Note 1. A warm partisan of the Medici. He was a cousin of Maria
Salviati, Cosimo’s mother. It was rumoured that he caused the historian
Francesco Guicciardini’s death by poison. We find him godfather to one
of Cellini’s children.
Note 2. This Salviati and the De’ Nobili mentioned afterwards occupied a
distinguished place in Florentine annals as partisans of the Medici.
Note 3. Cellini began to write his 'Memoirs' in 1558. Eight years had
therefore now elapsed.
XCVII
I HAD almost determined to say nothing more about that unlucky Perseus;
but a most remarkable incident, which I do not like to omit, obliges me
to do so; wherefore I must now turn back a bit, to gather up the thread
of my narration. I thought I was acting for the best when I told the
Duchess that I could not compromise affairs which were no longer in my
hands, seeing I had informed the Duke that I should gladly accept
whatever he chose to give me. I said this in the hope of gaining favour;
and with this manifestation of submissiveness I employed every likely
means of pacifying his resentment; for I ought to add that a few days
before he came to terms with Albizzi, the Duke had shown he was
excessively displeased with me. The reason was as follows: I complained
of some abominable acts of injustice done to me by Messer Alfonso
Quistelli, Messer Jacopo Polverino of the Exchequer, and more than all
by Ser Giovanbattista Brandini of Volterra. When, therefore, I set forth
my cause with some vehemence, the Duke flew into the greatest rage
conceivable. Being thus in anger, he exclaimed: “This is just the same
as with your Perseus, when you asked those ten thousand crowns. You let
yourself be blinded by mere cupidity. Therefore I shall have the statue
valued, and shall give you what the experts think it worth.” To these
words I replied with too much daring and a touch of indignation, which
is always out of place in dealing with great princes: “How is it
possible that my work should be valued at its proper worth when there is
not a man in Florence capable of performing it?” That increased his
irritation; he uttered many furious phrases, and among them said: “There
is in Florence at this day a man well able to make such a statue, and
who is therefore highly capable of judging it.” He meant Bandinello,
Cavaliere of S. Jacopo. [1] Then I rejoined: “My lord, your most
illustrious Excellency gave me the means of producing an important and
very difficult masterpiece in the midst of this the noblest school of
the world; and my work has been received with warmer praises than any
other heretofore exposed before the gaze of our incomparable masters. My
chief pride is the commendation of those able men who both understand
and practise the arts of design--as in particular Bronzino, the painter;
this man set himself to work, and composed four sonnets couched in the
choicest style, and full of honour to myself. Perhaps it was his example
which moved the whole city to such a tumult of enthusiasm. I freely
admit that if sculpture were his business instead of painting, then
Bronzino might have been equal a to task like mine. Michel Agnolo
Buonarroti, again, whom I am proud to call my master; he, I admit, could
have achieved the same success when he was young, but not with less
fatigue and trouble than I endured. But now that he is far advanced in
years, he would most certainly be found unequal to the strain. Therefore
I think I am justified in saying that no man known upon this earth could
have produced my Perseus. For the rest, my work has received the
greatest reward I could have wished for in this world; chiefly and
especially because your most illustrious Excellency not only expressed
yourself satisfied, but praised it far more highly than any one beside.
What greater and more honourable prize could be desired by me? I affirm
most emphatically that your Excellency could not pay me with more
glorious coin, nor add from any treasury a wealth surpassing this.
Therefore I hold myself overpaid already, and return thanks to your most
illustrious Excellency with all my heart.” The Duke made answer:
“Probably you think I have not the money to pay you. For my part, I
promise you that I shall pay you more for the statue than it is worth.”
Then I retorted: “I did not picture to my fancy any better recompense
from your Excellency; yet I account myself amply remunerated by that
first reward which the school of Florence gave me. With this to console
me, I shall take my departure on the instant, without returning to the
house you gave me, and shall never seek to set my foot in this town
again.” We were just at S. Felicita, and his Excellency was proceeding
to the palace. When he heard these choleric words, he turned upon me in
stern anger and exclaimed: “You shall not go; take heed you do not go!”
Half terrified, I then followed him to the palace.
On arriving there, his Excellency sent for the Archbishop of Pisa, named
De, Bartolini, and Messer Pandolfo della Stufa, [2] requesting them to
order Baccio Bandinelli, in his name, to examine well my Perseus and
value it, since he wished to pay its exact price. These excellent men
went forthwith and performed their embassy. In reply Bandinello said
that he had examined the statue minutely, and knew well enough what it
was worth; but having been on bad terms otherwise with me for some time
past, he did not care to be entangled anyhow in my affairs. Then they
began to put a gentle pressure on him, saying: “The Duke ordered us to
tell you, under pain of his displeasure, that you are to value the
statue, and you may have two or three days to consider your estimate.
When you have done so, tell us at what price it ought to be paid.” He
answered that his judgment was already formed, that he could not disobey
the Duke, and that my work was rich and beautiful and excellent in
execution; therefore he thought sixteen thousand crowns or more would
not be an excessive price for it. Those good and courteous gentlemen
reported this to the Duke, who was mightily enraged; they also told the
same to me. I replied that nothing in the world would induce me to take
praise from Bandinello, “seeing that this bad man speaks ill of
everybody.” My words were carried to the Duke; and that was the reason
why the Duchess wanted me to place the matter in her hands. All that I
have written is the pure truth. I will only add that I ought to have
trusted to her intervention, for then I should have been quickly paid,
and should have received so much more into the bargain.
Note 1. Bandinelli was a Knight of S. James of Compostella.
Note 2. Onofrio de’ Bartolini was made Archbishop of Pisa in 1518, at
the age of about seventeen. He was a devoted adherent of the Medici. He
was shut up with Clement in S. Angelo, and sent as hostage to the
Imperial army. Pandolfo della Stufa had been cup-bearer to Caterina de’
Medici while Dauphiness.
XCVIII
THE DUKE sent me word by Messer Lelio Torello, [1] his Master of the
Rolls, [2] that he wanted me to execute some bas-reliefs in bronze for
the choir of S. Maria del Fiore. Now the choir was by Bandinello, and I
did not choose to enrich his bad work with my labours. He had not indeed
designed it, for he understood nothing whatever about architecture; the
design was given by Giuliano, the son of that Baccio d’Agnolo, the
wood-carver, who spoiled the cupola. [3] Suffice it to say that it shows
no talent. For both reasons I was determined not to undertake the task,
although I told the Duke politely that I would do whatever his most
illustrious Excellency ordered. Accordingly, he put the matter into the
hands of the Board of Works for S. Maria del Fiore, [4] telling them to
come to an agreement with me; he would continue my allowance of two
hundred crowns a year, while they were to supply the rest out of their
funds.
In due course I came before the Board, and they told me what the Duke
had arranged. Feeling that I could explain my views more frankly to
these gentlemen, I began by demonstrating that so many histories in
bronze would cost a vast amount of money, which would be totally thrown
away, giving all my reasons, which they fully appreciated. In the first
place, I said that the construction of the choir was altogether
incorrect, without proportion, art, convenience, grace, or good design.
In the next place, the bas-reliefs would have to stand too low, beneath
the proper line of vision; they would become a place for dogs to piss
at, and be always full of ordure. Consequently, I declined positively to
execute them. However, since I did not wish to throw away the best years
of my life, and was eager to serve his most illustrious Excellency, whom
I had the sincerest desire to gratify and obey, I made the following
proposal. Let the Duke, if he wants to employ my talents, give me the
middle door of the cathedral to perform in bronze. This would be well
seen, and would confer far more glory on his most illustrious
Excellency. I would bind myself by contract to receive no remuneration
unless I produced something better than the finest of the Baptistery
doors. [5] But if I completed it according to my promise, then I was
willing to have it valued, and to be paid one thousand crowns less than
the estimate made by experts.
The members of the Board were well pleased with this suggestion, and
went at once to report the matter to the Duke, among them being Piero
Salviati. They expected him to be extremely gratified with their
communication, but it turned out just the contrary. He replied that I
was always wanting to do the exact opposite of what he bade me; and so
Piero left him without coming to any conclusion. On hearing this, I went
off to the Duke at once, who displayed some irritation when he saw me.
However, I begged him to condescend to hear me, and he replied that he
was willing. I then began from the beginning, and used such convincing
arguments that he saw at last how the matter really stood, since I made
it evident that he would only be throwing a large sum of money away.
Then I softened his temper by suggesting that if his most illustrious
Excellency did not care to have the door begun, two pulpits had anyhow
to be made for the choir, and that these would both of them be
considerable works, which would confer glory on his reign; for my part,
I was ready to execute a great number of bronze bas-reliefs with
appropriate decorations. In this way I brought him round, and he gave me
orders to construct the models.
Accordingly I set at work on several models, and bestowed immense pains
on them. Among these there was one with eight panels, carried out with
far more science than the rest, and which seemed to me more fitted for
the purpose. Having taken them several times to the place, his
Excellency sent word by Messer Cesare, the keeper of his wardrobe, that
I should leave them there. After the Duke had inspected them, I
perceived that he had selected the least beautiful. One day he sent for
me, and during our conversation about the models, I gave many reasons
why the octagonal pulpit would be far more convenient for its destined
uses, and would produce a much finer effect. He answered that he wished
me to make it square, because he liked that form better; and thus he
went on conversing for some time very pleasantly. I meanwhile lost no
opportunity of saying everything I could in the interests of art. Now
whether the Duke knew that I had spoken the truth, or whether he wanted
to have his own way, a long time passed before I heard anything more
about it.
Note 1. A native of Fano. Cosimo’s Auditore, 1539; first Secretary or
Grand Chancellor, 1546. He was a great jurist.
Note 2. 'Suo auditore.'
Note 3. It was Baccio d’Agnolo who altered Brunelleschi’s plan for the
cupola. Buonarroti used to say that he made it look like a cage for
crickets. His work remained unfinished.
Note 4. 'Operai di S. Maria del Fiore.'
Note 5. He means Ghiberti’s second door, in all probability.
XCIX
ABOUT this time the great block of marble arrived which was intended for
the Neptune. It had been brought up the Arno, and then by the Grieve [1]
to the road at Poggio a Caiano, in order to be carried to Florence by
that level way; and there I went to see it. Now I knew very well that
the Duchess by her special influence had managed to have it given to
Bandinello. No envy prompted me to dispute his claims, but rather pity
for that poor unfortunate piece of marble. Observe, by the way, that
everything, whatever it may be, which is subject to an evil destiny,
although one tries to save it from some manifest evil, falls at once
into far worse plight; as happened to this marble when it came into the
hands of Bartolommeo Ammanato, [2] of whom I shall speak the truth in
its proper place. After inspecting this most splendid block, I measured
it in every direction, and on returning to Florence, made several little
models suited to its proportions. Then I went to Poggio a Caiano, where
the Duke and Duchess were staying, with their son the Prince. I found
them all at table, the Duke and Duchess dining in a private apartment;
so I entered into conversation with the Prince. We had been speaking for
a long while, when the Duke, who was in a room adjacent, heard my voice,
and condescended very graciously to send for me. When I presented myself
before their Excellencies, the Duchess addressed me in a very pleasant
tone; and having thus opened the conversation, I gradually introduced
the subject of that noble block of marble I had seen. I then proceeded
to remark that their ancestors had brought the magnificent school of
Florence to such a pitch of excellence only by stimulating competition
among artists in their several branches. It was thus that the wonderful
cupola and the lovely doors of San Giovanni had been produced, together
with those multitudes of handsome edifices and statues which made a
crown of artistic glory for their city above anything the world had seen
since the days of the ancients. Upon this the Duchess, with some anger,
observed that she very well knew what I meant, and bade me never mention
that block of marble in her presence, since she did not like it. I
replied: “So, then, you do not like me to act as the attorney of your
Excellencies, and to do my utmost to ensure your being better served?
Reflect upon it, my lady; if your most illustrious Excellencies think
fit to open the model for a Neptune to competition, although you are
resolved to give it to Bandinello, this will urge Bandinello for his own
credit to display greater art and science than if he knew he had no
rivals. In this way, my princes, you will be far better served, and will
not discourage our school of artists; you will be able to perceive which
of us is eager to excel in the grand style of our noble calling, and
will show yourselves princes who enjoy and understand the fine arts.”
The Duchess, in a great rage, told me that I tired her patience out; she
wanted the marble for Bandinello, adding: “Ask the Duke; for his
Excellency also means Bandinello to have it.” When the Duchess had
spoken, the Duke, who had kept silence up to this time, said: “Twenty
years ago I had that fine block quarried especially for Bandinello, and
so I mean that Bandinello shall have it to do what he likes with it.” I
turned to the Duke and spoke as follows: “My lord, I entreat your most
illustrious Excellency to lend a patient hearing while I speak four
words in your service.” He told me to say all I wanted, and that he
would listen. Then I began: “You will remember, my lord, that the marble
which Bandinello used for his Hercules and Cacus was quarried for our
incomparable Michel Agnolo Buonarroti. He had made the model for a
Samson with four figures, which would have been the finest masterpiece
in the whole world; but your Bandinello got out of it only two figures,
both ill-executed and bungled in the worst manner; wherefore our school
still exclaims against the great wrong which was done to that
magnificent block. I believe that more than a thousand sonnets were put
up in abuse of that detestable performance; and I know that your most
illustrious Excellency remembers the fact very well. Therefore, my
powerful prince, seeing how the men to whose care that work was
entrusted, in their want of taste and wisdom, took Michel Agnolo’s
marble away from him, and gave it to Bandinello, who spoilt it in the
way the whole world knows, oh! will you suffer this far more splendid
block, although it belongs to Bandinello, to remain in the hands of that
man who cannot help mangling it, instead of giving it to some artist of
talent capable of doing it full justice? Arrange, my lord, that every
one who likes shall make a model; have them all exhibited to the school;
you then will hear what the school thinks; your own good judgment will
enable you to select the best; in this way, finally, you will not throw
away your money, nor discourage a band of artists the like of whom is
not to be found at present in the world, and who form the glory of your
most illustrious Excellency.”
The Duke listened with the utmost graciousness; then he rose from table,
and turning to me, said: “Go, my Benvenuto, make a model, and earn that
fine marble for yourself; for what you say is the truth, and I
acknowledge it.” The Duchess tossed her head defiantly, and muttered I
know not what angry sentences.
I made them a respectful bow and returned to Florence, burning with
eagerness to set hands upon my model.
Note 1. Instead of the Grieve, which is not a navigable stream, it
appears that Cellini ought to have written the Ombrone.
Note 2. This sculptor was born in 1511, and died in 1592. He worked
under Bandinelli and Sansovino.
C
WHEN the Duke came to Florence, he sought me at my house without giving
me previous notice. I showed him two little models of different design.
Though he praised them both, he said that one of them pleased him better
than the other; I was to finish the one he liked with care; and this
would be to my advantage. Now his Excellency had already seen
Bandinello’s designs, and those of other sculptors; but, as I was
informed by many of his courtiers who had heard him, he commended mine
far above the rest. Among other matters worthy of record and of great
weight upon this point, I will mention the following. The Cardinal of
Santa Fiore was on a visit to Florence, and the Duke took him to Poggio
a Caiano. Upon the road, noticing the marble as he passed, the Cardinal
praised it highly, inquiring of his Excellency for what sculptor he
intended it. The Duke replied at once: “For my friend Benvenuto, who has
made a splendid model with a view to it.” This was reported to me by men
whom I could trust.
Hearing what the Duke had said, I went to the Duchess, and took her some
small bits of goldsmith’s work, which greatly pleased her Excellency.
Then she asked what I was doing, and I replied: “My lady, I have taken
in hand for my pleasure one of the most laborious pieces which have ever
been produced. It is a Christ of the whitest marble set upon a cross of
the blackest, exactly of the same size as a tall man. She immediately
inquired what I meant to do with it. I answered: “You must know my lady,
that I would not sell it for two thousand golden ducats; it is of such
difficult execution that I think no man ever attempted the like before;
nor would I have undertaken it at the commission of any prince whatever,
for fear I might prove inadequate to the task. I bought the marbles with
my own money, and have kept a young man some two years as my assistant
in the work. What with the stone, the iron frame to hold it up, and the
wages, it has cost me above three hundred crowns. Consequently, I would
not sell it for two thousand. But if your Excellency deigns to grant me
a favour which is wholly blameless, I shall be delighted to make you a
present of it. All I ask is that your Excellency will not use your
influence either against or for the models which the Duke has ordered to
be made of the Neptune for that great block of marble.” She replied with
mighty indignation: “So then you value neither my help nor my
opposition?” “On the contrary, I value them highly, princess; or why am
I offering to give you what I value at two thousand ducats? But I have
such confidence in my laborious and well-trained studies, that I hope to
win the palm, even against the great Michel Agnolo Buonarroti, from whom
and from no one else I have learned all that I know. Indeed, I should be
much better pleased to enter into competition with him who knows so much
than with those others who know but little of their art. Contending with
my sublime master, I could gain laurels in plenty, whereas there are but
few to be reaped in a contest with these men.” After I had spoken, she
rose in a half-angry mood, and I returned to work with all the strength
I had upon my model.
When it was finished, the Duke came to see it, bringing with him two
ambassadors, one from the Duke of Ferrara, the other from the Signory of
Lucca. They were delighted, and the Duke said to those two gentlemen:
“Upon my word, Benvenuto deserves to have the marble.” Then they both
paid me the highest compliments, especially the envoy from Lucca, who
was a person of accomplishments and learning. [1] I had retired to some
distance in order that they might exchange opinions freely; but when I
heard that I was being complimented, I came up, turned to the Duke, and
said: “My lord, your most illustrious Excellency ought now to employ
another admirable device: decree that every one who likes shall make a
model in clay exactly of the same size as the marble has to be. In this
way you will be able to judge far better who deserves the commission;
and I may observe that if your Excellency does not give it to the
sculptor who deserves it, this will not wrong the man so much, but will
reflect great discredit upon yourself, since the loss and shame will
fall on you. On the other hand, if you award it to the one who has
deserved it, you will acquire great glory in the first place, and will
employ your treasure well, while artists will believe that you
appreciate and understand their business.” No sooner had I finished
speaking than the Duke shrugged his shoulders, and began to move away.
While they were taking leave the ambassador of Lucca said to the Duke:
“Prince, this Benvenuto of yours is a terrible man!” The Duke responded:
“He is much more terrible than you imagine, and well were it for him if
he were a little less terrible; then he would possess at the present
moment many things which he has not got.” These precise words were
reported to me by the envoy, by way of chiding and advising me to change
my conduct. I told him that I had the greatest wish to oblige my lord as
his affectionate and faithful servant, but that I did not understand the
arts of flattery. Several months after this date, Bandinello died; and
it was thought that, in addition to his intemperate habits of life, the
mortification of having probably to lose the marble contributed to his
decline.
Note 1. Probably Girolamo Lucchesini.
CI
BANDINELLO had received information of the crucifix which, as I have
said above, I was now engaged upon. Accordingly he laid his hands at
once upon a block of marble, and produced the Pieta which may be seen in
the church of the Annunziata. Now I had offered my crucifix to S. Maria
Novella, and had already fixed up the iron clamps whereby I meant to
fasten it against the wall. I only asked for permission to construct a
little sarcophagus upon the ground beneath the feet of Christ, into
which I might creep when I was dead. The friars told me that they could
not grant this without the consent of their building committee. [1] I
replied: “Good brethren, why did not you consult your committee before
you allowed me to place my crucifix? Without their leave you suffered me
to fix my clamps and other necessary fittings.”
On this account I refused to give those fruits of my enormous labours to
the church of S. Maria Novella, even though the overseers of the fabric
came and begged me for the crucifix. I turned at once to the church of
the Annunziata, and when I explained the terms on which I had sought to
make a present of it to S. Maria Novella, those virtuous friars of the
Nunziata unanimously told me to place it in their church, and let me
make my grave according to my will and pleasure. When Bandinello became
aware of this, he set to work with great diligence at the completion of
his Pieta, and prayed the Duchess to get for him the chapel of the Pazzi
for his monument. This he obtained with some difficulty; and on
receiving the permission, he erected his Pieta with great haste. It was
not altogether completed when he died.
The Duchess then said that, even as she had protected him in life, so
would she protect him in the grave, and that albeit he was dead, I need
never try to get that block of marble. Apropos of which, the broken
Bernardone, meeting me one day in the country, said that the Duchess had
assigned the marble. I replied: “Unhappy piece of stone! In the hands of
Bandinello it would certainly have come to grief; but in those of
Ammanato its fate is a hundred times worse.” Now I had received orders
from the Duke to make a clay model, of the same size as the marble would
allow; he also provided me with wood and clay, set up a sort of screen
in the Loggia where my Perseus stands, and paid me one workman. I went
about my business with all diligence, and constructed the wooden
framework according to my excellent system. Then I brought the model
successfully to a conclusion, without caring whether I should have to
execute it in marble, since I knew the Duchess was resolved I should not
get the commission. Consequently I paid no heed to that. Only I felt
very glad to undergo this labour, hoping to make the Duchess, who was
after all a person of intelligence, as indeed I had the means of
observing at a later period, repent of having done so great a wrong both
to the marble and herself. Giovanni the Fleming also made a model in the
cloister of S. Croce; Vinzenzio Danti of Perugia another in the house of
Messer Ottaviano de’ Medici; the son of Moschino began a third at Pisa,
and Bartolommeo Ammanato a fourth in the Loggia, which we divided
between us. 2
When I had blocked the whole of mine out well, and wanted to begin upon
the details of the head, which I had already just sketched out in
outline, the Duke came down from the palace, and Giorgetto, the painter,
[3] took him into Ammanato’s workshed. This man had been engaged there
with his own hands several days, in company with Ammanato and all his
workpeople. While, then, the Duke was inspecting Ammanato’s model, I
received intelligence that he seemed but little pleased with it. In
spite of Giorgetto’s trying to dose him with his fluent nonsense, the
Duke shook his head, and turning to Messer Gianstefano, [4] exclaimed:
“Go and ask Benvenuto if his colossal statue is far enough forward for
him to gratify us with a glance at it.” Messer Gianstefano discharged
this embassy with great tact, and in the most courteous terms. He added
that if I did not think my work quite ready to be seen yet, I might say
so frankly, since the Duke knew well that I had enjoyed but little
assistance for so large an undertaking. I replied that I entreated him
to do me the favour of coming; for though my model was not far advanced,
yet the intelligence of his Excellency would enable him to comprehend
perfectly how it was likely to look when finished. This kindly gentleman
took back my message to the Duke, who came with pleasure. No sooner had
he entered the enclosure and cast his eyes upon my work, than he gave
signs of being greatly satisfied. Then he walked all round it, stopping
at each of the four points of view, exactly as the ripest expert would
have done. Afterwards he showed by nods and gestures of approval that it
pleased him; but he said no more than this: “Benvenuto, you have only to
give a little surface to your statue.” Then he turned to his attendants,
praising my performance, and saying: “The small model which I saw in his
house pleased me greatly, but this has far exceeded it in merit.”
Note 1. 'I loro Operai.'
Note 2. Gian Bologna, or Jean Boullogne, was born at Douai about 1530.
He went, while a very young man, to Rome, and then settled at Florence.
There he first gained reputation by a Venus which the Prince Francesco
bought. The Neptune on the piazza at Bologna, which is his work, may
probably have been executed from the model he made in competition upon
this occasion. Vincenzo Danti was born at Perugia in 1530. He produced
the bronze statute of Pope Julius III., which may still be seen in his
native city. Simone Cioli, called Il Mosca, was a very fair sculptor who
died in 1554, leaving a son, Francesco, called Il Moschino, who was also
a sculptor, and had reached the age of thirty at this epoch. It is
therefore to this Moschino probably that Cellini refers above.
Note 3. Giorgio Vasari.
Note 4. Probably Gianstefano Lalli.
CII
IT pleased God, who rules all things for our good--I mean, for those who
acknowledge and believe in Him; such men never fail to gain His
protection--that about this time a certain rascal from Vecchio called
Piermaria d’Anterigoli, and surnamed Lo Sbietta, introduced himself to
me. He is a sheep-grazier; and being closely related to Messer Guido
Guidi, the physician, who is now provost of Pescia, I lent ear to his
proposals. The man offered to sell me a farm of his for the term of my
natural life. I did not care to go and see it, since I wanted to
complete the model of my colossal Neptune. There was also no reason why
I should visit the property, because Sbietta only sold it to me for the
income. [1] This he had noted down at so many bushels of grain, so much
of wine, oil, standing corn, chestnuts, and other produce. I reckoned
that, as the market then ran, these together were worth something
considerably over a hundred golden crowns in gold; and I paid him 650
crowns, which included duties to the state. Consequently, when he left a
memorandum written in his own hand, to the effect that he would always
keep up these products of the farm in the same values during my
lifetime, I did not think it necessary to inspect it. Only I made
inquiries, to the best of my ability, as to whether Sbietta and his
brother Ser Filippo were well off enough to give me good security. Many
persons of divers sorts, who knew them, assured me that my security was
excellent. We agreed to call in Ser Pierfrancesco Bertoldi, notary at
the Mercantanzia; and at the very first I handed him Sbietta’s
memorandum, expecting that this would be recited in the deed. But the
notary who drew it up was so occupied with detailing twenty-two
boundaries described by Sbietta, [2] that, so far as I can judge, he
neglected to include in the contract what the vendor had proposed to
furnish. While he was writing, I went on working; and since it took him
several hours, I finished a good piece of my Neptune’s head.
After the contract was signed and sealed, Sbietta began to pay me the
most marked attentions, which I returned in like measure. He made me
presents of kids, cheese, capons, fresh curds, and many sorts of fruits,
until I began to be almost ashamed of so much kindness. In exchange for
these courtesies I always took him from the inn to lodge with me when he
came into Florence, often inviting a relative or two who happened to
attend him. On one of these occasions he told me with a touch of
pleasantry that it was really shameful for me to have bought a farm,
and, after the lapse of so many weeks, not yet to have left my business
for three days in the hands of my workpeople, so as to have come to look
at it. His wheedling words and ways induced me to set off, in a bad hour
for my welfare, on a visit to him. Sbietta received me in his own house
with such attentions and such honours as a duke might covet. His wife
caressed me even more than he did; and these excellent relations
continued between us until the plans which he and his brother Ser
Filippo had in mind were fully matured.
Note 1. What Cellini means is that Sbietta was to work the farm, paying
Cellini its annual value. It appears from some particulars which follow
that the 'entrate' were to be paid in kind.
Note 2. The word 'confini,' which I have translated 'boundaries,' may
mean 'limiting conditions.'
CIII
MEANWHILE I did not suspend my labours on the Neptune, which was now
quite blocked out upon an excellent system, undiscovered and unknown
before I used it. Consequently, although I knew I should not get the
marble for the reasons above narrated, I hoped to have it soon
completed, and to display it on the piazza simply for my satisfaction.
It was a warm and pleasant season; and this, together with the
attentions of those two rascals, disposed me to set out one Wednesday,
which happened to be a double holiday, for my country-house at
Trespiano. [1] Having spent some time over an excellent lunch, it was
past twenty o’clock when I reached Vicchio. There, at the towngate, I
met Ser Filippo, who appeared to know already whither I was bound. He
loaded me with attentions, and took me to Sbietta’s house, where I found
that fellow’s strumpet of a wife, who also overwhelmed me with caresses.
I gave the woman a straw hat of the very finest texture, the like of
which she told me she had never seen. Still, up to this time, Sbietta
had not put in his appearance.
Toward the end of the afternoon we all sat down to supper in excellent
spirits. Later on, they gave me a well appointed bedroom, where I went
to rest in a bed of the most perfect cleanliness. Both of my servants,
according to their rank, were equally well treated. On the morrow, when
I rose, the same attentions were paid me. I went to see my farm, which
pleased me much; and then I had some quantities of grain and other
produce handed over. But when I returned to Vicchio, the priest Ser
Filippo said to me: “Benvenuto do not be uneasy; although you have not
found here quite everything you had the right to look for, yet put your
mind to rest; it will be amply made up in the future, for you have to
deal with honest folk. You ought, by the way, to know that we have sent
that labourer away, because he was a scoundrel.” The labourer in
question bore the name of Mariano Rosegli; and this man now kept
frequently repeating in my ear: “Look well after yourself; in the end
you will discover which of us here is the greatest villain.” The
country-fellow, when he spoke those words, smiled with an evil kind of
sneer, and jerked his head as though to say: “Only go up there, and you
will find out for yourself.”
I was to some extent unfavourably influenced by these hints, yet far
from forming a conception of what actually happened to me. So, when I
returned from the farm, which is two miles distant from Vicchio, toward
the Alpi, [2] I met the priest, who was waiting for me with his
customary politeness. We then sat down together to breakfast; it was not
so much a dinner as an excellent collation. Afterwards I took a walk
through Vicchio--the market had just opened--and noticed how all the
inhabitants fixed their eyes upon me, as on something strange. This
struck me particularly in the case of a worthy old man, who has been
living for many years at Vicchio, and whose wife bakes bread for sale.
He owns some good property at the distance of about a mile; however, he
prefers this mode of life, and occupies a house which belongs to me in
the town of Vicchio. This had been consigned to me together with the
farm above mentioned, which bears the name of Della Fonte. The worthy
old man spoke as follows: “I am living in your house, and when it falls
due I shall pay you your rent; but if you want it earlier, I will act
according to your wishes. You may reckon on never having any disputes
with me.” While we were thus talking I noticed that he looked me hard in
the face, which compelled me to address him thus: “Prithee, tell me,
friend Giovanni, why you have more than once stared at me in that way?”
He replied: “I am quite willing to tell you, if, being the man of worth
I take you for, you will promise not to say that I have told you.” I
gave the promise and he proceeded: “You must know then that that
worthless priest, Ser Filippo, not many days since, went about boasting
of his brother Sbietta’s cleverness, and telling how he had sold his
farm to an old man for his lifetime, and that the purchaser could hardly
live the year out. You have got mixed up with a set of rogues; therefore
take heed to living as long as you are able, and keep your eyes open,
for you have need of it. I do not choose to say more.”
Note 1. From Cellini’s 'Ricordi' it appears that he bought a farm at
this village, north-east of Florence, on October 26, 1548. In 1556 he
also purchased land there.
Note 2. The Alpi are high mountain pastures in the Apennines.
CIV
DURING my promenade through the market, I met Giovan Battista Santini,
and he and I were taken back to supper by the priest. As I have related
above, we supped at the early hour of twenty, because I made it known
that I meant to return to Trespiano. Accordingly they made all ready;
the wife of Sbietta went bustling about in the company of one Cecchino
Buti, their knave of all work. After the salads had been mixed and we
were preparing to sit down to table, that evil priest, with a certain
nasty sort of grin, exclaimed: “I must beg you to excuse me, for I
cannot sup with you; the reason is that some business of importance has
occurred which I must transact for my brother Sbietta. In his absence I
am obliged to act for him.” We all begged him to stay, but could not
alter his determination; so he departed and we began our supper. After
we had eaten the salads on some common platters, and they were preparing
to serve the boiled meat, each guest received a porringer for himself.
Santini, who was seated opposite me at table exclaimed: “Do you notice
that the crockery they give you is different from the rest? Did you ever
see anything handsomer?” I answered that I had not noticed it. He also
prayed me to invite Sbietta’s wife to sit down with us; for she and that
Cecchino Buti kept running hither and thither in the most extraordinary
fuss and hurry. At last I induced the woman to join us; when she began
to remonstrate: “You do not like my victuals, since you eat so little.”
I answered by praising the supper over and over again, and saying that I
had never eaten better or with heartier appetite. Finally, I told her
that I had eaten quite enough. I could not imagine why she urged me so
persistently to eat. After supper was over, and it was past the hour of
twenty-one, I became anxious to return to Trespiano, in order that I
might recommence my work next morning in the Loggia. Accordingly I bade
farewell to all the company, and having thanked our hostess, took my
leave.
I had not gone three miles before I felt as though my stomach was on
fire, and suffered such pain that it seemed a thousand years till I
arrived at Trespiano. However, it pleased God that I reached it after
nightfall with great toil, and immediately proceeded to my farm, where I
went to bed. During the night I got no sleep, and was constantly
disturbed by motions of my bowels. When day broke, feeling an intense
heat in the rectum, I looked eagerly to see what this might mean, and
found the cloth covered with blood. Then in a moment I conceived that I
had eaten something poisonous, and racked my brains to think what it
could possibly have been. It came back to my memory how Sbietta’s wife
had set before me plates, and porringers, and saucers different from the
others, and how that evil priest, Sbietta’s brother, after giving
himself such pains to do me honour, had yet refused to sup with us.
Furthermore, I remembered what the priest had said about Sbietta’s doing
such a fine stroke of business by the sale of his farm to an old man for
life, who could not be expected to survive a year. Giovanni Sardella had
reported these words to me. All things considered, I made my mind up
that they must have administered a dose of sublimate in the sauce, which
was very well made and pleasant to the taste, inasmuch as sublimate
produces all the symptoms. I was suffering from. Now it is my custom to
take but little sauce or seasoning with my meat, excepting salt; and yet
I had eaten two moderate mouthfuls of that sauce because it was so
tasteful. On further thinking, I recollected how often that wife of
Sbietta had teased me in a hundred ways to partake more freely of the
sauce. On these accounts I felt absolutely certain that they had given
me sublimate in that very dish.
CV
ALBEIT I was suffering so severely, I forced myself to work upon my
Colossus in the Loggia; but after a few days I succumbed to the malady
and took to my bed. No sooner did the Duchess hear that I was ill, than
she caused the execution of that unlucky marble to be assigned to
Bartolommeo Ammanato. [1] He sent word to me through Messer….
living…. Street, that I might now do what I liked with my model
since he had won the marble. This Messer…. was one of the lovers
of Bartolommeo Ammanato’s wife; and being the most favoured on account
of his gentle manners and discretion, Ammanato made things easy for him.
There would be much to say upon this topic; however, I do not care to
imitate his master, Bandinello, who always wandered from the subject in
his talk. Suffice it to say that I told Ammanato’s messenger I had
always imagined it would turn out thus; let the man strain himself to
the utmost in proof of gratitude to Fortune for so great a favour so
undeservedly conferred on him by her.
All this while I stayed with sorry cheer in bed, and was attended by
that most excellent man and physician, Maestro Francesco da Montevarchi.
Together with him Maestro Raffaello de’ Pilli undertook the surgical
part of my case, forasmuch as the sublimate had so corroded the
intestines that I was unable to retain my motions. When Maestro
Francesco saw that the poison had exerted all its strength, being indeed
insufficient in quantity to overcome my vigorous constitutions, he said
one day: “Benvenuto, return thanks to God, for you have won the battle.
Have no anxiety, since I mean to cure you in spite of the rogues who
sought to work your ruin.” Maestro Raffaello then put in: “This will be
one of the finest and most difficult cures which was ever heard of; for
I can tell you, Benvenuto, that you swallowed a good mouthful of
sublimate.” Thereupon Maestro Francesco took him up and said: “It may
possibly have been some venomous caterpillar.” I replied: “I know for
certain what sort of poison it was, and who gave it to me;” upon which
we all were silent. They attended me more than six full months, and I
remained more than a whole year before I could enjoy my life and vigour.
Note 1. What follows has been so carefully erased, possibly by Cellini’s
own hand, in the autograph, that it is illegible. Laura Battiferra,
Ammanato’s wife, was a woman of irreproachable character, whom Cellini
himself praised in a sonnet.
CVI
AT this time [1] the Duke went to make his triumphal entry into Siena,
and Ammanato had gone there some months earlier to construct the arches.
A bastard of his, who stayed behind in the Loggia, removed the cloths
with which I kept my model of Neptune covered until it should be
finished. As soon as I knew this, I complained to Signor Don Francesco,
the Duke’s son, who was kindly disposed toward me, and told him how they
had disclosed my still imperfect statue; had it been finished, I should
not have given the fact a thought. The Prince replied with a threatening
toss of his head: “Benvenuto, do not mind your statue having been
uncovered, because these men are only working against themselves; yet if
you want me to have it covered up, I will do so at once.” He added many
other words in my honour before a crowd of gentlemen who were there. I
then begged his Excellency to give me the necessary means for finishing
it, saying that I meant to make a present of it together with the little
model to his Highness. He replied that he gladly accepted both gifts,
and that he would have all the conveniences I asked for put at my
disposal. Thus, then, I fed upon this trifling mark of favour, which, in
fact, proved the salvation of my life; for having been overwhelmed by so
many evils and such great annoyances all at one fell swoop, I felt my
forces failing; but this little gleam of encouragement inspired me with
some hope of living.
Note 1. October 28, 1560.
CVII
A YEAR had now passed since I bought the farm of Della Fonte from
Sbietta. In addition to their attempt upon my life by poisoning and
their numerous robberies, I noticed that the property yielded less than
half what had been promised. Now, in addition to the deeds of contract,
I had a declaration written by Sbietta’s own hand, in which he bound
himself before witnesses to pay me over the yearly income I have
mentioned. Armed with these documents, I had recourse to the Lords
Counsellors. At that time Messer Alfonso Quistello was still alive and
Chancellor of the Exchequer; he sat upon the Board, which included
Averardo Serristori and Federigo de’ Ricci. I cannot remember the names
of all of them, but I know that one of the Alessandri was a member.
Suffice it to say, the counsellors of that session were men of weight
and worth. When I had explained my cause to the magistracy, they all
with one voice ruled that Sbietta should give me back my money, except
Federigo de’ Ricci, who was then employing the fellow himself; the
others unanimously expressed sorrow to me that Federigo de’ Ricci
prevented them from despatching the affair. Averardo Serristori and
Alessandri in particular made a tremendous stir about it, but Federigo
managed to protect matters until the magistracy went out of office;
whereupon Serristori, meeting me one morning after they had come out
upon the Piazza dell’ Annunziata, cried aloud, without the least regard
to consequences: “Federigo de’ Ricci has been so much stronger than all
of us put together that you have been massacred against our will.” I do
not intend to say more upon this topic, since it would be too offensive
to the supreme authorities of state; enough that I was cruelly wronged
at the will of a rich citizen, only because he made use of that
shepherd-fellow.
CVIII
THE DUKE was staying at Livorno, where I went to visit him in order
merely to obtain release from his service. Now that I felt my vigour
returning, and saw that I was used for nothing, it pained me to lose
time which ought to have been spent upon my art. I made my mind up,
therefore, went to Livorno, and found my prince, who received me with
exceeding graciousness. Now I stayed there several days, and went out
riding daily with his Excellency. Consequently I had excellent
opportunities for saying all I wanted, since it was the Duke’s custom to
ride four miles out of Livorno along the sea-coast to the point where he
was erecting a little fort. Not caring to be troubled with a crowd of
people, he liked me to converse with him. So then, on one of these
occasions, having observed him pay me some remarkable attentions, I
entered into the affair of Sbietta and spoke as follows: “My lord, I
should like to narrate to your most illustrious Excellency a very
singular incident, which will explain why I was prevented from finishing
that clay model of Neptune on which I was working in the Loggia. Your
Excellency must know that I bought a farm for my life from Sbietta--” To
cut the matter short, I related the whole story in detail, without
contaminating truth with falsehood. Now when I came to the poison, I
remarked that if I had ever proved an acceptable servant in the sight of
his most illustrious Excellency, he ought not to punish Sbietta or those
who administered the poison, but rather to confer upon them some great
benefit, inasmuch as the poison was not enough to kill me, but had
exactly sufficed to cleanse me of a mortal viscosity from which I
suffered in my stomach and intestines. “The poison,” quoth I, “worked so
well, that whereas, before I took it, I had perhaps but three or four
years to live, I verily believe now that it has helped me to more than
twenty years by bettering my constitution. For this mercy I return
thanks to God with greater heartiness than ever; and this proves that a
proverb I have sometimes heard spoken is true, which runs as follows:--
‘God send us evil, that may work us good.’”
The Duke listened to my story through more than two miles of travel,
keeping his attention fixed, and only uttering: “Oh, the villains!” I
said, in conclusion, that I felt obliged to them, and opened other and
more cheerful subjects of conversation.
I kept upon the look-out for a convenient day; and when I found him well
disposed for what I wanted, I entreated his most illustrious Excellency
to dismiss me in a friendly spirit, so that I might not have to waste
the few years in which I should be fit to do anything. As for the
balance due upon my Perseus, he might give this to me when he judged it
opportune. Such was the pith of my discourse: but I expanded it with
lengthy compliments, expressing my gratitude toward his most illustrious
Excellency. To all this he made absolutely no answer, but rather seemed
to have taken my communication ill. On the following day Messer
Bartolommeo Concino, [1] one of the Duke’s secretaries, and among the
chiefest, came to me, and said with somewhat of a bullying air: “The
Duke bids me tell you that if you want your dismissal, he will grant it;
but if you choose work, he will give you plenty: God grant you may have
the power to execute all he orders.” I replied that I desired nothing
more than work to do, and would rather take it from the Duke than from
any man whatever in the world. Whether they were popes, emperors, or
kings, I should prefer to serve his most illustrious Excellency for a
halfpenny than any of the rest of them for a ducat. He then remarked:
“If that is your mind, you and he have struck a bargain without the need
of further speech. So, then, go back to Florence, and be unconcerned;
rely on the Duke’s goodwill towards you.” Accordingly I made my way
again to Florence.
Note 1. This man was the son of a peasant at Terranuova, in Valdarno. He acquired great wealth and honour at the court of Duke Cosimo, and was grandfather of the notorious Marechal d’Ancre. |
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