Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini Vol 1 — Chapters 23-26

XXIII

WHILE I was pushing forward Salamanca’s vase, I had only one little boy as help, whom I had taken at the entreaty of friends, and half against my own will, to be my workman.

He was about fourteen years of age, bore the name of Paulino, and was son to a Roman burgess, who lived upon the income of his property.

Paulino was the best-mannered, the most honest, and the most beautiful boy I ever saw in my whole life.

His modest ways and actions, together with his superlative beauty and his devotion to myself, bred in me as great an affection for him as a man’s breast can hold.

This passionate love led me oftentimes to delight the lad with music; for I observed that his marvellous features, which by complexion wore a tone of modest melancholy, brightened up, and when I took my cornet, broke into a smile so lovely and so sweet, that I do not marvel at the silly stories which the Greeks have written about the deities of heaven.

Indeed, if my boy had lived in those times, he would probably have turned their heads still more.

[1] He had a sister, named Faustina, more beautiful, I verily believe, than that Faustina about whom the old books gossip so.

Sometimes he took me to their vineyard, and, so far as I could judge, it struck me that Paulino’s good father would have welcomed me as a son-in-law.

This affair led me to play more than I was used to do.

It happened at that time that one Giangiacomo of Cesena, a musician in the Pope’s band, and a very excellent performer, sent word through Lorenzo, the trumpeter of Lucca, who is now in our Duke’s service, to inquire whether I was inclined to help them at the Pope’s Ferragosto, playing soprano with my cornet in some motets of great beauty selected by them for that occasion.

[2] Although I had the greatest desire to finish the vase I had begun, yet, since music has a wondrous charm of its own, and also because I wished to please my old father, I consented to join them.

During eight days before the festival we practised two hours a day together; then on the first of August we went to the Belvedere, and while Pope Clement was at table, we played those carefully studied motets so well that his Holiness protested he had never heard music more sweetly executed or with better harmony of parts.

He sent for Giangiacomo, and asked him where and how he had procured so excellent a cornet for soprano, and inquired particularly who I was.

Giangiacomo told him my name in full.

Whereupon the Pope said: “So, then, he is the son of Maestro Giovanni?

” On being assured I was, the Pope expressed his wish to have me in his service with the other bandsmen.

Giangiacomo replied: “Most blessed Father, I cannot pretend for certain that you will get him, for his profession, to which he devotes himself assiduously, is that of a goldsmith, and he works in it miraculously well, and earns by it far more than he could do by playing.

” To this the Pope added: “I am the better inclined to him now that I find him possessor of a talent more than I expected.

See that he obtains the same salary as the rest of you; and tell him from me to join my service, and that I will find work enough by the day for him to do in his other trade.

” Then stretching out his hand, he gave him a hundred golden crowns of the Camera in a handkerchief, and said: [3] “Divide these so that he may take his share.

” When Giangiacomo left the Pope, he came to us, and related in detail all that the Pope had said; and after dividing the money between the eight of us, and giving me my share, he said to me: “Now I am going to have you inscribed among our company.

” I replied: “Let the day pass;

to-morrow I will give my answer.

” When I left them, I went meditating whether I ought to accept the invitation, inasmuch as I could not but suffer if I abandoned the noble studies of my art.

The following night my father appeared to me in a dream, and begged me with tears of tenderest affection, for God’s love and his, to enter upon this engagement.

Methought I answered that nothing would induce me to do so.

In an instant he assumed so horrible an aspect as to frighten me out of my wits, and cried: “If you do not, you will have a father’s curse; but if you do, may you be ever blessed by me!

” When I woke, I ran, for very fright, to have myself inscribed.

Then I wrote to my old father, telling him the news, which so affected him with extreme joy that a sudden fit of illness took him, and well-nigh brought him to death’s door.

In his answer to my letter, he told me that he too had dreamed nearly the same as I had.

Note 1. 'Gli Arebbe fatti più uscire de’ gangheri;' would have taken them still more off the hinges.

Note 2. Lit.

, “the largest piece left of me should be my ears.

” Note 3. The Camera Apostolica was the Roman Exchequer.

XXIV

KNOWING now that I had gratified my father’s honest wish, I began to think that everything would prosper with me to a glorious and honourable end.

Accordingly, I set myself with indefatigable industry to the completion of the vase I had begun for Salamanca.

That prelate was a very extraordinary man, extremely rich, but difficult to please.

He sent daily to learn what I was doing; and when his messenger did not find me at home, he broke into fury, saying that he would take the work out of my hands and give it to others to finish.

This came of my slavery to that accursed music.

Still I laboured diligently night and day, until, when I had brought my work to a point when it could be exhibited, I submitted it to the inspection of the Bishop.

This so increased his desire to see it finished that I was sorry I had shown it.

At the end of three months I had it ready, with little animals and foliage and masks, as beautiful as one could hope to see.

No sooner was it done than I sent it by the hand of my workman, Paulino, to show that able artist Lucagnolo, of whom I have spoken above.

Paulino, with the grace and beauty which belonged to him, spoke as follows: “Messer Lucagnolo, Benvenuto bids me say that he has sent to show you his promises and your lumber, expecting in return to see from you his gewgaws.

” This message given, Lucagnolo took up the vase, and carefully examined it; then he said to Paulino: “Fair boy, tell your master that he is a great and able artist, and that I beg him to be willing to have me for a friend, and not to engage in aught else.

” The mission of that virtuous and marvellous lad caused me the greatest joy; and then the vase was carried to Salamanca, who ordered it to be valued.

Lucagnolo took part in the valuation, estimating and praising it far above my own opinion.

Salamanca, lifting up the vase, cried like a true Spaniard: “I swear by God that I will take as long in paying him as he has lagged in making it.

” When I heard this, I was exceedingly put out, and fell to cursing all Spain and every one who wished well to it.

Amongst other beautiful ornaments, this vase had a handle, made all of one piece, with most delicate mechanism, which, when a spring was touched, stood upright above the mouth of it.

While the prelate was one day ostentatiously exhibiting my vase to certain Spanish gentlemen of his suite, it chanced that one of them, upon Monsignor’s quitting the room, began roughly to work the handle, and as the gentle spring which moved it could not bear his loutish violence, it broke in his hand.

Aware what mischief he had done, he begged the butler who had charge of the Bishop’s plate to take it to the master who had made it, for him to mend, and promised to pay what price he asked, provided it was set to rights at once.

So the vase came once more into my hands, and I promised to put it forthwith in order, which indeed I did.

It was brought to me before dinner; and at twenty-two o’clock the man who brought it returned, all in a sweat, for he had run the whole way, Monsignor having again asked for it to show to certain other gentlemen.

[1] The butler, then, without giving me time to utter a word, cried: “Quick, quick, bring the vase.

” I, who wanted to act at leisure and not to give up to him, said that I did not mean to be so quick.

The serving-man got into such a rage that he made as though he would put one hand to his sword, while with the other he threatened to break the shop open.

To this I put a stop at once with my own weapon, using therewith spirited language, and saying: “I am not going to give it to you!

Go and tell Monsignor, your master, that I want the money for my work before I let it leave this shop.

” When the fellow saw he could not obtain it by swaggering, he fell to praying me, as one prays to the Cross, declaring that if I would only give it up, he would take care I should be paid.

These words did not make me swerve from my purpose; but I kept on saying the same thing.

At last, despairing of success, he swore to come with Spaniards enough to cut me in pieces.

Then he took to his heels; while I, who inclined to believe partly in their murderous attack, resolved that I would defend myself with courage.

So I got an admirable little gun ready, which I used for shooting game, and muttered to myself: “He who robs me of my property and labour may take my life too, and welcome.

” While I was carrying on this debate in my own mind, a crowd of Spaniards arrived, led by their major-domo, who, with the headstrong rashness of his race, bade them go in and take the vase and give me a good beating.

Hearing these words, I showed them the muzzle of my gun, and prepared to fire, and cried in a loud voice: “Renegade Jews, traitors, is it thus that one breaks into houses and shops in our city of Rome?

Come as many of you thieves as like, an inch nearer to this wicket, and I’ll blow all their brains out with my gun.

” Then I turned the muzzle toward their major-domo, and making as though I would discharge it, called out: “And you big thief, who are egging them on, I mean to kill you first.

” He clapped spurs to the jennet he was riding, and took flight headlong.

The commotion we were making stirred up all the neighbours, who came crowding round, together with some Roman gentlemen who chanced to pass, and cried: “Do but kill the renegades, and we will stand by you.

” These words had the effect of frightening the Spaniards in good earnest.

They withdrew, and were compelled by the circumstances to relate the whole affair to Monsignor.

Being a man of inordinate haughtiness, he rated the members of his household, both because they had engaged in such an act of violence, and also because, having begun, they had not gone through with it.

At this juncture the painter, who had been concerned in the whole matter, came in, and the Bishop bade him go and tell me that if I did not bring the vase at once, he would make mincemeat of me; [2] but if I brought it, he would pay its price down.

These threats were so far from terrifying me, that I sent him word I was going immediately to lay my case before the Pope.

In the meantime, his anger and my fear subsided; whereupon, being guaranteed by some Roman noblemen of high degree that the prelate would not harm me, and having assurance that I should be paid, I armed myself with a large poniard and my good coat of mail, and betook myself to his palace, where he had drawn up all his household.

I entered, and Paulino followed with the silver vase.

It was just like passing through the Zodiac, neither more nor less; for one of them had the face of the lion, another of the scorpion, a third of the crab.

However, we passed onward to the presence of the rascally priest, who spouted out a torrent of such language as only priests and Spaniards have at their command.

In return I never raised my eyes to look at him, nor answered word for word.

That seemed to augment the fury of his anger; and causing paper to be put before me, he commanded me to write an acknowledgment to the effect that I had been amply satisfied and paid in full.

Then I raised my head, and said I should be very glad to do so when I had received the money.

The Bishop’s rage continued to rise; threats and recriminations were flung about; but at last the money was paid, and I wrote the receipt.

Then I departed, glad at heart and in high spirits.

Note 1. The Italians reckoned time from sundown till sundown, counting twenty-four hours.

Twenty-two o’clock was therefore two hours before nightfall.

One hour of the night was one hour after nightfall, and so forth.

By this system of reckoning, it is clear that the hours varied with the season of the year; and unless we know the exact month in which an event took place, we cannot translate any hour into terms of our own system.

Note 2. Lit.

, “the largest piece left of me should be my ears.

” XXV

WHEN Pope Clement heard the story-he had seen the vase before, but it was not shown him as my work-he expressed much pleasure and spoke warmly in my praise, publicly saying that he felt very favourably toward me.

This caused Monsignor Salamanca to repent that he had hectored over me;

and in order to make up our quarrel, he sent the same painter to inform me that he meant to give me large commissions.

I replied that I was willing to undertake them, but that I should require to be paid in advance.

This speech too came to Pope Clement’s ears, and made him laugh heartily.

Cardinal Cibo was in the presence, and the Pope narrated to him the whole history of my dispute with the Bishop.

[1] Then he turned to one of his people, and ordered him to go on supplying me with work for the palace.

Cardinal Cibo sent for me, and after some time spent in agreeable conversation, gave me the order for a large vase, bigger than Salamanca’s. I likewise obtained commissions from Cardinal Cornaro, and many others of the Holy College, especially Ridolfi and Salviati; they all kept me well employed, so that I earned plenty of money.

2 Madonna Porzia now advised me to open a shop of my own.

This I did; and I never stopped working for that excellent and gentle lady, who paid me exceedingly well, and by whose means perhaps it was that I came to make a figure in the world.

I contracted close friendship with Signor Gabbriello Ceserino, at that time Gonfalonier of Rome, and executed many pieces for him.

One, among the rest, is worthy of mention.

It was a large golden medal to wear in the hat.

I engraved upon it Leda with her swan; and being very well pleased with the workmanship, he said he should like to have it valued, in order that I might be properly paid.

Now, since the medal was executed with consummate skill, the valuers of the trade set a far higher price on it than he had thought of.

I therefore kept the medal, and got nothing for my pains.

The same sort of adventures happened in this case as in that of Salamanca’s vase.

But I shall pass such matters briefly by, lest they hinder me from telling things of greater importance.

Note 1. Innocenzio Cibo Malaspina, Archbishop of Genoa, and nephew of Lorenzo de’ Medici.

He was a prelate of vast wealth and a great patron of arts and letters.

Note 2. Marco Cornaro was a brother of Caterina, the Queen of Cyprus.

He obtained the hat in 1492. Niccolò Ridolfi was a nephew of Leo X. Giovanni Salviati, the son of Jacopo mentioned above, was also a nephew of Leo X, who gave him the hat in 1517. XXVI

SINCE I am writing my life, I must from time to time diverge from my profession in order to describe with brevity, if not in detail, some incidents which have no bearing on my career as artist.

On the morning of Saint John’s Day I happened to be dining with several men of our nation, painters, sculptors, goldsmiths, amongst the most notable of whom was Rosso and Gainfrancesco, the pupil of Raffaello.

[1] I had invited them without restraint or ceremony to the place of our meeting, and they were all laughing and joking, as is natural when a crowd of men come together to make merry on so great a festival.

It chanced that a light-brained swaggering young fellow passed by; he was a soldier of Rienzo da Ceri, who, when he heard the noise that we were making, gave vent to a string of opprobrious sarcasms upon the folk of Florence.

[2] I, who was the host of those great artists and men of worth, taking the insult to myself, slipped out quietly without being observed, and went up to him.

I ought to say that he had a punk of his there, and was going on with his stupid ribaldries to amuse her.

When I met him, I asked if he was the rash fellow who was speaking evil of the Florentines.

He answered at once: “I am that man.

” On this I raised my hand, struck him in the face, and said: “And I am 'this' man.

” Then we each of us drew our swords with spirit; but the fray had hardly begun when a crowd of persons intervened, who rather took my part than not, hearing and seeing that I was in the right.

On the following day a challenge to fight with him was brought me, which I accepted very gladly, saying that I expected to complete this job far quicker than those of the other art I practised.

So I went at once to confer with a fine old man called Bevilacqua, who was reputed to have been the first sword of Italy, because he had fought more than twenty serious duels and had always come off with honour.

This excellent man was a great friend of mine; he knew me as an artist and had also been concerned as intermediary in certain ugly quarrels between me and others.

Accordingly, when he had learned my business, he answered with a smile: “My Benvenuto, if you had an affair with Mars, I am sure you would come out with honour, because through all the years that I have known you, I have never seen you wrongfully take up a quarrel.

” So he consented to be my second, and we repaired with sword in hand to the appointed place, but no blood was shed, for my opponent made the matter up, and I came with much credit out of the affair.

[3] I will not add further particulars; for though they would be very interesting in their own way, I wish to keep both space and words for my art, which has been my chief inducement to write as I am doing, and about which I shall have only too much to say.

The spirit of honourable rivalry impelled me to attempt some other masterpiece, which should equal, or even surpass, the productions of that able craftsman, Lucagnolo, whom I have mentioned.

Still I did not on this account neglect my own fine art of jewellery; and so both the one and the other wrought me much profit and more credit, and in both of them I continued to produce things of marked originality.

There was at that time in Rome a very able artist of Perugia named Lautizio, who worked only in one department, where he was sole and unrivalled throughout the world.

[4] You must know that at Rome every cardinal has a seal, upon which his title is engraved, and these seals are made just as large as a child’s hand of about twelve years of age; and, as I have already said, the cardinal’s title is engraved upon the seal together with a great many ornamental figures.

A well-made article of the kind fetches a hundred, or more than a hundred crowns.

This excellent workman, like Lucagnolo, roused in me some honest rivalry, although the art he practised is far remote from the other branches of gold-smithery, and consequently Lautizio was not skilled in making anything but seals.

I gave my mind to acquiring his craft also, although I found it very difficult; and, unrepelled by the trouble which it gave me, I went on zealously upon the path of profit and improvement.

There was in Rome another most excellent craftsman of ability, who was a Milanese named Messer Caradosso.

[5] He dealt in nothing but little chiselled medals, made of plates of metal, and such-like things.

I have seen of his some paxes in half relief, and some Christs a palm in length wrought of the thinnest golden plates, so exquisitely done that I esteemed him the greatest master in that kind I had ever seen, and envied him more than all the rest together.

There were also other masters who worked at medals carved in steel, which may be called the models and true guides for those who aim at striking coins in the most perfect style.

All these divers arts I set myself with unflagging industry to learn.

I must not omit the exquisite art of enamelling, in which I have never known any one excel save a Florentine, our countryman, called Amerigo.

[6] I did not know him, but was well acquainted with his incomparable masterpieces.

Nothing in any part of the world or by craftsman that I have seen, approached the divine beauty of their workmanship.

To this branch too I devoted myself with all my strength, although it is extremely difficult, chiefly because of the fire, which, after long time and trouble spent in other processes, has to be applied at last, and not unfrequently brings the whole to ruin.

In spite of its great difficulties, it gave me so much pleasure that I looked upon them as recreation; and this came from the special gift which the God of nature bestowed on me, that is to say, a temperament so happy and of such excellent parts that I was freely able to accomplish whatever it pleased me to take in hand.

The various departments of art which I have described are very different one from the other, so that a man who excels in one of them, if he undertakes the others, hardly ever achieves the same success; whereas I strove with all my power to become equally versed in all of them: and in the proper place I shall demonstrate that I attained my object.

Note 1. St. John’s Day was the great Florentine Festival, on which all the Guilds went in procession with pageants through the city.

Of the Florentine painter, II Rosso, or Maitre Roux, this is the first mention by Cellini.

He went to France in 1534, and died an obscure death there in 1541. Note 2. This Rienzo, Renzo, or Lorenzo da Ceri, was a captain of adventurers or Condottiere, who hired his mercenary forces to paymasters.

He defended Crema for the Venetians in 1514, and conquered Urbino for the Pope in 1515. Afterwards he fought for the French in the Italian wars.

We shall hear more of him again during the sack of Rome.

Note 3. The Italian, 'restando dal mio avversario,' seems to mean that Cellini’s opponent proposed an accommodation, apologized, or stayed the duel at a certain point.

Note 4. See Cellini’s Treatise 'Oreficeria,' cap.

vi.

, for more particulars about this artist.

Note 5. His real name was Ambrogio Foppa.

The nickname Caradosso is said to have stuck to him in consequence of a Spaniard calling him Bear’s-face in his own tongue.

He struck Leo X’s coins; and we possess some excellent medallion portraits by his hand.

Note 6. For him, consult Cellini’s 'Oreficeria.'