His Excellency committed the execution of these orders to his majordomo,
who was named Ser Pier Francesco Riccio. [3] The man came from Prato,
and had been the Duke’s pedagogue. I talked, then, to this donkey, and
described my requirements, for there was a garden adjoining the house,
on which I wanted to erect a workshop. He handed the matter over to a
paymaster, dry and meagre, who bore the name of Lattanzio Gorini. This
flimsy little fellow, with his tiny spider’s hands and small gnat’s
voice, moved about the business at a snail’s pace; yet in an evil hour
he sent me stones, sand, and lime enough to build perhaps a pigeon-house
with careful management. When I saw how coldly things were going
forward, I began to feel dismayed; however, I said to myself: “Little
beginnings sometimes have great endings;” and I fostered hope in my
heart by noticing how many thousand ducats had recently been squandered
upon ugly pieces of bad sculpture turned out by that beast of a Buaccio
Bandinelli. [4] So I rallied my spirits and kept prodding at Lattanzio
Gorini, to make him go a little faster. It was like shouting to a pack
of lame donkeys with a blind dwarf for their driver. Under these
difficulties, and by the use of my own money, I had soon marked out the
foundations of the workshop and cleared the ground of trees and vines,
labouring on, according to my wont, with fire, and perhaps a trifle of
impatience.
On the other side, I was in the hands of Tasso the carpenter, a great
friend of mine, who had received my instructions for making a wooden
framework to set up the Perseus. This Tasso was a most excellent
craftsman, the best, I believe, who ever lived in his own branch of art.
[5] Personally, he was gay and merry be temperament; and whenever I went
to see him, he met me laughing, with some little song in falsetto on his
lips. Half in despair as I then was, news coming that my affairs in
France were going wrong, and these in Florence promising but ill through
the luke-warmness of my patron, I could never stop listening till half
the song was finished; and so in the end I used to cheer up a little
with my friend, and drove away, as well as I was able, some few of the
gloomy thoughts which weighed upon me.
Note 1. This house is in the Via del Rosaio, entered from Via della
Pergola, No. 6527.
Note 2. The petition and the rescript are in existence, and confirm
Cellini’s veracity in this transaction. See Bianchi, p. 587.
Note 3. Varchi, 'St. Fior.,' lib. XV. 44, gives to this man the
character of a presumptuous conceited simpleton.
Note 4. Cellini calls this man, his bitter foe and rival, 'Buaccio' or
the 'great ox, blockhead,' instead of Baccio, which is shortened for
Bartolommeo.
Note 5. See p. 25. Vasari introduced him, together with Cosimo’s other
favoured artists, in a fresco of the Palazzo Vecchio at Florence. See
Plon, p. 124.
LV
I HAD got all the above-mentioned things in order, and was making
vigorous preparations for my great undertaking--indeed a portion of the
lime had been already used--when I received sudden notice to appear
before the majordomo. I found him, after his Excellency’s dinner, in the
hall of the clock. [1] On entering, I paid him marked respect, and he
received me with the greatest stiffness. Then he asked who had installed
me in the house, and by whose authority I had begun to build there,
saying he marvelled much that I had been so headstrong and foolhardy. I
answered that I had been installed in the house by his Excellency, and
that his lordship himself, in the name of his Excellency, had given the
orders to Lattanzio Gorini. “Lattanzio brought stone, sand, and lime,
and provided what I wanted, saying he did so at your lordship’s orders.”
When I had thus spoken, the brute turned upon me with still greater
tartness, vowing that neither I nor any of those whom I had mentioned
spoke the truth. This stung me to the quick, and I exclaimed: “O
majordomo, so long as your lordship [2] chooses to use language
befitting the high office which you hold, I shall revere you, and speak
to you as respectfully as I do to the Duke; if you take another line
with me, I shall address you as but one Ser Pier Francesco Riccio.” He
flew into such a rage that I thought he meant to go mad upon the spot,
anticipating the time ordained by Heaven for him to do so. [3] Pouring
forth a torrent of abuse, he roared out that he was surprised at himself
for having let me speak at all to a man of his quality. Thereupon my
blood was up, and I cried: “Mark my words, then, Ser Pier Francesco
Riccio! I will tell you what sort of men are my equals, and who are
yours--mere teachers of the alphabet to children!” His face contracted
with a spasm, while he raised his voice and repeated the same words in a
still more insulting tone. I, too, assumed an air of menace, and
matching his own arrogance with something of the same sort, told him
plainly that men of my kind were worthy to converse with popes and
emperors, and great kings, and that perhaps there were not two such men
alive upon this earth, while ten of his sort might be met at every
doorway. On hearing these words he jumped upon a window-seat in the hall
there, and defied me to repeat what I had said. I did so with still
greater heat and spirit, adding I had no farther mind to serve the Duke,
and that I should return to France, where I was always welcome. The
brute remained there stupefied and pale as clay; I went off furious,
resolved on leaving Florence; and would to God that I had done so!
The Duke cannot, I think, have been informed at once of this diabolical
scene, for I waited several days without hearing from him. Giving up all
thoughts of Florence, except what concerned the settlement of my
sister’s and nieces’ affairs, I made preparations to provide for them as
well as I could with the small amount of money I had brought, and then
to return to France and never set my foot in Italy again. This being my
firm purpose, I had no intention to ask leave of the Duke or anybody,
but to decamp as quickly as I could; when one morning the majordomo, of
his own accord, sent very humbly to entreat my presence, and opened a
long pedantic oration, in which I could discover neither method, nor
elegance, nor meaning, nor head, nor tail. I only gathered from it that
he professed himself a good Christian, wished to bear no man malice, and
asked me in the Duke’s name what salary I should be willing to accept.
Hearing this, I stood a while on guard, and made no answer, being firmly
resolved not to engage myself. When he saw that I refused to reply, he
had at least the cleverness to put in: “Benvenuto, dukes expect to be
answered; and what I am saying to you, I am saying from his Excellency’s
lips.” Then I rejoined that if the message came from his Excellency, I
would gladly reply, and told him to report to the Duke that I could not
accept a position inferior to that of any one employed by him as artist.
The majordomo answered: “Bandinello receives two hundred crowns a year;
if then you are contented with that, your salary is settled.” I agreed
upon these terms, adding that what I might earn in addition by the merit
of my performances, could be given after they were seen; that point I
left entirely to the good judgment of his Excellency. Thus, then,
against my will, I pieced the broken thread again, and set to work; the
Duke continually treating me with the highest imaginable marks of favour.
Note 1. One of the rooms in the Palazzo Vecchio, so called because the
famous cosmographical timepiece, made about 1484 for Lorenzo de’ Medici
by Lorenzo della Volpaia, stood there.
Note 2. It was the custom at that epoch to address princes by the title
of 'Signore' or 'Vostra Signoria;' gentlemen (armigeri) had the title of
'Messer;' simple 'Ser' was given to plebeians with some civil or
ecclesiastical dignity.
Note 3. Vasari, in his 'Life of Montorsoli,' says in effect that this
Riccio died about 1559, after having been insane several years.
LVI
I RECEIVED frequent letters from France, written by my most faithful
friend Messer Guido Guidi. As yet they told nothing but good news; and
Ascanio also bade me enjoy myself without uneasiness, since, if anything
happened, he would let me know at once.
Now the King was informed that I had commenced working for the Duke of
Florence, and being the best man in the world, he often asked: “Why does
not Benvenuto come back to us?” He put searching questions on the
subject to my two workmen, both of whom replied that I kept writing I
was well off where I was, adding they thought I did not want to re-enter
the service of his Majesty. Incensed by these presumptuous words, which
were none of my saying, the King exclaimed: “Since he left us without
any cause, I shall not recall him; let him e’en stay where he is.” Thus
the thievish brigands brought matters exactly to the pass they desired;
for if I had returned to France, they would have become mere workmen
under me once more, whereas, while I remained away, they were their own
masters and in my place; consequently, they did everything in their
power to prevent my coming back.
LVII
WHILE the workshop for executing my Perseus was in building, I used to
work in a ground-floor room. Here I modelled the statue in plaster,
giving it the same dimensions as the bronze was meanst to have, and
intending to cast it from this mould. But finding that it would take
rather long to carry it out in this way, I resolved upon another
expedient, especially as now a wretched little studio had been erected,
brick on brick, so miserably built that the mere recollection of it
gives me pain. So then I began the figure of Medusa, and constructed the
skeleton in iron. Afterwards I put on the clay, and when that was
modelled, baked it.
I had no assistants except some little shopboys, among whom was one of
great beauty; he was the son of a prostitute called La Gambetta. I made
use of the lad as a model, for the only books which teach this art are
the natural human body. Meanwhile, as I could not do everything alone, I
looked about for workmen in order to put the business quickly through;
but I was unable to find any. There were indeed some in Florence who
would willingly have come, but Bandinello prevented them, and after
keeping me in want of aid awhile, told the Duke that I was trying to
entice his work-people because I was quite incapable of setting up so
great a statue by myself. I complained to the Duke of the annoyance
which the brute gave me, and begged him to allow me some of the
labourers from the Opera. [1] My request inclined him to lend ear to
Bandinello’s calumnies; and when I noticed that, I set about to do my
utmost by myself alone. The labour was enormous: I had to strain every
muscle night and day; and just then the husband of my sister sickened,
and died after a few days’ illness. He left my sister, still young, with
six girls of all ages, on my hands. This was the first great trial I
endured in Florence, to be made the father and guardian of such a
distressed family.
Note 1. That is, the Opera del Duomo, or permanent establishment for
attending to the fabric of the Florentine Cathedral.
LVIII
IN my anxiety that nothing should go wrong, I sent for two
hand-labourers to clear my garden of rubbish. They came from Ponte
Vecchio, the one an old man of sixty years, the other a young fellow of
eighteen. After employing them about three days, the lad told me that
the old man would not work, and that I had better send him away, since,
beside being idle, he prevented his comrade from working. The little I
had to do there could be done by himself, without throwing money away on
other people. The youth was called Bernardino Mannellini, of Mugello.
When I saw that he was so inclined to labour, I asked whether he would
enter my service, and we agreed upon the spot. He groomed my horse,
gardened, and soon essayed to help me in the workshop, with such success
that by degrees he learned the art quite nicely. I never had a better
assistant than he proved. Having made up my mind to accomplish the whole
affair with this man’s aid, I now let the Duke know that Bandinello was
lying, and that I could get on famously without his workpeople.
Just at this time I suffered slightly in the loins, and being unable to
work hard, I was glad to pass my time in the Duke’s wardrobe with a
couple of young goldsmiths called Gianpagolo and Domenico Poggini, [1]
who made a little golden cup under my direction. It was chased in
bas-relief with figures and other pretty ornaments, and his Excellency
meant it for the Duchess to drink water out of. He furthermore
commissioned me to execute a golden belt, which I enriched with gems and
delicate masks and other fancies. The Duke came frequently into the
wardrobe, and took great pleasure in watching me at work and talking to
me. When my health improved, I had clay brought, and took a portrait of
his Excellency, considerably larger than life-size, which I modelled
while he stayed with me for pastime. He was highly delighted with this
piece, and conceived such a liking for me that he earnestly begged me to
take up my working quarters in the palace, selecting rooms large enough
for my purpose, and fitting them up with furnaces and all I wanted, for
he greatly enjoyed watching the processes of art. I replied that this
was impossible; I should not have finished my undertakings in a hundred
years.
Note 1. These two brothers were specially eminent as die-casters.
Gianpagolo went to Spain, and served Philip II.
LIX
THE DUCHESS also treated me with extraordinary graciousness, and would
have been pleased if I had worked for her alone, forgetting Perseus and
everything besides. I for my part, while these vain favours were being
showered upon me knew only too well that my perverse and biting fortune
could not long delay to send me some fresh calamity, because I kept ever
before my eyes the great mistake I had committed while seeking to do a
good action. I refer to my affairs in France. The King could not swallow
the displeasure he felt at my departure; and yet he wanted me to return,
if only this could be brought about without concessions on his part. I
thought that I was entirely in the right, and would not bend
submissively, because I judged that if I wrote in humble terms, those
enemies of mine would say in their French fashion that I had confessed
myself to blame, and that certain misdoings with which they wrongfully
taxed me were proved true. Therefore I stood upon my honour, and wrote
in terms of haughty coldness, which was precisely what those two
traitors, my apprentices, most heartily desired. In my letters to them I
boasted of the distinguished kindness shown me in my own birthplace by a
prince and princess the absolute masters of Florence. Whenever they
received one of these despatches, they went to the King, and besieged
his Majesty with entreaties for the castle upon the same terms as he had
granted it to me. The King, who was a man of great goodness and
perspicacity, would never consent to the presumptuous demands of those
scoundrels, since he scented the malignity of their aims. Yet, wishing
to keep them in expectation, and to give me the opportunity of coming
back, he caused an angry letter to be written to me by his treasurer,
Messer Giuliano Buonaccorsi, a burgher of Florence. The substance was as
follows: If I wanted to preserve the reputation for honesty which I had
hitherto enjoyed, it was my plain duty, after leaving France with no
cause whatsoever, to render an account of all that I had done and dealt
with for his Majesty.
The receipt of this letter gave me such pleasure that, If I had
consulted my own palate, I could not have wished for either more or
less. I sat down to write an answer, and filled nine pages of ordinary
paper. In this document I described in detail all the works which I had
executed, and all the adventures I had gone through while performing
them, and all the sums which had been spent upon them. The payments had
always been made through two notaries and one of his Majesty’s
treasurers; and I could show receipts from all the men into whose hands
they passed, whether for goods supplied or labour rendered. I had not
pocketed one penny of the money, nor had I received any reward for my
completed works. I brought back with me into Italy nothing but some
marks of favour and most royal promises, truly worthy of his Majesty.
“Now, though I cannot vaunt myself of any recompense beyond the salaries
appointed for my maintenance in France, seven hundred golden crowns of
which are still due, inasmuch as I abstained from drawing them until I
could employ them on my return-journey; yet knowing that malicious foes
out of their envious hearts have played some knavish trick against me, I
feel confident that truth will prevail. I take pride in his Most
Christian Majesty and am not moved by avarice. I am indeed aware of
having performed for him far more than I undertook; and albeit the
promised reward has not been given me, my one anxiety is to remain in
his Majesty’s opinion that man of probity and honour which I have always
been. If your Majesty entertains the least doubt upon this point, I will
fly to render an account of my conduct, at the risk even of my life. But
noticing in what slight esteem I am held I have had no mind to come back
and make an offer of myself, knowing that I shall never lack for bread
whithersoever I may go. If, however, I am called for, I will always
answer.” The letter contained many further particulars worthy of the
King’s attention, and proper to the preservation of my honour. Before
despatching it, I took it to the Duke, who read it with interest; then I
sent it into France, addressed to the Cardinal of Ferrara.
LX
ABOUT this time Bernardone Baldini, [1] broker in jewels to the Duke,
brought a big diamond from Venice, which weighed more than thirty-five
carats. Antonio, son of Vittorio Landi, was also interested in getting
the Duke to purchase it. [2] The stone had been cut with a point; but
since it did not yield the purity of lustre which one expects in such a
diamond, its owners had cropped the point, and, in truth, it was not
exactly fit for either point or table cutting. [3] Our Duke, who greatly
delighted in gems, though he was not a sound judge of them, held out
good hopes to the rogue Bernardaccio that he would buy this stone; and
the fellow, wanting to secure for himself alone the honour of palming it
off upon the Duke of Florence, abstained from taking his partner Antonio
Landi into the secret. Now Landi had been my intimate friend from
childhood, and when he saw that I enjoyed the Duke’s confidence, he
called me aside (it was just before noon at a corner of the Mercato
Nuovo), and spoke as follows: “Benvenuto, I am convinced that the Duke
will show you a diamond, which he seems disposed to buy; you will find
it a big stone. Pray assist the purchase; I can give it for seventeen
thousand crowns. I feel sure he will ask your advice; and if you see
that he has a mind for it, we will contrive that he secures it.” Antonio
professed great confidence in being able to complete the bargain for the
jewel at that price. In reply, I told him that if my advice was taken, I
would speak according to my judgment, without prejudice to the diamond.
As I have above related, the Duke came daily into our goldsmith’s
workshop for several hours; and about a week after this conversation
with Antonio Landi he showed me one day after dinner the diamond in
question, which I immediately recognised by its description, both as to
form and weight. I have already said that its water was not quite
transparent, for which reason it had been cropped; so, when I found it
of that kind and quality, I felt certainly disinclined to recommend its
acquisition. However, I asked his Excellency what he wanted me to say;
because it was one thing for jewellers to value a stone after a prince
had bought it, and another thing to estimate it with a view to purchase.
He replied that he bought it, and that he only wanted my opinion. I did
not choose to abstain from hinting what I really thought about the
stone. Then he told me to observe the beauty of its great facets. [4] I
answered that this feature of the diamond was not so great a beauty as
his Excellency supposed, but came from the point having been cropped. At
these words my prince, who perceive that I was speaking the truth, made
a wry face, and bade me give good heed to valuing the stone, and saying
what I thought it worth. I reckoned that, since Landi had offered it to
me for 17,000 crowns, the Duke might have got it for 15,000 at the
highest; so, noticing that he would take it ill if I spoke the truth, I
made my mind up to uphold him in his false opinion, and handing back the
diamond, said: “You will probably have paid 18,000 crowns.” On hearing
this the Duke uttered a loud “Oh!” opening his mouth as wide as a well,
and cried out: “Now am I convinced that you understand nothing about the
matter.” I retorted: “You are certainly in the wrong there, my lord. Do
you attend to maintaining the credit of your diamond, while I attend to
understanding my trade. But pray tell me at least how much you paid, in
order that I may learn to understand it according to the way of your
Excellency.” The Duke rose, and, with a little sort of angry grin,
replied: “Twenty-five thousand crowns and more, Benvenuto, did that
stone cost me!”
Having thus spoken he departed. Giovanpagolo and Domenico Poggini, the
goldsmiths, were present; and Bachiacca, the embroiderer, who was
working in an adjacent room, ran up at the noise. [5] I told them that I
should never have advised the Duke to purchase it; but if his heart was
set on having it, Antonio Landi had offered me the stone eight days ago
for 17,000 crowns. I think I could have got it for 15,000 or less. But
the Duke apparently wishes to maintain his gem in credit; for when
Antonio Landi was willing to let it go at that price, how the devil can
Bernardone have played off such a shameful trick upon his Excellency?
Never imagining that the matter stood precisely as the Duke averred, we
laughingly made light of his supposed credulity.
Note 1. Varchi and Ammirato both mention him as an excellent jeweller.
Note 2. Antonio Landi was a Florentine gentleman, merchant, and author.
A comedy of his called 'Commodo' is extant.
Note 3. Italians distinguished cut diamonds of three sorts: 'in tavola,
a faccette,' and 'in punta.' The word I have translated 'cropped' is
'ischericato,' which was properly applied to an unfrocked or degraded
ecclesiastic.
Note 4. 'Filetti,' the sharp lines which divide one facet from another.
Note 5. Antonio Ubertini, called Il Bachiacca, a brother of Cellini’s
friend in Rome. See p. 56. He enjoyed great reputation, and was praised
by Varchi in a sonnet for his mastery of embroidery.
LXI
MEANWHILE I was advancing with my great statue of Medusa. I had covered
the iron skeleton with clay, which I modelled like an anatomical
subject, and about half an inch thinner than the bronze would be. This I
baked well, and then began to spread on the wax surface, in order to
complete the figure to my liking. [1] The Duke, who often came to
inspect it, was so anxious lest I should not succeed with the bronze,
that he wanted me to call in some master to case it for me.
He was continually talking in the highest terms of my acquirements and
accomplishments. This made his majordomo no less continually eager to
devise some trap for making me break my neck. Now his post at court gave
him authority with the chief-constables and all the officers in the poor
unhappy town of Florence. Only to think that a fellow from Prato, our
hereditary foeman, the son of a cooper, and the most ignorant creature
in existence, should have risen to such a station of influence, merely
because he had been the rotten tutor of Cosimo de’ Medici before he
became Duke! Well, as I have said, he kept ever on the watch to serve me
some ill turn; and finding that he could not catch me out on any side,
he fell at last upon this plan, which meant mischief. He betook himself
to Gambetta, the mother of my apprentice Cencio; and this precious pair
together--that knave of a pedant and that rogue of a strumpet--invented
a scheme for giving me such a fright as would make me leave Florence in
hot haste. Gambetta, yielding to the instinct of her trade, went out,
acting under the orders of that mad, knavish pedant, the majordomo--I
must add that they had also gained over the Bargello, a Bolognese, whom
the Duke afterwards dismissed for similar conspiracies. Well, one
evening, after sunset, Gambetta came to my house with her son, and told
me she had kept him several days indoors for my welfare. I answered that
there was no reason to keep him shut up on my account; and laughing her
whorish arts to scorn, I turned to the boy in her presence, and said
these words: “You know, Cencio, whether I have sinned with you!” He
began to shed tears, and answered, “No!” Upon this the mother, shaking
her head, cried out at him: “Ah! you little scoundrel! Do you think I do
not know how these things happen?” Then she turned to me, and begged me
to keep the lad hidden in my house, because the Bargello was after him,
and would seize him anywhere outside my house, but there they would not
dare to touch him. I made answer that in my house lived my widowed
sister and six girls of holy life, and that I wanted nobody else there.
Upon that she related that the majordomo had given orders to the
Bargello, and that I should certainly be taken up: only, if I would not
harbour her son, I might square accounts by paying her a hundred crowns;
the majordomo was her crony, and I might rest assured that she could
work him to her liking, provided I paid down the hundred crowns. This
cozenage goaded me into such a fury that I cried: “Out with you,
shameful strumpet! Were it not for my good reputation, and for the
innocence of this unhappy boy of yours here, I should long ago have cut
your throat with the dagger at my side; and twice or thrice I have
already clasped my fingers on the handle.” With words to this effect,
and many ugly blows to boot, I drove the woman and her son into the
street.
Note 1. This is an important passage, which has not, I think, been
properly understood by Cellini’s translators. It describes the process
he now employed in preparing a mould for bronze-casting. First, it
seems, he made a solid clay model, somewhat smaller than the bronze was
meant to be. This he overlaid with wax, and then took a hollow mould of
the figure thus formed. Farther on we shall see how he withdrew the wax
from the hollow mould, leaving the solid model inside, with space enough
between them for the metal to flow in.
LXII
WHEN I reflected on the roguery and power of that evil-minded pedant, I
judged it best to give a wide berth to his infernal machinations; so
early next morning I mounted my horse and took the road for Venice,
leaving in my sister’s hands jewels and articles to the value of nearly
two thousand crowns. I took with me my servant Bernardino of Mugello;
and when I reached Ferrara, I wrote word to his Excellency the Duke,
that though I had gone off without being sent, I should come back again
without being called for.
On arriving at Venice, and pondering upon the divers ways my cruel
fortune took to torment me, yet at the same time feeling myself none the
less sound in health and hearty, I made up my mind to fence with her
according to my wont. While thus engrossed in thoughts about my own
affairs, I went abroad for pastime through that beautiful and sumptuous
city, and paid visits to the admirable painter Titian, and to Jacopo del
Sansovino, our able sculptor and architect from Florence. The latter
enjoyed an excellent appointment under the Signoria of Venice; and we
had been acquainted during our youth in Rome and Florence. These two men
of genius received me with marked kindness. The day afterwards I met
Messer Lorenzo de’ Medici, [1] who took me by the hand at once, giving
me the warmest welcome which could be imagined, because we had known
each other in Florence when I was coining for Duke Alessandro, and
afterwards in Paris while I was in the King’s service. At that time he
sojourned in the house of Messer Giuliano Buonaccorsi, and having
nowhere else to go for pastime without the greatest peril of his life,
he used to spend a large part of the day in my house, watching me
working at the great pieces I produced there. As I was saying, our
former acquaintance led him to take me by the hand and bring me to his
dwelling, where I found the Prior degli Strozzi, brother of my lord
Peiro. While making good cheer together, they asked me how long I
intended to remain in Venice, thinking that I was on my return journey
into France. To these gentlemen I replied that I had left Florence on
account of the events I have described above, and that I meant to go
back after two or three days, in order to resume my service with the
Duke. On hearing this, the Prior and Messer Lorenzo turned round on me
with such sternness that I felt extremely uneasy; then they said to me:
“You would do far better to return to France, where you are rich and
well known; for if you go back to Florence, you will lose all that you
have gained in France, and will earn nothing there but annoyances.
I made no answer to these words, and departed the next day as secretly
as I was able, turning my face again towards Florence. In the meanwhile
that infernal plot had come to a head and broken, for I had written to
my great master, the Duke, giving him a full account of the causes of my
escapade to Venice. I went to visit him without any ceremony, and was
received with his usual reserve and austerity. Having maintained this
attitude awhile, he turned toward me pleasantly, and asked where I had
been. I answered that my heart had never moved one inch from his most
illustrious Excellency, although some weighty reasons had forced me to
go a roaming for a little while. Then softening still more in manner, he
began to question me concerning Venice, and after this wise we conversed
some space of time. At last he bade me apply myself to business, and
complete his Perseus. So I returned home glad and light-hearted, and
comforted my family, that is to say, my sister and her six daughters.
Then I resumed my work, and pushed it forward as briskly as I could.
Note 1. This is Lorenzino de’ Medici, the murderer of Alessandro, who
was himself assassinated by two Tuscan bravi in 1548. See 'Renaissance
in Italy,' vol. vi. chap. 6.
LXIII
THE FIRST piece I cast in bronze was that great bust, the portrait of
his Excellency, which I had modelled in the goldsmith’s workroom while
suffering from those pains in my back. [1] It gave much pleasure when it
was completed, though my sole object in making it was to obtain
experience of clays suitable for bronze-casting. I was of course aware
that the admirable sculptor Donatello had cast his bronzes with the clay
of Florence; yet it seemed to me that he had met with enormous
difficulties in their execution. As I thought that this was due to some
fault in the earth, I wanted to make these first experiments before I
undertook my Perseus. From them I learned that the clay was good enough,
but had not been well understood by Donatello, inasmuch as I could see
that his pieces had been cast with the very greatest trouble.
Accordingly, as I have described above, I prepared the earth by
artificial methods, and found it serve me well, and with it I cast the
bust; but since I had not yet constructed my own furnace, I employed
that of Maestro Zanobi di Pagno, a bell-founder.
When I saw that this bust came out sharp and clean, I set at once to
construct a little furnace in the workshop erected for me by the Duke,
after my own plans and design, in the house which the Duke had given me.
No sooner was the furnace ready than I went to work with all diligence
upon the casting of Medusa, that is, the woman twisted in a heap beneath
the feet of Perseus. It was an extremely difficult task, and I was
anxious to observe all the niceties of art which I had learned, so as
not to lapse into some error. The first cast I took in my furnace
succeeded in the superlative degree, and was so clean that my friends
thought I should not need to retouch it. It is true that certain Germans
and Frenchmen, who vaunt the possession of marvellous secrets, pretend
that they can cast bronzes without retouching them; but this is really
nonsense, because the bronze, when it has first been cast, ought to be
worked over and beaten in with hammers and chisels, according to the
manner of the ancients and also to that of the moderns--I mean such
moderns as have known how to work in bronze.
The result of this casting greatly pleased his Excellency, who often
came to my house to inspect it, encouraging me by the interest he showed
to do my best. The furious envy of Bandinello, however, who kept always
whispering in the Duke’s ears, had such effect that he made him believe
my first successes with a single figure or two proved nothing; I should
never be able to put the whole large piece together, since I was new to
the craft, and his Excellency ought to take good heed he did not throw
his money away. These insinuations operated so efficiently upon the
Duke’s illustrious ears, that part of my allowance for workpeople was
withdrawn. I felt compelled to complain pretty sharply to his
Excellency; and having gone to wait on him one morning in the Via de’
Servi, I spoke as follows: “My lord, I do not now receive the monies
necessary for my task, which makes me fear that your Excellency has lost
confidence in me. Once more then I tell you that I feel quite able to
execute this statue three times better than the model, as I have before
engaged my word.”
Note 1. Now in the Museum of the Bargello Palace at Florence
LXIV
I COULD see that this speech made no impression on the Duke, for he kept
silence; then, seized with sudden anger and a vehement emotion, I began
again to address him: “My lord, this city of a truth has ever been the
school of the most noble talents. Yet when a man has come to know what
he is worth, after gaining some acquirements, and wishing to augment the
glory of his town and of his glorious prince, it is quite right that he
should go and labour elsewhere. To prove the truth of these words, I
need only remind your Excellency of Donatello and the great Lionardo da
Vinci in the past, and of our incomparable Michel Angelo Buonarroti in
the present; they augment the glory of your Excellency by their genius.
I in my turn feel the same desire and hope to play my part like them;
therefore, my lord, give me the leave to go. But beware of letting
Bandinello quit you; rather bestow upon him always more than he demands;
for if he goes into foreign parts, his ignorance is so presumptuous that
he is just the man to disgrace our most illustrious school. Now grant me
my permission, prince! I ask no further reward for my labours up to this
time than the gracious favour of your most illustrious Excellency.” When
he saw the firmness of my resolution, he turned with some irritation and
exclaimed: “Benvenuto, if you want to finish the statue, you shall lack
for nothing.” Then I thanked him and said I had no greater desire than
to show those envious folk that I had it in me to execute the promised
work. When I left his Excellency, I received some slight assistance; but
this not being sufficient, I had to put my hand into my own purse, in
order to push the work forward at something better than a snail’s pace.
It was my custom to pass the evening in the Duke’s wardrobe, where
Domenico Poggini and his brother Gianpagolo were at work upon that
golden cup for the Duchess and the girdle I have already described. His
Excellency had also commissioned me to make a little model for a pendent
to set the great diamond which Bernardone and Antonio Landi made him
buy. I tried to get out of doing it, but the Duke compelled me by all
sorts of kindly pressure to work until four hours after nightfall. He
kept indeed enticing me to push this job forward by daytime also; but I
would not consent, although I felt sure I should incur his anger. Now
one evening I happened to arrive rather later than usual, whereupon he
said: “I’ll come may you be!” [1] I answered: “My lord, that is not my
name; my name is Welcome! But, as I suppose your Excellency is joking, I
will add no more.” He replied that, far from joking, he meant solemn
earnest. I had better look to my conduct, for it had come to his ears
that I relied upon his favour to take in first one man and then another.
I begged his most illustrious Excellency to name a single person whom I
had ever taken in. At this he flew into a rage, and said: “Go, and give
back to Bernardone what you have of his. There! I have mentioned one.” I
said: “My lord, I thank you, and beg you to condescend so far as to
listen to four words. It is true that he lent me a pair of old scales,
two anvils, and three little hammers, which articles I begged his
workman, Giorgio da Cortona, fifteen days ago, to fetch back. Giorgio
came for them himself. If your Excellency can prove, on referring to
those who have spoken these calumnies, or to others, that I have ever,
from the day of my birth till now, got any single thing by fraud from
anybody, be it in Rome or be it in France, then let your Excellency
punish me as immoderately as you choose.” When the Duke saw me in this
mighty passion, he assumed the air of a prudent and benevolent lord,
saying: “Those words are not meant for well-doers; therefore, if it is
as you say, I shall always receive you with the same kindness as
heretofore.” To this I answered: “I should like your Excellency to know
that the rascalities of Bernardone compel me to ask as a favor how much
that big diamond with the cropped point cost you. I hope to prove on
what account that scoundrel tries to bring me into disgrace.” Then his
Excellency replied: “I paid 25,000 ducats for it; why do you ask me?”
“Because, my lord, on such a day, at such an hour, in a corner of
Mercato Nuovo, Antonio Landi, the son of Vittorio, begged me to induce
your Excellency to buy it, and at my first question he asked 16,000
ducats for the diamond; [2] now your Excellency knows what it has cost
you. Domenico Poggini and Gianpagolo his brother, who are present, will
confirm my words; for I spoke to them at once about it, and since that
time have never once alluded to the matter, because your Excellency told
me I did not understand these things, which made me think you wanted to
keep up the credit of your stone. I should like you to know, my lord,
that I do understand, and that, as regards my character, I consider
myself no less honest than any man who ever lived upon this earth. I
shall not try to rob you of eight or ten thousand ducats at one go, but
shall rather seek to earn them by my industry. I entered the service of
your Excellency as sculptor, goldsmith, and stamper of coin; but to blab
about my neighbour’s private matters,--never! What I am now telling you
I say in self-defence; I do not want my fee for information. [3] If I
speak out in the presence of so many worthy fellows as are here, it is
because I do not wish your Excellency to believe what Bernardone tells
you.”
When he had heard this speech, the Duke rose up in anger, and sent for
Bernardone, who was forced to take flight as far as Venice, he and
Antonio Landi with him. The latter told me that he had not meant that
diamond, but was talking of another stone. So then they went and came
again from Venice; whereupon I presented myself to the Duke and spoke as
follows: “My lord, what I told you is the truth; and what Bernardone
said about the tools he lent me is a lie. You had better put this to the
proof, and I will go at once to the Bargello.” The Duke made answer:
“Benvenuto, do your best to be an honest man, as you have done until
now; you have no cause for apprehension.” So the whole matter passed off
in smoke, and I heard not one more word about it. I applied myself to
finishing his jewel; and when I took it to the Duchess, her Grace said
that she esteemed my setting quite as highly as the diamond which
Bernardaccio had made them buy. She then desired me to fasten it upon
her breast, and handed me a large pin, with which I fixed it, and took
my leave in her good favour. [4] Afterwards I was informed that they had
the stone reset by a German or some other foreigner--whether truly or
not I cannot vouch--upon Bernardone’s suggestion that the diamond would
show better in a less elaborate setting.
Note 1. Benvenuto and 'Malvenuto.'
Note 2. He forgets that he has said above that it was offered him by
Landi for 17,000 ducats.
Note 3. This fee was 'il quarto,' or the fourth part of the criminal’s
fine, which came to the delator.
Note 4. It is worthy of notice that from this point onward the MS. is
written by Cellini in his own hand.
LXV
I BELIEVE have already narrated how Domenico and Giovanpagolo Poggini,
goldsmiths and brothers, were at work in the Duke’s wardrobe upon some
little golden vases, after my design, chased with figures in bas-relief,
and other ornaments of great distinction. I oftentimes kept saying to
his Excellency: “My lord, if you will undertake to pay some workpeople,
I am ready to strike coins for your mint and medals with your portrait.
I am willing to enter into competition with the ancients, and feel able
to surpass them; for since those early days in which I made the medals
of Pope Clement, I have learned so much that I can now produce far
better pieces of the kind. I think I can also outdo the coins I struck
for Duke Alessandro, which are still held in high esteem; in like manner
I could make for you large pieces of gold and silver plate, as I did so
often for that noble monarch, King Francis of France, thanks to the
great conveniences he allowed me, without ever losing time for the
execution of colossal statues or other works of the sculptor’s craft.”
To this suggestion the Duke replied: “Go forward; I will see;” but he
never supplied me with conveniences or aid of any kind.
One day his most illustrious Excellency handed me several pounds weight
of silver, and said: “This is some of the silver from my mines; [1] take
it, and make a fine vase.” Now I did not choose to neglect my Perseus,
and at the same time I wished to serve the Duke, so I entrusted the
metal, together with my designs and models in wax, to a rascal called
Piero di Martino, a goldsmith by trade. He set the work up badly, and
moreover ceased to labour at it, so that I lost more time than if I had
taken it in hand myself. After several months were wasted, and Piero
would neither work nor put men to work upon the piece, I made him give
it back. I moved heaven and earth to get back the body of the vase,
which he had begun badly, as I have already said, together with the
remainder of the silver. The Duke, hearing something of these disputes,
sent for the vase and the models, and never told me why or wherefore.
Suffice it to say, that he placed some of my designs in the hands of
divers persons at Venice and elsewhere, and was very ill served by them.
The Duchess kept urging me to do goldsmith’s work for her. I frequently
replied that everybody, nay, all Italy, knew well I was an excellent
goldsmith; but Italy had not yet seen what I could do in sculpture.
Among artists, certain enraged sculptors laughed at me, and called me
the new sculptor. “Now I hope to show them that I am an old sculptor, if
God shall grant me the boon of finishing my Perseus for that noble
piazza of his most illustrious Excellency.” After this I shut myself up
at home, working day and night, not even showing my face in the palace.
I wished, however, to keep myself in favour with the Duchess; so I got
some little cups made for her in silver, no larger than two penny
milk-pots, chased with exquisite masks in the rarest antique style. When
I took them to her Excellency, she received me most graciously, and
repaid the gold and silver I had spent upon them. Then I made my suit to
her and prayed her tell the Duke that I was getting small assistance for
so great a work; I begged her also to warn him not to lend so ready an
ear to Bandinello’s evil tongue, which hindered me from finishing my
Perseus. In reply to these lamentable complaints the Duchess shrugged
her shoulders and exclaimed: “Of a surety the Duke ought only too well
to know that this Bandinello of his is worth nothing.”
Note 1. Cosimo’s silver mines were at Campiglia and Pietrasantra. He
worked them, however, rather at a loss than profit.
LXVI
I NOW stayed at home, and went rarely to the palace, labouring with
great diligence to complete my statue. I had to pay the workmen out of
my own pocket; for the Duke, after giving Lattanzio Gorini orders to
discharge their wages, at the end of about eighteen months, grew tired,
and withdrew this subsidy. I asked Lattanzio why he did not pay me as
usual. The man replied, gesticulating with those spidery hands of his,
in a shrill gnat’s voice: “Why do not you finish your work? One thinks
that you will never get it done.” In a rage I up and answered: “May the
plague catch you and all who dare to think I shall not finish it!”
So I went home with despair at heart to my unlucky Perseus, not without
weeping, when I remembered the prosperity I had abandoned in Paris under
the patronage of that marvellous King Francis, where I had abundance of
all kinds, and here had everything to want for. Many a time I had it in
my soul to cast myself away for lost. One day on one of these occasions,
I mounted a nice nag I had, put a hundred crowns in my purse, and went
to Fiesole to visit a natural son of mine there, who was at nurse with
my gossip, the wife of one of my workpeople. When I reached the house, I
found the boy in good health, and kissed him, very sad at heart. On
taking leave, he would not let me go, but held me with his little hands
and a tempest of cries and tears. Considering that he was only two years
old or thereabouts, the child’s grief was something wonderful. Now I had
resolved, in the heat of my despair, if I met Bandinello, who went every
evening to a farm of his above San Domenico, that I would hurl him to
destruction; so I disengaged myself from my baby, and left the boy there
sobbing his heart out. Taking the road toward Florence, just when I
entered the piazza of San Domenico, Bandinello was arriving from the
other side. On the instant I decided upon bloodshed; but when I reached
the man and raised my eyes, I saw him unarmed, riding a sorry mule or
rather donkey, and he had with him a boy of ten years old. No sooner did
he catch sight of me than he turned the colour of a corpse, and trembled
from head to foot. Perceiving at once how base the business would be, I
exclaimed: “Fear not, vile coward! I do not condescend to smite you.” He
looked at me submissively and said nothing. Thereupon I recovered
command of my faculties, and thanked God that His goodness had withheld
me from so great an act of violence. Then, being delivered from that
fiendish fury, my spirits rose, and I said to myself: “If God but grant
me to execute my work, I hope by its means to annihilate all my
scoundrelly enemies; and thus I shall perform far greater and more
glorious revenges that if I had vented my rage upon one single foe.”
Having this excellent resolve in heart, I reached my home. At the end of
three days news was brought me that my only son had been smothered by
his nurse, my gossip, which gave me greater grief than I have ever had
in my whole life. However, I knelt upon the ground, and, not without
tears, returned thanks to God, as I was wont, exclaiming, “Lord, Thou
gavest me the child, and Thou hast taken him; for all Thy dealings I
thank Thee with my whole heart.” This great sorrow went nigh to
depriving me of reason; yet, according to my habit, I made a virtue of
necessity, and adapted myself to circumstances as well as I was able.
LXVII
ABOUT this time a young fellow called Francesco, the son of a smith,
Matteo, left Bandinello’s employment, and inquired whether I would give
him work. I agreed, and sent him to retouch my Medusa, which had been
new cast in bronze. After a fortnight he mentioned that he had been
speaking with his master, that is, Bandinello, who told him, if I cared
to make a marble statue, he would give me a fine block of stone. I
replied at once: “Tell him I accept his offer; perhaps this marble will
prove a stumbling block to him, for he keeps on provoking me, and does
not bear in mind the great peril he ran upon the piazza of San Domenico.
Tell him I will have the marble by all means. I never speak about him,
and the beast is perpetually causing me annoyance. I verily believe you
came to work here at his orders for the mere purpose of spying upon me.
Go, then, and tell him I insist on having the marble, even against his
will: see that you do not come back without it.”
LXVIII
MANY days had elapsed during which I had not shown my face in the
palace, when the fancy took me to go there one morning just as the Duke
was finishing his dinner. From what I heard, his Excellency had been
talking of me that morning, commending me highly, and in particular
praising my skill in setting jewels. Therefore, when the Duchess saw me,
she called for me by Messer Sforza; [1] and on my presenting myself to
her most illustrious Excellency, she asked me to set a little
point-diamond in a ring, saying she wished always to wear it; at the
same time she gave me the measure and the stone, which was worth about a
hundred crowns, begging me to be quick about the work. Upon this the
Duke began speaking to the Duchess, and said: “There is no doubt that
Benvenuto was formerly without his peer in this art; but now that he has
abandoned it, I believe it will be too much trouble for him to make a
little ring of the sort you want. I pray you, therefore, not to
importune him about this trifle, which would be no trifle to him owing
to his want of practice.” I thanked the Duke for his kind words, but
begged him to let me render this trifling service to the Duchess. Then I
took the ring in hand, and finished it within a few days. It was meant
for the little finger; accordingly I fashioned four tiny children in the
round and four masks, which figures composed the hoop. I also found room
for some enamelled fruits and connecting links, so that the stone and
setting went uncommonly well together. Then I took it to the Duchess,
who told me graciously that I had produced a very fine piece, and that
she would remember me. She afterwards sent the ring as a present to King
Philip, and from that time forward kept charging me with commissions, so
kindly, however, that I did my best to serve her, although I saw but
very little of her money. God knows I had great need of that, for I was
eager to finish my Perseus, and had engaged some journeymen, whom I paid
out of my own purse. I now began to show myself more often than I had
recently been doing. Note 1. Sforza Almeni, a Perugian gentleman, the Duke’s chamberlain.Cosimo killed this man with his own hand in the year 1566. |
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