They exaggerated the whole affair so much,
possibly in order to excuse their own part in it, that the majordomo
wrote an account to the Duke, who was then in Pisa, far more marvellous
and full of thrilling incidents than what they had narrated.
LXXVIII
AFTER I had let my statue cool for two whole days, I began to uncover it
by slow degrees. The first thing I found was that the head of Medusa had
come out most admirably, thanks to the air-vents; for, as I had told the
Duke, it is the nature of fire to ascend. Upon advancing farther, I
discovered that the other head, that, namely, of Perseus, had succeeded
no less admirably; and this astonished me far more, because it is at a
considerably lower level than that of the Medusa. Now the mouths of the
mould were placed above the head of Perseus and behind his shoulders;
and I found that all the bronze my furnace contained had been exhausted
in the head of this figure. It was a miracle to observe that not one
fragment remained in the orifice of the channel, and that nothing was
wanting to the statue. In my great astonishment I seemed to see in this
the hand of God arranging and controlling all.
I went on uncovering the statue with success, and ascertained that
everything had come out in perfect order, until I reached the foot of
the right leg on which the statue rests. There the heel itself was
formed, and going farther, I found the foot apparently complete. This
gave me great joy on the one side, but was half unwelcome to me on the
other, merely because I had told the Duke that it could not come out.
However, when I reached the end, it appeared that the toes and a little
piece above them were unfinished, so that about half the foot was
wanting. Although I knew that this would add a trifle to my labour, I
was very well pleased, because I could now prove to the Duke how well I
understood my business. It is true that far more of the foot than I
expected had been perfectly formed; the reason of this was that, from
causes I have recently described, the bronze was hotter than our rules
of art prescribe; also that I had been obliged to supplement the alloy
with my pewter cups and platters, which no one else, I think, had ever
done before.
Having now ascertained how successfully my work had been accomplished, I
lost no time in hurrying to Pisa, where I found the Duke. He gave me a
most gracious reception, as did also the Duchess; and although the
majordomo had informed them of the whole proceedings, their Excellencies
deemed my performance far more stupendous and astonishing when they
heard the tale from my own mouth. When I arrived at the foot of Perseus,
and said it had not come out perfect, just as I previously warned his
Excellency, I saw an expression of wonder pass over his face, while he
related to the Duchess how I had predicted this beforehand. Observing
the princes to be so well disposed towards me, I begged leave from the
Duke to go to Rome. He granted it in most obliging terms, and bade me
return as soon as possible to complete his Perseus; giving me letters of
recommendation meanwhile to his ambassador, Averardo Serristori. We were
then in the first years of Pope Giulio de Monti. 1
Note 1. Gio Maria del Monte Sansovino was elected Pope, with the title
of Julius III., in February 1550.
LXXIX
BEFORE leaving home, I directed my workpeople to proceed according to
the method I had taught them. The reason of my journey was as follows. I
had made a life-sized bust in bronze of Bindo Altoviti, [1] the son of
Antonio, and had sent it to him at Rome. He set it up in his study,
which was very richly adorned with antiquities and other works of art;
but the room was not designed for statues or for paintings, since the
windows were too low, so that the light coming from beneath spoiled the
effect they would have produced under more favourable conditions. It
happened one day that Bindo was standing at his door, when Michel Agnolo
Buonarroti, the sculptor, passed by; so he begged him to come in and see
his study. Michel Agnolo followed, and on entering the room and looking
round, he exclaimed: “Who is the master who made that good portrait of
you in so fine a manner? You must know that that bust pleases me as
much, or even more, than those antiques; and yet there are many fine
things to be seen among the latter. If those windows were above instead
of beneath, the whole collection would show to greater advantage, and
your portrait, placed among so many masterpieces, would hold its own
with credit.” No sooner had Michel Agnolo left the house of Bindo than
he wrote me a very kind letter, which ran as follows: “My dear
Benvenuto, I have known you for many years as the greatest goldsmith of
whom we have any information; and henceforward I shall know you for a
sculptor of like quality. I must tell you that Master Bindo Altoviti
took me to see his bust in bronze, and informed me that you had made it.
I was greatly pleased with the work; but it annoyed me to notice that it
was placed in a bad light; for if it were suitably illuminated, it would
show itself to be the fine performance that it is.” This letter abounded
with the most affectionate and complimentary expressions towards myself;
and before I left for Rome, I showed it to the Duke, who read it with
much kindly interest, and said to me: “Benvenuto, if you write to him,
and can persuade him to return to Florence, I will make him a member of
the Forty-eight.” [2] Accordingly I wrote a letter full of warmth, and
offered in the Duke’s name a hundred times more than my commission
carried; but not wanting to make any mistake, I showed this to the Duke
before I sealed it, saying to his most illustrious Excellency: “Prince,
perhaps I have made him too many promises.” He replied: “Michel Agnolo
deserves more than you have promised, and I will bestow on him still
greater favours.” To this letter he sent no answer, and I could see that
the Duke was much offended with him.
Note 1. This man was a member of a very noble Florentine family. Born in
1491, he was at this epoch Tuscan Consul in Rome. Cellini’s bust of him
still exists in the Palazzo Altoviti at Rome.
Note 2. This was one of the three Councils created by Clement VII. in
1532, when he changed the Florentine constitution. It corresponded to a
Senate.
LXXX
WHEN I reached Rome, I went to lodge in Bindo Altoviti’s house. He told
me at once how he had shown his bronze bust to Michel Agnolo, and how
the latter had praised it. So we spoke for some length upon this topic.
I ought to narrate the reasons why I had taken this portrait. Bindo had
in his hands 1200 golden crowns of mine, which formed part of 5000 he
had lent the Duke; 4000 were his own, and mine stood in his name, while
I received that portion of the interest which accrued to me. [1] This
led to my taking his portrait; and when he saw the wax model for the
bust, he sent me fifty golden scudi by a notary in his employ, named Ser
Giuliano Paccalli. I did not want to take the money, so I sent it back
to him by the same hand, saying at a later time to Bindo: “I shall be
satisfied if you keep that sum of mine for me at interest, so that I may
gain a little on it.” When we came to square accounts on this occasion,
I observed that he was ill disposed towards me, since, instead of
treating me affectionately, according to his previous wont, he put on a
stiff air; and although I was staying in his house, he was never
good-humoured, but always surly. However, we settled our business in a
few words. I sacrificed my pay for his portrait, together with the
bronze, and we arranged that he should keep my money at 15 per cent.
during my natural life.
Note 1. To make the sum correct, 5200 ought to have been lent the Duke.
LXXXI
ONE of the first things I did was to go and kiss the Pope’s feet; and
while I was speaking with his Holiness, Messer Averardo Serristori, our
Duke’s Envoy, arrived. [1] I had made some proposals to the Pope, which
I think he would have agreed upon, and I should have been very glad to
return to Rome on account of the great difficulties which I had at
Florence. But I soon perceived that the ambassador had countermined me.
Then I went to visit Michel Agnolo Buonarroti, and repeated what I had
written from Florence to him in the Duke’s name. He replied that he was
engaged upon the fabric of S. Peter’s, and that this would prevent him
from leaving Rome. I rejoined that, as he had decided on the model of
that building, he could leave its execution to his man Urbino, who would
carry out his orders to the letter. I added much about future favours,
in the form of a message from the Duke. Upon this he looked me hard in
the face, and said with a sarcastic smile: “And you! to what extent are
you satisfied with him?” Although I replied that I was extremely
contented and was very well treated by his Excellency, he showed that he
was acquainted with the greater part of my annoyances, and gave as his
final answer that it would be difficult for him to leave Rome. To this I
added that he could not do better than to return to his own land, which
was governed by a prince renowned for justice, and the greatest lover of
the arts and sciences who ever saw the light of this world. As I have
remarked above, he had with him a servant of his who came from Urbino,
and had lived many years in his employment, rather as valet and
housekeeper than anything else; this indeed was obvious, because he had
acquired no skill in the arts. [2] Consequently, while I was pressing
Michel Agnolo with arguments he could not answer, he turned round
sharply to Urbino, as though to ask him his opinion. The fellow began to
bawl out in his rustic way: “I will never leave my master Michel
Agnolo’s side till I shall have flayed him or he shall have flayed me.”
These stupid words forced me to laugh, and without saying farewell, I
lowered my shoulders and retired.
Note 1. His despatches form a valuable series of historical documents.
'Firenze,' Le Monnier, 1853.
Note 2. Upon the death of this Urbino, Michel Agnolo wrote a touching
sonnet and a very feeling letter to Vasari.
LXXXII
THE MISERABLE bargain I had made with Bindo Altoviti, losing my bust and
leaving him my capital for life, taught me what the faith of merchants
is; so I returned in bad spirits to Florence. I went at once to the
palace to pay my respects to the Duke, whom I found to be at Castello
beyond Ponte a Rifredi. In the palace I met Messer Pier Francesco Ricci,
the majordomo, and when I drew nigh to pay him the usual compliments, he
exclaimed with measureless astonishment: “Oh, are you come back?” and
with the same air of surprise, clapping his hands together, he cried:
“The Duke is at Castello!” then turned his back and left me. I could not
form the least idea why the beast behaved in such an extraordinary
manner to me.
Proceeding at once to Castello, and entering the garden where the Duke
was, I caught sight of him at a distance; but no sooner had he seen me
than he showed signs of surprise, and intimated that I might go about my
business. I had been reckoning that his Excellency would treat me with
the same kindness, or even greater, as before I left for Rome; so now,
when he received me with such rudeness. I went back, much hurt, to
Florence. While resuming my work and pushing my statue forward, I racked
my brains to think what could have brought about this sudden change in
the Duke’s manner. The curious way in which Messer Sforza and some other
gentlemen close to his Excellency’s person eyed me, prompted me to ask
the former what the matter was. He only replied with a sort of smile:
“Benvenuto, do your best to be an honest man, and have no concern for
anything else.” A few days afterwards I obtained an audience of the
Duke, who received me with a kind of grudging grace, and asked me what I
had been doing at Rome. To the best of my ability I maintained the
conversation, and told him the whole story about Bindo Altoviti’s bust.
It was evident that he listened with attention; so I went on talking
about Michel Agnolo Buonarroti. At this he showed displeasure; but
Urbino’s stupid speech about the flaying made him laugh aloud. Then he
said: “Well, it is he who suffers!” and I took my leave.
There can be no doubt that Ser Pier Francesco, the majordomo, must have
served me some ill turn with the Duke, which did not, however, succeed;
for God, who loves the truth, protected me, as He hath ever saved me,
from a sea of dreadful dangers, and I hope will save me till the end of
this my life, however full of trials it may be. I march forward,
therefore, with a good heart, sustained alone by His divine power; nor
let myself be terrified by any furious assault of fortune or my adverse
stars. May only God maintain me in His grace!
LXXXIII
I MUST beg your attention now, most gracious reader, for a very terrible
event which happened.
I used the utmost diligence and industry to complete my statue, and went
to spend my evenings in the Duke’s wardrobe, assisting there the
goldsmiths who were working for his Excellency. Indeed, they laboured
mainly on designs which I had given them. Noticing that the Duke took
pleasure in seeing me at work and talking with me, I took it into my
head to go there sometimes also by day. It happened upon one of those
days that his Excellency came as usual to the room where I was occupied,
and more particularly because he heard of my arrival. His Excellency
entered at once into conversation, raising several interesting topics,
upon which I gave my views so much to his entertainment that he showed
more cheerfulness than I had ever seen in him before. All of a sudden,
one of his secretaries appeared, and whispered something of importance
in his ear; whereupon the Duke rose, and retired with the official into
another chamber. Now the Duchess had sent to see what his Excellency was
doing, and her page brought back this answer: “The Duke is talking and
laughing with Benvenuto, and is in excellent good-humour.” When the
Duchess heard this, she came immediately to the wardrobe, and not
finding the Duke there, took a seat beside us. After watching us at work
a while, she turned to me with the utmost graciousness, and showed me a
necklace of large and really very fine pearls. On being asked by her
what I thought of them, I said it was in truth a very handsome ornament. |
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