Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini Vol 1 — Chapters 31-33

XXXI

IT would take too long to describe in detail all the many and divers pieces of work which I executed for a great variety of men.

At present I need only say that I devoted myself with sustained diligence and industry to acquiring mastery in the several branches of art which I enumerated a short while back.

And so I went on labouring incessantly at all of them; but since no opportunity has presented itself as yet for describing my most notable performances, I shall wait to report them in their proper place before very long.

The Sienese sculptor, Michel Agnolo, of whom I have recently been speaking, was at that time making the monument of the late Pope Adrian.

Giulio Romano went to paint for the Marquis of Mantua.

The other members of the club betook themselves in different directions, each to his own business; so that our company of artists was well-nigh altogether broken up.

About this time there fell into my hands some little Turkish poniards;

the handle as well as the blade of these daggers was made of iron, and so too was the sheath.

They were engraved by means of iron implements with foliage in the most exquisite Turkish style, very neatly filled in with gold.

The sight of them stirred in me a great desire to try my own skill in that branch, so different from the others which I practiced;

and finding that I succeeded to my satisfaction, I executed several pieces.

Mine were far more beautiful and more durable than the Turkish, and this for divers reasons.

One was that I cut my grooves much deeper and with wider trenches in the steel; for this is not usual in Turkish work.

Another was that the Turkish arabesques are only composed of arum leaves a few small sunflowers; [1] and though these have a certain grace, they do not yield so lasting a pleasure as the patterns which we use.

It is true that in Italy we have several different ways of designing foliage; the Lombards, for example, construct very beautiful patterns by copying the leaves of briony and ivy in exquisite curves, which are extremely agreeable to the eye; the Tuscans and the Romans make a better choice, because they imitate the leaves of the acanthus, commonly called bear’s-foot, with its stalks and flowers, curling in divers wavy lines; and into these arabesques one may excellently well insert the figures of little birds and different animals, by which the good taste of the artist is displayed.

Some hints for creatures of this sort can be observed in nature among the wild flowers, as, for instance, in snap-dragons and some few other plants, which must be combined and developed with the help of fanciful imaginings by clever draughtsmen.

Such arabesques are called grotesques by the ignorant.

They have obtained this name of grotesques among the moderns through being found in certain subterranean caverns in Rome by students of antiquity; which caverns were formerly chambers, hot-baths, cabinets for study, halls, and apartments of like nature.

The curious discovering them in such places (since the level of the ground has gradually been raised while they have remained below, and since in Rome these vaulted rooms are commonly called grottoes), it has followed that the word grotesque is applied to the patterns I have mentioned.

But this is not the right term for them, inasmuch as the ancients, who delighted in composing monsters out of goats, cows, and horses, called these chimerical hybrids by the name of monsters; and the modern artificers of whom I speak, fashioned from the foliage which they copied monsters of like nature; for these the proper name is therefore monsters, and not grotesques.

Well, then, I designed patterns of this kind, and filled them in with gold, as I have mentioned; and they were far more pleasing to the eye than the Turkish.

It chanced at that time that I lighted upon some jars or little antique urns filled with ashes, and among the ashes were some iron rings inlaid with gold (for the ancients also used that art), and in each of the rings was set a tiny cameo of shell.

On applying to men of learning, they told me that these rings were worn as amulets by folk desirous of abiding with mind unshaken in any extraordinary circumstance, whether of good or evil fortune.

Hereupon, at the request of certain noblemen who were my friends, I undertook to fabricate some trifling rings of this kind; but I made them of refined steel; and after they had been well engraved and inlaid with gold, they produced a very beautiful effect;

and sometimes a single ring brought me more than forty crowns, merely in payment for my labour.

It was the custom at that epoch to wear little golden medals, upon which every nobleman or man of quality had some device or fancy of his own engraved; and these were worn in the cap.

Of such pieces I made very many, and found them extremely difficult to work.

I have already mentioned the admirable craftsman Caradosso, who used to make such ornaments; and as there were more than one figure on each piece, he asked at least a hundred gold crowns for his fee.

This being so-not, however, because his prices were so high, but because he worked so slowly-I began to be employed by certain noblemen, for whom, among other things, I made a medal in competition with that great artist, and it had four figures, upon which I had expended an infinity of labour.

These men of quality, when they compared my piece with that of the famous Caradosso, declared that mine was by far the better executed and more beautiful, and bade me ask what I liked as the reward of my trouble; for since I had given them such perfect satisfaction, they wished to do the like by me.

I replied that my greatest reward and what I most desired was to have rivalled the masterpieces of so eminent an artist; and that if their lordships thought I had, I acknowledged myself to be most amply rewarded.

With this I took my leave, and they immediately sent me such a very liberal present, that I was well content; indeed there grew in me so great a spirit to do well, that to this event I attributed what will afterwards be related of my progress.

Note 1. 'Gichero,' arum maculatum, and 'clizia,' the sunflower.

XXXII

I SHALL be obliged to digress a little from the history of my art, unless I were to omit some annoying incidents which have happened in the course of my troubled career.

One of these, which I am about to describe, brought me into the greatest risk of my life.

I have already told the story of the artists’ club, and of the farcical adventures which happened owing to the woman whom I mentioned, Pantasilea, the one who felt for me that false and fulsome love.

She was furiously enraged because of the pleasant trick by which I brought Diego to our banquet, and she swore to be revenged on me.

How she did so is mixed up with the history of a young man called Luigi Pulci, who had recently come to Rome.

He was the son of one of the Pulcis, who had been beheaded for incest with his daughter; and the youth possessed extraordinary gifts for poetry together with sound Latin scholarship; he wrote well, was graceful in manners, and of surprising personal beauty; he had just left the service of some bishop, whose name I do not remember, and was thoroughly tainted with a very foul disease.

While he was yet a lad and living in Florence, they used in certain places of the city to meet together during the nights of summer on the public streets; and he, ranking among the best of the improvisatori, sang there.

His recitations were so admirable, that the divine Michel Agnolo Buonarroti, that prince of sculptors and of painters, went, wherever he heard that he would be, with the greatest eagerness and delight to listen to him.

There was a man called Piloto, a goldsmith, very able in his art, who, together with myself, joined Buonarroti upon these occasions.

[1] Thus acquaintance sprang up between me and Luigi Pulci; and so, after the lapse of many years, he came, in the miserable plight which I have mentioned, to make himself known to me again in Rome, beseeching me for God’s sake to help him.

Moved to compassion by his great talents, by the love of my fatherland, and by my own natural tenderness of heart, I took him into my house, and had him medically treated in such wise that, being but a youth, he soon regained his health.

While he was still pursuing his cure, he never omitted his studies, and I provided him with books according to the means at my disposal.

The result was that Luigi, recognising the great benefits he had received from me, oftentimes with words and tears returned me thanks, protesting that if God should ever put good fortune in his way, he would recompense me for my kindness.

To this I replied that I had not done for him as much as I desired, but only what I could, and that it was the duty of human beings to be mutually serviceable.

Only I suggested that he should repay the service I had rendered him by doing likewise to some one who might have the same need of him as he had had of me.

The young man in question began to frequent the Court of Rome, where he soon found a situation, and enrolled himself in the suite of a bishop, a man of eighty years, who bore the title of Gurgensis.

[2] This bishop had a nephew called Messer Giovanni: he was a nobleman of Venice; and the said Messer Giovanni made show of marvellous attachment to Luigi Pulci’s talents; and under the pretence of these talents, he brought him as familiar to himself as his own flesh blood.

Luigi having talked of me, and of his great obligations to me, with Messer Giovanni, the latter expressed a wish to make my acquaintance.

Thus then it came to pass, that when I had upon a certain evening invited that woman Pantasilea to supper, and had assembled a company of men of parts who were my friends, just at the moment of our sitting down to table, Messer Giovanni and Luigi Pulci arrived, and after some complimentary speeches, they both remained to sup with us.

The shameless strumpet, casting her eyes upon the young man’s beauty, began at once to lay her nets for him;

perceiving which, when the supper had come to an agreeable end, I took Luigi aside, and conjured him, by the benefits he said he owed me, to have nothing whatever to do with her.

To this he answered: “Good heavens, Benvenuto!

do you then take me for a madman?

” I rejoined: “Not for a madman, but for a young fellow;” and I swore to him by God: “I do not give that woman the least thought; but for your sake I should be sorry if through her you come to break your neck.

” Upon these words he vowed and prayed to God, that, if ever he but spoke with her, he might upon the moment break his neck.

I think the poor lad swore this oath to God with all his heart, for he did break his neck, as I shall presently relate.

Messer Giovanni showed signs too evident of loving him in a dishonourable way; for we began to notice that Luigi had new suits of silk and velvet every morning, and it was known that he abandoned himself altogether to bad courses.

He neglected his fine talents, and pretended not to see or recognise me, because I had once rebuked him, and told him he was giving his soul to foul vices, which would make him break his neck, as he had vowed.

Note 1. Piloto, of whom we shall hear more hereafter, was a prominent figure in the Florentine society of artists, and a celebrated practical joker.

Vasari says that a young man of whom he had spoken ill murdered him.

Lasca’s Novelle, 'Le Cene,' should be studied by those who seek an insight into this curious Bohemia of the sixteenth century.

Note 2. Girolamo Balbo, of the noble Venetian family, Bishop of Gurck, in Carinthia.

XXXIII

NOW Messer Giovanni bought his favourite a very fine black horse, for which he paid 150 crowns.

The beast was admirably trained to hand, so that Luigi could go daily to caracole around the lodgings of that prostitute Pantasilea.

Though I took notice of this, I paid it no attention, only remarking that all things acted as their nature prompted; and meanwhile I gave my whole mind to my studies.

It came to pass one Sunday evening that we were invited to sup together with the Sienese sculptor, Michel Agnolo, and the time of the year was summer.

Bachiacca, of whom I have already spoken, was present at the party; and he had brought with him his old flame, Pantasilea.

When we were at table, she sat between me and Bachiacca; but in the very middle of the banquet she rose, and excused herself upon the pretext of a natural need, saying she would speedily return.

We, meanwhile, continued talking very agreeably and supping; but she remained an unaccountably long time absent.

It chanced that, keeping my ears open, I thought I heard a sort of subdued tittering in the street below.

I had a knife in hand, which I was using for my service at the table.

The window was so close to where I sat, that, by merely rising, I could see Luigi in the street, together with Pantasilea; and I heard Luigi saying: “Oh, if that devil Benvenuto only saw us, shouldn’t we just catch it!

” She answered: “Have no fear;

only listen to the noise they’re making; we are the last thing they’re thinking of.

” At these words, having made them both well out, I leaped from the window, and took Luigi by the cape; and certainly I should then have killed him with the knife I held, but that he was riding a white horse, to which he clapped spurs, leaving his cape in my grasp, in order to preserve his life.

Pantasilea took to her heels in the direction of a neighbouring church.

The company at supper rose immediately, and came down, entreating me in a body to refrain from putting myself and them to inconvenience for a strumpet.

I told them that I should not have let myself be moved on her account, but that I was bent on punishing the infamous young man, who showed how little he regarded me.

Accordingly I would not yield to the remonstrances of those ingenious and worthy men, but took my sword, and went alone toward Prati:-the house where we were supping, I should say, stood close to the Castello gate, which led to Prati.

[1] Walking thus upon the road to Prati, I had not gone far before the sun sank, and I re-entered Rome itself at a slow pace.

Night had fallen; darkness had come on; but the gates of Rome were not yet shut.

Toward two hours after sunset, I walked along Pantasilea’s lodging, with the intention, if Luigi Pulci were there, of doing something to the discontent of both.

When I heard and saw that no one but a poor servant-girl called Canida was in the house, I went to put away my cloak and the scabbard of my sword, and then returned to the house, which stood behind the Banchi on the river Tiber.

Just opposite stretched a garden belonging to an innkeeper called Romolo.

It was enclosed by a thick hedge of thorns, in which I hid myself, standing upright, and waiting till the woman came back with Luigi.

After keeping watch awhile there, my friend Bachiacca crept up to me; whether led by his own suspicions or by the advice of others, I cannot say.

In a low voice he called out to me: “Gossip” (for so we used to name ourselves for fun);

and then he prayed me for God’s love, using the words which follow, with tears in the tone of his voice: “Dear gossip, I entreat you not to injure that poor girl; she at least has erred in no wise in this matter-no, not at all.

” When I heard what he was saying, I replied: “If you don’t take yourself off now, at this first word I utter, I will bring my sword here down upon your head.

” Overwhelmed with fright, my poor gossip was suddenly taken ill with the colic, and withdrew to ease himself apart; indeed, he could not buy obey the call.

There was a glorious heaven of stars, which shed good light to see by.

All of a sudden I was aware of the noise of many horses; they were coming toward me from the one side and the other.

It turned out to be Luigi and Pantasilea, attended by a certain Messer Benvegnato of Perugia, who was chamberlain to Pope Clement, and followed by four doughty captains of Perugia, with some other valiant soldiers in the flower of youth;

altogether reckoned, there were more than twelve swords.

When I understood the matter, and saw not how to fly, I did my best to crouch into the hedge.

But the thorns pricked and hurt me, goading me to madness like a bull; and I had half resolved to take a leap and hazard my escape.

Just then Luigi, with his arm round Pantasilea’s neck, was heard crying: “I must kiss you once again, if only to insult that traitor Benvenuto.

” At that moment, annoyed as I was by the prickles, and irritated by the young man’s words, I sprang forth, lifted my sword on high, and shouted at the top of my voice: “You are all dead folk!

” My blow descended on the shoulder of Luigi; but the satyrs who doted on him, had steeled his person round with coasts of mail and such-like villainous defences; still the stroke fell with crushing force.

Swerving aside, the sword hit Pantasilea full in nose and mouth.

Both she and Luigi grovelled on the ground, while Bachiacca, with his breeches down to heels, screamed out and ran away.

Then I turned upon the others boldly with my sword; and those valiant fellows, hearing a sudden commotion in the tavern, thought there was an army coming of a hundred men; and though they drew their swords with spirit, yet two horses which had taken fright in the tumult cast them into such disorder that a couple of the best riders were thrown, and the remainder took to flight.

I, seeing that the affair was turning out well, for me, ran as quickly as I could, and came off with honour from the engagement, not wishing to tempt fortune more than was my duty.

During this hurly-burly, some of the soldiers and captains wounded themselves with their own arms; and Messer Benvegnato, the Pope’s chamberlain, was kicked and trampled by his mule.

One of the servants also, who had drawn his sword, fell down together with his master, and wounded him badly in the hand.

Maddened by the pain, he swore louder than all the rest in his Perugian jargon, crying out: “By the body of God, I will take care that Benvegnato teaches Benvenuto how to live.

” He afterwards commissioned one of the captains who were with him (braver perhaps than the others, but with less aplomb, as being but a youth) to seek me out.

The fellow came to visit me in the place of by retirement; that was the palace of a great Neapolitan nobleman, who had become acquainted with me in my art, and had besides taken a fancy to me because of my physical and mental aptitude for fighting, to which my lord himself was personally well inclined.

So, then, finding myself made much of, and being precisely in my element, I gave such answer to the captain as I think must have made him earnestly repent of having come to look me up.

After a few days, when the wounds of Luigi, and the strumpet, and the rest were healing, this great Neapolitan nobleman received overtures from Messer Benvegnato; for the prelate’s anger had cooled, and he proposed to ratify a peace between me and Luigi and the soldiers, who had personally no quarrel with me, and only wished to make my acquaintance.

Accordingly my friend the nobleman replied that he would bring me where they chose to appoint, and that he was very willing to effect a reconciliation.

He stipulated that no words should be bandied about on either side, seeing that would be little to their credit; it was enough to go through the form of drinking together and exchanging kisses; he for his part undertook to do the talking, and promised to settle the matter to their honour.

This arrangement was carried out.

On Thursday evening my protector took me to the house of Messer Benvegnato, where all the soldiers who had been present at that discomfiture were assembled, and already seated at table.

My nobleman was attended by thirty brave fellows, all well armed; a circumstance which Messer Benvegnato had not anticipated.

When we came into the hall, he walking first, I following, he speak to this effect: “God save you, gentlemen; we have come to see you, I and Benvenuto, whom I love like my own brother; and we are ready to do whatever you propose.

” Messer Benvegnato, seeing the hall filled with such a crowd of men, called out: “It is only peace, and nothing else, we ask of you.

” Accordingly he promised that the governor of Rome and his catchpoles should give me no trouble.

Then we made peace, and I returned to my shop, where I could not stay an hour without that Neapolitan nobleman either coming to see me or sending for me.

Meanwhile Luigi Pulci, having recovered from his wound, rode every day upon the black horse which was so well trained to heel and bridle.

One day, among others, after it had rained a little, and he was making his horse curvet just before Pantasilea’s door, he slipped and fell, with the horse upon him.

His right leg was broken short off in the thigh; and after a few days he died there in Pantisilea’s lodgings, discharging thus the vow he registered so heartily to Heaven.

Even so may it be seen that God keeps account of the good and the bad, and gives to each one what he merits.

Note 1. The Porta Castello was the gate called after the Castle of S. Angelo.

Prati, so far as I can make out, was an open space between the Borgo and the Bridge of S. Angelo.

In order to get inside Rome itself, Cellini had to pass a second gate.

His own lodging and Pantasilea’s house were in the quarter of the Bianchi, where are now the Via Giulia and Via de’ Banchi Vecchi.