THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
EX LIBRIS
RUTH McC. MAITLAND
BENVENUTO CELLINI
THE LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF
EDITED AND TRANSLATED BYJOHNADDINGTON
SYMONDS WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF
CELLINI BY THE SAME HAND TOGETHERWITH
AN INTRODUCTION TO THIS EDITION UPON
BENVENUTO CELLINI, ARTIST AND WRITER^BY
ROYAL CORJISSOZ WITH Rj; PRODUCTIONS
OF FORTY ORIGINAL PORTRAITS AND VIEWS
ILLUSTRATING THE LIFE
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1 BRENTANO'S -NEW YORK
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COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY BRENTANO's
PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1906
Art.
Library
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
BENVENUTO CELLINI! ARTIST AND WRITER. BY
ROYAL CORTISSOZ XI
INTRODUCTION TO THE LIFE OF CELLINI. BY JOHN
ADDINGTON SYMONDS 3
THE LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI. WRITTEN BY
HIMSELF AND TRANSLATED BY JOHN ADDING-
TON SYMONDS. BOOK FIRST [CHAPTERS I-C] 71
1Q10802
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
TITLE-PAGE DESIGNED BY T. M. CLELAND
WAX MODEL FOR THE PERSEUS [FLORENCE] XXII
COSIMO DE' MEDICI, WITH CELLINI AND OTHER
ARTISTS AND ARCHITECTS [VASARI] 3
BUST OF COSIMO DE* MEDICI [FLORENCE] 26
SALT-CELLAR BY CELLINI [VIENNA] 5O
BENVENUTO CELLINI [PAINTED ON PORPHYRY] 71
LORENZO DE' MEDICI, CALLED THE MAGNIFICENT
[VASARI] 80
BENEDETTO VARCHI [TITIAN] 112
POPE CLEMENT VII. [SEBASTIANO DEL PIOMBO] 1 3O
GIULIO ROMANO [BY HIMSELF] 144
CASTELLO SANT' ANGELO [ROME] 166
BRONZE BY CELLINI [FLORENCE] 18$
LEO X., GIULIO DE' MEDICI AND L. DE ROSSI
[RAPHAEL] 194
ALESSANDRO DE' MEDICI [VASARI] 212
C vii ]
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
BACCIO BANDINELLO [BY HIMSELF] 228
"PAIX" ATTRIBUTED TO CELLINI [MILAN] 246
IPPOLITO DE' MEDICI [PONTORMO] 26O
GIACOPO TATTI, CALLED SANSOVINO [TINTO-
RETTO] 284
GIORGIO VASARI [BY HIMSELF] 3l6
CHARLES V. [TITIAN] 326
SHIELD ATTRIBUTED TO CELLINI [TURIN] 342
BENVENUTO CELLINI
ARTIST AND WRITER
BENVENUTO CELLINI
ARTIST AND WRITER
BY ROYAL CORTISSOZ
N"La Cousine Bette" Balzac has an
illuminating note on one phase of the
artistic temperament. He is speaking
of Wenceslas Steinbock,the sculptor,
and of the way in which his statue of
Marshal Montcornet somehow fails
to get itself turned into a masterpiece. Describing the
Pole as wasting a large proportion of his time in talk-
ing about the statue instead of working at it, he thus
continues: " He talked admirably about art, and in the
eyes of the world he maintained his reputation as a
great artist by his powers of conversation and criti-
cism. There are many clever men in Paris who spend
their lives in talking themselves out, and are content
with a sort of drawing-room celebrity. ... At the
same time, these half artists are delightful; men like
them and cram them with praise ; they even seem su-
perior to the true artists, who are taxed with conceit,
unsociableness, contempt of the la ws of society. "Ben-
venuto Cellini was a kind of Steinbock. He had an im-
mense amount of energy, but he did not concentrate
it and send it through the right channels with the de-
voted instincl: of the great artist.The parallel is not to
be overdone. Indeed, if we carry it too far, it is bound
to break down, for Cellini was every inch a man,
and there is a deplorably effeminate weakness about
BENVENUTO CELLINI
Wenceslas. But there is no denying that where the
Italian was vulnerable was in just that foible which
Balzac, in his penetrating way, hits off so well. He
talked too much. He was of too impulsive a habit to
make immortal statues. There was too much vehe-
mence about him, he used too many gestures, and
it seems the most natural thing in the world that his
fame should be preserved in a work of literature
rather than in a work of art. The Autobiography is
his best monument, better even than the Perseus.
Nevertheless, it is a mistake to allow this fa6l to ob-
scure the very interesting question of his relation to
Italian art. Too often has eagerness to get at the
Autobiography inclined writers to pass indifferently
over Cellini's achievements as a goldsmith and sculp-
tor. It is true that M. Plon's book does not err in
this direction, and that only eight years ago Mr.
C. R. Ashbee took the pains to translate Cellini's
technical "Trattati," and to print his version in lux-
urious form. But when the Autobiography is at all
to the fore it seems to abate discussion of the things
for which Cellini himself had, after all, the most con-
cern. I think it is worth while, therefore, to speak of
those things on the present occasion.
One of the most delightful of the many paradoxes
of the Italian Renaissance is its treatment of the pro-
fessional idea. Never was there a time in which men
were keener on preserving the integrity of their vari-
ous guilds ; the youth apprenticed to anyone of the nu-
merous branches of art that had then each its clearly
ARTIST AND WRITER
fixed status was impelled by all the influences of the
period to make the independence and the importance
of his chosen branch a pointof honour. It was a time
of intense personal pride. Yet it was a time, too, of
extraordinary give and take in the arts. The archi-
tect and the sculptor, for example, met one another
halfway. It is significant that in the very dawn of
plastic art in Italy it is an entirely utilitarian project
that stirs creative genius to activity. It is as an archi-
tect, no less than as a sculptor, that Niccola Pisano
undertakes to construct the hexagonal pulpit for the
baptistery at Pisa, and it would be difficult to say
where the architect leaves off and the sculptor begins
in the transformation of this tribune, made for a prac-
tical purpose, into an essentially decorative object. In
other words, when the journeyman stone-carver sub-
sides into the background and the sculptor which is
to say the stone-carver of individual genius takes
his place, the change is effected amid conditions which
keep sculpture a craft as well as an art; and this
situation endures for generations, modified in many
ways as different types of personal force arise, but
true, in the main , to the broad instinct at which we
have just glanced. That instinct was a sound one.
The man of the Renaissance knew that art embraced
not only the greater but the lesser, and that it was
as much worth his while, when the chance offered,
to do an ordinary bit of craftsmanship as to produce
some elaborate tour deforce. Thus you find the pul-
pits of the Pisani, their Fonte Maggiore at Perugia,
C xiii ]
BENVENUTO CELLINI
or Jacopo della Quercia's Fonte Gaia at Siena, suc-
ceeded by triumphs of pure craftsmanship like the
pulpit at Prato which Donatello and Michelozzo did
together, or like any of those countless sepulchral
monuments of which Desiderio's tomb for Cardinal
Marsuppini, in Santa Croce, is perhaps the most con-
clusive type. Verrocchio, with the power in him to do
a thing like the Colleoni at Venice, approaches with
the same creative ardour, the same impassioned feel-
ing for beauty, not only that heroic equestrian statue,
but the Medici tomb in the sacristy of San Lorenzo
at Florence, a tomb of wholly formal decoration. The
point of view is in each case the same. " Make the
work beautiful/' he says, "no matter what its form
may be/' He makes it so, and incidentally he helps
to establish a tradition. The spirit of the man of genius
was shared, in a measure, even by the mediocrity,
and as you look over the whole mass of Renaissance
work in stone, metal, or, for that matter, any mate-
rial, you are struck by the way in which craftsman-
ship is raised to a higher power. A certain largeness
of feeling is in the air, and a lantern wrought by some
Florentine to-day unknown, a setting given to a jewel
at a shop whose proprietor, even in his lifetime, never
had any celebrity whatever, bears the same stamp
that you find on the noblest productions of the era.
Why was that stamp not recaptured by Cellini ? He
had the sincerity of his predecessors, and their zeal.
What he lacked was that something, next to impos-
sible to define, which seems more the property of an
ARTIST AND WRITER
age than of any one individual.
It is the fashion in these scientific days to put the
" document" in the foreground and leave "the spirit
of things " to take care of itself, as a volatile, tricksy
quality, full of danger for the unwary. " There never
was an artistic period," said Mr. Whistler. "There
never was an art-loving nation." That kind of a re-
mark wears a convincing air. For a moment one hesi-
tates to contradict. But he who hesitates in this mat-
ter is unquestionably lost. You cannot put your fin-
ger on some unmistakable source of inspiration in
fifteenth-century Italy and say that it acted automati-
cally, making masters out of all the artists coming
within the range of its influence. But you can dis-
cern at this time an element which presently disap-
pears, a general atmosphere, dominant in Italian life,
which, for the artist, serves both as a stimulus and as
a check upon his professional conscience. This atmo-
sphere dies down as the great body of creative artists
shrinks in size, and in all things, in politics and in
social life as well as in art, Italy begins to show
signs of exhaustion, of decadence. Traditions sur-
vive, but in a sadly debilitated condition. Cellini cher-
ishes the highest ideals of goldsmithing, and it is
plain from the opening pages of his treatise on that
subject that he considered himself as one of the line
of Ghiberti,Pollaiuolo, Donatello and Verrocchio; but
he was nothing of the sort. The gods had begun to
withdraw their gifts from Italy when Cellini saw the
light in 1500. In truth they had lingered in lavish
C ]
BENVENUTO CELLINI
mood for a long time. They had given Italy the
Pisani and Jacopo della Quercia. Then had come
Ghiberti, Brunelleschi,DonatelloandLucadella Rob-
bia and his kin, and, as though this were not enough,
man after man was sent into the world to make Ital-
ian sculpture worthy of Italian painting. Besides art-
ists cast in giant mould like Donatello or Verrocchio,
there were any number of sculptors so accomplished
that they can scarcely be dismissed as forming, in a
colourless way, the rank and file. Higher praise than
that must go to Desiderio da Settigano or the Rosel-
lini ; to Mino or to Pollaiuolo; to Matteo Civitali or to
Benedetto da Maiano. Nor was Tuscany alone thus
bountifully endowed. Pisanello and Matteo de Pasti
had been showing at Verona how the Renaissance
medal might be made to rival the antique coin. Other
masters might be cited from other regions. The coun-
try everywhere had more or less reason to congratu-
late itself on its sculptors. Then the effort seems to
be too much of a strain, a kind of blight falls upon
plastic art, and only one figure, that of Michael An-
gelo, continues to illustrate the grand style down
into the sixteenth century.
It is as though fate had done all that could be done
to place models of what sculpture should be before
Cellini, but had grudged him the voiceless whisper,
the invisible spark, the impalpable something in the
air, which had thrilled the generations just preced-
ing his own, and had caused masterpieces to appear
before men as nature causes fruits and flowers to
C xvi ]
ARTIST AND WRITER
issue forth from the sun- warmed earth. In a word,
Cellini's limitations, which are to be ascribed first and
last to the caprice of destiny, are understood the bet-
ter if we remember the character of the period into
which he was born. It needed a fiercer, more mas-
terful nature than his and his was masterful and
fierce enough in all conscience to conquer the dead-
ening tendency of the time. One might say that it was
pathetic, too, if pathos had not a certain incongruity
where Cellini is concerned, to observe the depth
and strength of his faculty of appreciation. He knew
the right thing when it was put before him, and there
is nothing more ingratiating about him than the gusto
with which he lauds a great artist. He alludes to
Leonardo as "a veritable angel incarnate;" and of
"that divinest painter," MicKael Angelo, he speaks
with positively passionate warmth. The treatment of
the moving soldiers in the famous cartoon of " The
Bathers " moves him to this outburst : " He drew them
at the very moment the alarm is sounded, and the
men all naked run to arms ; so splendid is their a6lion
that nothing survives of ancient or of modern art
which touches the same lofty point of excellence."
When Cosimo de Medici asked him to model a Per-
seus for the Loggia dei Lanzi, which was already
adorned by Donatello's "Judith" and Michael An-
gelo's " David," he replied after this fashion: " Most
excellent, my lord, upon the piazza are now stand-
ing works by the great Donatello and the incompara-
ble Michael Angelo, the two greatest men who have
C xvii 3
BENVENUTO CELLINI
ever lived since the days of the ancients. But since
your Excellence encourages my model with such
praise, I feel the heart to execute it at least thrice
as well in bronze." Precisely he had the heart, but
that was not enough. For his readiness to apprehend
the true stature of a Michael Angelo, a Donatello or
a Leonardo he is to be honoured, especially as the
taste of his contemporaries, while still impressed with
a sense of Michael Angelo's grandeur, steadily drifted,
all through the sixteenth century, toward such types
as Bandinelli, Ammanati, John of Bologna and the
like, as though the stars in their courses were fight-
ing to prepare the way for the seventeenth-century
poseur, Bernini. But Cellini's superior judgment was
not matched by his abilities, and even in his admira-
tions he was not always as fortunate as he was en-
lightened. There is a kind of tragic irony in the enthu-
siasm that swept him to the feet of Michael Angelo,
who, breathing the airs of an apocalyptic world, was
just the mighty exemplar for a delicate craftsman like
Cellini to avoid.
That is what, as an artist, Cellini was, a delicate
craftsman, with one great difference between him-
self and those fifteenth-century masters with whom,
as I have indicated, art and craftsmanship were often
made one and the same thing. He could not give to
his work, even at its finest, that exquisiteness in
grain, that subtle beauty of surface, that haunting
personal note, which the earlier men achieved simply
because, as it seems to me, their whole natures, their
xviii
ARTIST AND WRITER
very souls, were in harmony with the tremendous
inspiration prevailing in the life about them. Pisanello
can give one of his portrait medals the massive dig-
nity of an antique sculpture or of a painting by Man-
tegna. Verrocchio, making the Medici tomb of San
Lorenzo, has some magic in his fingers which satu-
rates in beauty the simple leafage of bronze with
which he embellishes the porphyry sarcophagus, and
that touch of his performs the same mysterious office
for the network of bronze rope that fills up the rest
of the opening in the design. Cellini could not have
made one of those medals, he could not have made
that net of twisted rope, though his life had depended
on it. It was his genius, instead, to be supremely
clever. Read the pages in which he tells how to do
filigree work, how to set an emerald or to tint a
diamond, how to make a seal or a medal, and you
can almost catch the flash of the shrewd eye, you
can almost hear the self-confident, dogmatic voice as
it exposes to you some of the secrets of the trade.
He was the Rue de la Paix in excelsis, an inspired
shop-keeper, not an inspired artist. He could do any-
thing he liked with his hands. It was when quali-
ties less ponderable were needed that he was at a
disadvantage. Intelle6l, spirituality, fine feeling, these
are the resources that he lacked as an artist. When
he produces the famous salt-cellar for Francis I., now
at Vienna, he makes the first stage of the work an
affair of reasonablyjust proportions, but then he mo-
dels the figures in the round on too large a scale, and
C
BENVENUTO CELLINI
in style as well as in bulk detaches them from the
spirit of the design considered as a goldsmith's de-
sign. He is both goldsmith and sculptor in this re-
nowned piece, but awkwardly, and to the advantage
of neither the one nor the other. A master of the
early Renaissance would have known how to exploit
both professions, on an occasion like this, in perfect
harmony. Cellini is without the necessary poise. Let
him do pure jeweller's work, let him design a cas-
ket or a chalice, and he is tolerably sure of himself.
Give him a commission permitting him a wider scope,
and, in his impetuous way, he flings himself upon the
task, works like a demon, and never realizes, as he
gazes upon the finished obje6l,that he has just missed
striking twelve.
Possibly his ill luck is thrown into sharper relief
for us through the very fa6l that his more ambitious
productions form such a small group there is little
chance for flaws to be overlooked. The Perseus is,
of course, the salient member of that group, but be-
fore alluding to it I must refer to the work which
has always seemed to me, more than any other, to
reflect upon Cellini the kind of credit which doubt-
less he most craved, the kind that goes to the sculp-
tor in the stri6l sense. This is the bust of Bindo Al-
toviti. It is a work of simple dignity, conceived in a
virile mood, and executed without that teasing of the
surfaces which is elsewhere so apt to be character-
istic of Cellini. Michael Angelo thought well of it,
writing to Cellini a note which the latter quotes with
ARTIST AND WRITER
undisguised satisfaction. " My dear Benvenuto," he
says, "I have known you for many years as the
greatest goldsmith of whom we have any informa-
tion ; and henceforward I shall know you for a sculp-
tor of like quality. I must tell you that Master Bindo
Altoviti took me to see his bust in bronze, and in-
formed me that you made it. I was greatly pleased
with the work ; but it annoyed me to notice that it
was placed in a bad light; for if it were suitably
illuminated, it would show itself to be the fine per-
formance that it is." One does not need to give Mi-
chael Angelo's polite expressions to a junior an ex-
aggerated value in order to find in them the evi-
dence that Cellini had surpassed himself in this bust.
For once he seems to have fitted his style to his
theme and to have carried on a piece of work from
beginning to end in an unqualifiedly sculptural vein.
The bust of Cosimo de' Medici is less successful be-
cause it is less simple. The ornamentation is over-
done, and the whole work has an artificial, even the-
atrical air. When he was portraying Bindo Altoviti
it is obvious that he worked from nature, endeavour-
ing merely to get a good likeness in a straightfor-
ward way. When he undertook the bust of Cosimo
we cannot help but feel that there was hovering in
the back of his mind a notion that he would make
his patron look as much as possible like a Roman
emperor. How often was he betrayed by this con-
fusion of mind ! Nature should have had her chance,
if anywhere, in that large Nymph of Fontainebleau
C xx i 3
BENVENUTO CELLINI
of his, in which the opportunity to model a nude
female figure at full length should have put him on
his mettle, but the figure is painfully untrue to life,
and leaves not only an artificial but even a some-
what vulgar impression. The crucifix in the Escurial
escapes this last danger, but, to the critical eye, its
actual value as a work of religious art is far below
its repute. Neither as a study of anatomical structure
nor as an interpretation of a tragic theme does it
rise above an ordinary level. There remains the
bronze in the Loggia dei Lanzi, the bronze which
probably meant more to him than anything he did
in the course of his whole career.
He seems to have been attracted at once by the
subject when Cosimo proposed it to him, and, as we
have seen from the words to the Duke already
quoted, he was fired with the desire to show that
he could produce a statue worthy of association with
works by Donatello and Michael Angelo. The his-
tory of the enterprise is sufficiently traversed in the
Autobiography and so need not be further dealt
with here, nor, for that matter, need we pause very
long upon the Perseus itself. The wax model, which
is still preserved at Florence, shows that Cellini
started with a capital idea, producing a lithe, slen-
der figure of good proportions, and arranging it,
with the headless body trampled under foot, in a
composition both picturesque and graceful. If we
look at the figure in the Loggia, enlarged, and
marked everywhere with the signs of Cellini's meti-
WAX MODEL FOR THE. PERSEUS
( FLORENCE )
ARTIST AND WRITER
culous craftsmanship, and if, as we look, we deliber-
ately put out of mind the whole dramatic story of
its casting, so that no elements of personal sympathy
are left to affect our view of the matter, we are
constrained to admit that the sculptor lost his grasp
on his original idea as the work went on. The Per-
seus should have been executed in silver on a mod-
est scale, it should have been made not a statue but
a statuette. As it is, Cellini strove in vain to rise to
the level of his great opportunity. Once more the
sculptor and the craftsman in him were antipathetic
where they should have worked together, and he
fell, as it were, between two stools. The Perseus
is brittle, finikin, where it should be heroic, and at
the same time it is badly proportioned and heavy
where it should have been light and elegant. Cel-
lini was in his prime when he put forth this dearest
work of his ambition, and by it his rank as an artist
may fairly be fixed. It is the subordinate rank of a
temperament that paid the penalty of its own ingra-
tiating vivacity. Cellini himself, in his account of his
life, suggests that he was not steadfast enough to
reach perfection in any form of art, that he relied too
much on the sudden jet of emotion, on the excitement
which goes with the tour de force. One suspects that
he would sometimes take up a task in a fury of inter-
est and then execute it with doubtful success, largely
for the reason that it had ceased to appeal to him,
only a sort of burning pride keeping him at it. It
was not for him to penetrate gravely, tenderly, into
xxiii
BENVENUTO CELLINI
the heart of things, to explore the secrets of nature
in a passion of awed delight, and then to realize
some splendid conception with the noble authority
of a Donatello, a Verrocchio or a Michael Angelo.
But he was to win his reward when, in his fifty-
eighth year, he crowned his lifelong indulgence in
what he himself called "natural bragging" with the
writing of his Autobiography.
There are half a dozen different points of view
from which this famous book appears in a good light.
To begin with, in interesting the world in Cellini, it
has interested the world in his works, and has thus
fostered the fame of the latter. Secondly, these pages
are invaluable for the pictures they contain of Italian
society in the author's day. He touched life at many
points, mingling not only with artists but with princes
and prelates. He had a "devouring" eye and a good
memory. A thing once seen stayed in his mind; a
thing once heard by him was well remembered, and
when he dictated his memoirs he gave them the
vitality of a daily journal. Moreover, he was of the
race of Boccaccio, which is to say that he was a born
story-teller, a man who naturally dramatised his ex-
periences as he came to relate them, making the
most of a personality or a situation, and, above all,
flinging over everything an air of reality, of move-
ment. How far did he swerve from the facls, if he
swerved at all, in the framing of this wonderful nar-
rative? It is practically impossible to say, but I am
not sure that the point is, in the last resort, of any
xxiv
ARTIST AND WRITER
serious consequence. The late John Addington Sy-
monds was at some pains to demonstrate that Cellini
was neither base nor a liar. He made out an excel-
lent case for his hero, and it were ungracious to
quarrel with his conclusions, for Symonds not only , c
made the best translation of the Autobiography that
has ever been produced, but was so saturated with
his subject through years of preoccupation with Ital-
ian art and history that his opinion necessarily car-
ries great weight. Yet there are passages in Cellini's
life which it is idle to estimate as having any justifi-
cation whatever in morals, and I cannot for the life
of me see why, in the circumstances, we should as-
sume that he was not, when occasion demanded, a
rousing good liar. Why should he not have been a
liar ? Is a man who is capable of malicious mischief,
of murder, and of ways of living which are perhaps
better left unmentioned, any the better company be-
cause he always told the truth, or any the worse
because he now and then lied? The question is im-
material. It is not by a careful balancing of his vir-
tues and his vices that we get nearer to Cellini, and
the more willing to enjoy his book. The only thing
to do is to accept once and for all the fact that man-
ners and morals in the sixteenth century were totally
different from morals and manners in our own, and
then to approach Benvenuto Cellini as a human being.
Our examination of his work as an artist has shown
clearly enough that he was no demi-god. Perusal of
the Autobiography only makes us the more sure of
C xxv ]
BENVENUTO CELLINI
this. No, this book is to be read for what it is, a work
in the same category with the memoirs of Casanova,
"Gil Bias/' and those other classics which, whether
they be made of history or of fiction, appeal to the
reader as being all compact of the very blood and
bone of human experience.
Cellini is a master of picaresque literature. He
loves adventure, and nothing in the world gives
him quite the joy that he gets from a hand-to-hand
fight. He is happy when he is at work; happy when
he is foregathering with Giulio Romano or some
other boon companion in Florentine Bohemia, when
the day's task is done; happy when he is arguing
with a patron ; happy when he is driving his dagger
up to the hilt in the neck of his enemy ; happy, in
short, whenever anything is toward that convinces
him that he is alive and playing the part of a man.
As he looks back over it all, his being thrills with
an ineffable gusto, and small blame to him if the
story loses nothing in the telling. Take, for exam-
ple, the fracas which is soon reached in his narrative,
the one following Gherardo Guasconti's insult. Ben-
venuto swoops down upon Gherardo in the midst
of his family like an avenging flame. "I stabbed
him in the breast/' he says, " piercing doublet and
jerkin through and through to the shirt, without,
however, grazing his flesh or doing him the least
harm in the world." He is promptly set upon in the
street by "more than twelve persons," all of them
crudely but effectively armed, and the fight waxes
C xxvi j
ARTIST AND WRITER
Homeric. " When I got among them, raging like a
mad bull, I flung four or five to the earth, and fell
down with them myself, continually aiming my
dagger now at one and now at another. Those
who remained upright plied both hands with all
their force, giving it me with hammers, cudgels,
and anvil." Incredible as it may seem, Cellini and
all of his adversaries emerged from this tremendous
conflict absolutely unscathed. Cellini attributes this
to the merciful intervention of a divine power. We
know better. We know that the fight was, of course,
not anything like so fierce as Cellini represents it
to be. But would we have the record changed ? Not
for worlds ! It is just this rich, full-bodied quality in
him that makes him the absorbing narrator that he is.
He persuades you, too, because he puts what he
has to say in such an artless manner. If he lies it is
not in cold blood, but with the perfect good faith of
a Tartarin. His story of the sack of Rome and of
his achievements on the beleaguered walls of the
city is superb. Perhaps he did indeed fire the shot
that killed the Constable of Bourbon. Perhaps he
lied about the shot, and knew he lied. But he tells
of the incident with a simple sincerity that all but
disarms the sceptic. It is the same with his descrip-
tion of his labours in the lodging to which he with-
drew to melt down the gold settings some two
hundred pounds of them from which he had, un-
der the direction of Clement, detached the Papal
jewels. According to the Autobiography, Cellini
xxvii
BENVENUTO CELLINI
would put a quantity of gold into the pot, and then,
turning to his guns, cause " all sorts of unexpected
mischief in the trenches." Again we say " Perhaps,"
and again, in the next moment, we grant that
whether Cellini served as artilleryman and gold-
smith in the same moment or not, a pretty tall
order, he draws a picture of the scene that for
vividness and dramatic interest is unimpeachable.
Curiously, too, his picture apparently causes him no
trouble in the painting. This maker of literature was
never a literary man, never for even the smallest
fraction of a second. It was probably with no very
definite consciousness of just what he was doing
that he gave his recollections their extraordinarily
tangible form. You could not say of him that he
understood the art of omission, for that implies a
professional faculty, the instinct of the man of let-
ters ; yet one of the great sources of Cellini's charm
is this gift for painting an episode without a super-
fluous touch. The commentator selecting an illus-
tration is tempted, as a matter of course, to take
one showing Cellini in a crisis of some sort, to
choose the "important" passage; but I think we do
him better justice if we take him in more familiar
mood, if we take him when he is treating of some
ordinary affair in his daily life. There is the tale of
his meeting with Madonna Porzia at the Farnesina,
and of her giving him a jewel to set. Flaubert him-
self, slaving his hardest, could not have approached
the lucidity and the vitality of those three or four
xxviii
ARTIST AND WRITER
pages. The way in which the artist and the lady met,
the tone she used toward him, and her exit from the
room in which he stayed on to finish the drawing
he was making from a figure in the famous ceiling
decoration all this is sketched with the animation
of life itself; and Benvenuto's succeeding labours
over the jewel, and his rivalry with Lucagnolo, are
handled with the same power. Very little space is
given to the subject, but we are made, within that
little space, to live a part of Cellini's life. Glance,
too, at the note, less than a page long, in which he
tells of going to see Michael Angelo in Rome, and
suggesting that the great man return to Florence
and the service of Duke Cosimo. Little is said.
Michael Angelo looks his interlocutor hard in the
face and briefly answers him with a question, smil-
ing sarcastically the while. Cellini is pressing, where-
upon Michael Angelo creates a diversion by turn-
ing to his simple-minded servant. The visitor gives
up his mission in despair, but he laughs as, without
saying farewell, he goes from the house. It is odd,
but somehow this casual fragment, which tells prac-
tically nothing, yet tells everything. The leonine
head of Michael Angelo turns toward us in the
dusk of the studio, and we see that sarcastic smile.
This, then, is the supreme merit of the Autobio-
graphy that it has the dramatic reality for which
we look, as a rule, only to the creative artists in
literature. As for the stuff of the narrative, Cellini
may have been born too late to witness the richest
C xxix ]
BENVENUTO CELLINI
developments of the Renaissance, but there were
still great spirits on- earth sojourning when he was
born, and even those public figures that were not
precisely great had characteristics, or filled posi-
tions, significant to the modern reader. Cellini fills
his canvas with a generous hand. He is himself his
best theme, but he draws a friend or an enemy with
the same care that he bestows upon his own traits
or mischances, and though he has a due sense of
the powers of the great ones with whom he comes
in contact, it is with a quite unhampered brush that
he introduces Pope or mundane potentate upon the
scene. He speaks of artists and their work with the
intimate accent of Vasari, and with a robuster,
warmer, more roughly human element of appreci-
ation in his voice. He is, as I said at the beginning,
every inch a man, and it is a man's report of what
he did and felt and saw that he gives us, a report
wanting in the niceties of literary form, darkened
by prejudice and passion, but, in its spirit, a thing
genuine as the man himself was genuine.
INTRODUCTION
BY JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS
COSIMO DE MEDICI
WITH CELLINI AND OTHER ARTISTS AND ARCHITECTS
( VASAR I )
INTRODUCTION
BY JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS
HE translator of an autobiography,
especially if it be a long one like
Cellini's, or like Rousseau's Confes-
sions, enjoys very special opportuni-
ties for becoming acquainted with the
mind and temper of its writer. No
other method of study, however conscientious, can
be compared in this particular respe6l with the method
of translation ; in no other way is it possible to get
such knowledge of a man's mental and emotional
habits, to judge the value of his accent and intona-
tion so accurately, or to form by gradual and subtle
processes so sympathetic a conception of his nature.
The translator is obliged to live for weeks and months
in close companionship with his author. He must bend
his own individuality to the task of expressing what
is characteristic in that of another. He tastes and ana-
lyses every turn of phrase in order to discover its
exacl significance. He taxes the resources of his own
language, so far as these may be at his command,
to reproduce the most evasive no less than the most
salient expressions of the text before him. In the case
even of a poem or a dissertation, he ought, upon this
method, to arrive at more precise conclusions than
the student who has only been a reader. But when
the text is a self-revelation, when it is a minute and
voluminous autobiography, he will have done little
C 3 1
INTRODUCTION
short of living himself for awhile into the personal-
ity of another. Supposing him at the same time to be
possessed of any discernment, he will be able after-
wards to speak of the man whose spirit he has at-
tempted to convey, with the authority of one who has
learned to know him intus et in cute bones, mar-
row, flesh, and superficies. Nor is the translator ex-
posed to the biographer's weakness for overvaluing
his subje6l. He pretends to no discoveries, has taken
no brief for or against the character it is his duty to
reproduce, has set up no full-length portrait on the
literary easel, to be painted by the aid of documents,
and with a certain preconceived conception of pic-
torial harmony. In so far as it is possible to enter
into personal intercourse with any one whose voice
we have not heard, whose physical influences we
have not been affedled by, in whose living presence
we have not thought, and felt, and a6led, in so far
the translator of a book like Cellini's Memoirs or
Rousseau's Confessions can claim to be familiar and
intimate with its author.
ii
I have recently put myself into these very confiden-
tial relations with Cellini, having made the completely
new English version of his autobiography to which
the following pages serve as introduction. I think
that I am therefore justified in once more handling
a somewhat hackneyed subject, and in rectifying
what I have previously published concerning it. 1
A book which the great Goethe thought worthy
1 Renaissance in Italy, 'vol. Hi. ch. 'viii.
C 4]
INTRODUCTION
of translating into German with the pen of Faust
and Wilhelm Meister, a book which Auguste Comte
placed upon his very limited list for the perusal of
reformed humanity, is one with which we have the
right to be occupied, not once or twice, but over
and over 'again. It cannot lose its freshness. What
attracted the encyclopaedic minds of men so differ-
ent as Comte and Goethe to its pages still remains
there. This attractive or compulsive quality, to put
the matter briefly, is the flesh and blood reality of
Cellini's self-delineation. A man stands before us in
his Memoirs unsophisticated, unembellished, with all
his native faults upon him, and with all his potent
energies portrayed in the veracious manner of Velas-
quez, with bold strokes and animated play of light
and colour. No one was less introspective than this
child of the Italian Renaissance. No one was less
occupied with thoughts about thinking or with the
presentation of psychological experience. Vain, osten-
tatious, self-laudatory, and self-engrossed as Cellini
was, he never stopped to analyse himself. He at-
tempted no artistic blending of Dtchtung und Wahr-
heit; the word "confessions" could not have escaped
his lips ; a Journal Intime would have been incom-
prehensible to his fierce, virile spirit. His autobio-
graphy is the record of action and passion. Suffering,
enjoying, enduring, working with restless activity;
hating, loving, hovering from place to place as im-
pulse moves him ; the man presents himself dramati-
cally by his deeds and spoken words, never by his
ponderings or meditative breedings . It is this healthy
externality which gives its great charm to Cellini's
I 5 D
INTRODUCTION
self-portrayal and renders it an imperishable docu-
ment for the student of human nature.
In addition to these solid merits, his life, as Horace
Walpole put it, is "more amusing than any novel."
We have a real man to deal with a man so real-
istically brought before us that we seem to hear him
speak and see him move; a man, moreover, whose
eminently characteristic works of art in a great
measure still survive among us. Yet the adventures
of this potent human actuality will bear comparison
with those of Gil Bias, or the Comte de Monte
Cristo, or Quentin Durward, or Les Trois Mousque-
taires, for their variety and ever-pungent interest.
In point of language, again, Cellini possesses an
advantage which places him at least upon the level
of the most adroit romance-writers. Unspoiled by
literary training, he wrote precisely as he talked,
with all the sharp wit of a born Florentine, heedless
of grammatical construction, indifferent to rhetorical
effects, attaining unsurpassable vividness of narration
by pure simplicity. He was greatly helped in gain-
ing the peculiar success he has achieved by two cir-
cumstances ; first, that he dictated nearly the whole
of his Memoirs to a young amanuensis ; secondly, that
the distinguished academical writer to whose correc-
tion he submitted them refused to spoil their ingenu-
ous grace by alterations or stylistic improvements.
While reading his work, therefore, we enjoy some-
thing of that pleasure which draws the folk of East-
ern lands to listen to the recitation of Arabian Nights'
entertainments.
INTRODUCTION
m
But what was the man himself? It is just this ques-
tion which I have half promised to answer, imply-
ing that, as a translator, I have some special right
to speak upon the topic.
Well, then: I seem to know Cellini first of all as
a man possessed by intense, absorbing egotism ; vio-
lent, arrogant, self-assertive, passionate; conscious
of great gifts for art, physical courage, and personal
address. Without having read a line of Machiavelli,
he had formed the same ideal of virtu or manly force
of character as the author of The Prince. To be self-
reliant in all circumstances ; to scheme and strike, if
need be, in support of his opinion or his right; to
take the law into his own hands for the redress of
injury or insult: this appeared to him the simple duty
of an honourable man. But he had nothing of the
philosopher's calm, the diplomatist's prudence, the
general's strategy, or the courtier's self-restraint.
On the contrary, he possessed the temperament of
a born artist, blent in almost equal proportions with
that of a born bravo. Throughout the whole of his
tumultuous career these two strains contended in his
nature for mastery. Upon the verge of fifty-six, when
a man's blood has generally cooled, we find that he
was released from prison on bail, and bound over
to keep the peace for a year with some enemy whose
life was probably in danger; and when I come to
speak about his homicides, it will be obvious that
he enjoyed killing live men quite as much as cast-
ing bronze statues.
C 7]
INTRODUCTION
IV
Both the artist and the bravo were characteristic and
typical products of the Italian Renaissance. The gen-
ius of the race expressed itself at that epoch even
more saliently in the fine arts than in scholarship or
literature. At the same time the conditions of soci-
ety during what I have elsewhere called "the Age
of the Despots" favoured the growth of lawless ad-
venturers, who made a practice of violence and lived
by murder. Now these two prominent types of the
nation and the period were never more singularly
combined than in Cellini. He might stand as a full-
blown specimen of either. Sensitive, impulsive, rash
of speech, hasty in action, with the artist's suscep-
tibility and the bravo's heat of blood, he injured no
one more than himself by his eccentricities of tem-
per. Over and over again did he ruin excellent pro-
spects by some piece of madcap folly. Yet there is no
trace in any of his writings that he ever laid his mis-
adventures to the proper cause. He consistently poses
as an injured man, whom malevolent scoundrels and
malignant stars conspired to persecute. Nor does he
do this with any bad faith. His belief in himself re-
mained as firm as adamant, and he candidly con-
ceived that he was under the special providence of
a merciful and loving God, who appreciated his high
and virtuous qualities.
On one occasion, after a more than customary out-
break of violent speech, the Lucchese ambassador
remarked to his patron, Cosimo de' Medici, "That
Benvenuto of yours is a terrible man ! " "Yes," an-
INTRODUCTION
swered the Duke, " he is far more terrible than you
imagine. Well were it for him if he were a little less
so, for then he would have possessed much which
he now lacks." 1 Cellini reports this speech with satis-
faction; he is proud to be called terrible a word
which then denoted formidable vehemence. 2 On an-
other occasion he tells us how Pope Paul III. was
willing to pardon him for an outrageous murder com-
mitted in the streets of Rome. One of the Pope's gen-
tlemen submitted that this was showing unseasonable
clemency. " You do not understand the matter as well
as I do," replied his Holiness. " I must inform you that
men like Benvenuto, unique in their profession, are
not bound by the laws/' 3 That sentence precisely
paints Cellini's own conception of himself; and I be-
lieve that something to the like effecl: may really
have been spoken by Pope Paul. Certainly our art-
ist's frequent homicides and a<5ts of violence were
condoned by great princes, who wished to avail them-
selves of his exceptional ability. Italian society ad-
mired the bravo almost as much as Imperial Rome
admired the gladiator; it also assumed that genius
combined with force of character released men from
the shackles of ordinary morality. These points are
so clear to any student of the sixteenth century that
I need not here enlarge upon them. It is only ne-
1 Vita dl Benvenuto Cellini, lib. it. ch. c.
* Compare the following passage from a memorandum 'written by Cellini : "Mifu
risposto da un gran gentilhuomo di corte, il quale non mi disse altro se nan che to era
un terribile huomo ; e repricandani piii volte questo name di terribile, to gli risposi
che i terribli si erano quegli strumenti che si empierano di incenso sol per honor are
Iddio."' Trattati, &fr., p. xlii.
3 Vita di Benvenuto Cellini, lib. i. ch. Ixxiv.
L 9l
INTRODUCTION
cessary to keep them steadily in mind while forming
an estimate of Cellini's temperament and conduct ;
at the same time we must not run to the conclusion
that people of his stamp were common, even at that
time, in Italy. We perceive plainly from his self-com-
placent admissions that the peculiar hybrid between
the gifted artist and the man of blood which he ex-
hibited was regarded as something not quite normal.
Such being the groundwork of Cellini's nature, it
follows as a necessary consequence that his self-
conceit was prodigious. Each circumstance of his life
appeared to him a miracle. Great though his talents
were, he vastly overrated them, and set a mon-
strously exaggerated value on his works of art.
The same qualities made him a fierce and bitter
rival: he could not believe that any one with whom
he came into collision had the right to stand beside
him. This did not prevent him from being a clear-
sighted and impartial critic. His admiration for Mi-
chel Angelo Buonarroti amounted to fanaticism. He
properly appreciated Raphael, and gave the just
amount of praise to Sansovino,Primaticcio, and Rosso
three artists with whom he was not on the best of
terms. Nor will any one deny that his unfavourable
estimates of Bandinelli and Ammanati were justified.
Indeed, contemporaries acknowledged the whole-
someness of his sound, outspoken criticism. When
Vasari's abominable frescoes on the cupola of the
Florentine cathedral were exposed to view, the witty
Lasca wrote as follows:
10
INTRODUCTION
"Purfra color ^ che son di vita privi,
Vivo vorrei Benvenuto Cellini,
Che senza alcun ritegno o barbezzale
Delle cose malfatte dicea male^
E la cupola al mondo singolare
Non si potea di lodar mai saziare;
E la solea chiamare,
Alzandola alle stelle,
La maraviglia delle cose belle;
Certo non capirebbe or nella pelle,
In tal guisa dipintala veggendo;
E saltando e correndo e fulminando^
S' andrebbe querelando,
E per tutto gridando ad alta voce,
Giorgin a" Arezzo metterebbe in croce." *
VI
In spite of his vehemence and passion, Cellini had
not depth or tenacity of feeling. His amours were nu-
merous, but volatile and indiscriminate. As a friend he
seems to have been somewhat uncertain ; not treach-
erous, but wayward. Hospitable indeed and gener-
ous he proved himself by his conduct toward Ital-
ians in Paris, and by his thoroughgoing kindness
for the Sputasenni family in Florence. Still, if any-
thing, either in k>ve or comradeship, crossed his hu-
mour, he sacrificed emotion to vanity. Like many
egotistical people, he extended the affection he felt
1 " Fain 'would I recall to life Benvenuto Cellini, iuho ^without reserve or restraint
spoke evil of things ill done ; he used to exalt our cupola with indefatigable praise
as something unique in the world j he called it the miracle of beauteous master-
pieces. Assuredly that man 'would jump out of his skin 'with rage to see it thus be-
daubed ; leaping and running and fulminating, he 'would go about the city uttering
his indignation at the top of his voice, and 'would crucify this little George of
Arezzo."
c :
INTRODUCTION
for himself to the members of his immediate family.
On the whole, he was a good and dutiful son, al-
though he caused his poor old father great uneasi-
ness by running away from home, because one of
his sisters had given his new suit of clothes to his
only brother. For this brother, a brave soldier of the
same stormy sort as Benvenuto, he entertained at
the same time, and always, a really passionate love.
The young man, named Cecchino, assassinated a con-
stable in the streets of Rome, and was wounded in
the squabble which ensued. He died of the wound;
but though the officer who fired his arquebuse had
done this only in self-defence, Benvenuto tracked
him down one night and murdered him. Not a syl-
lable of remorse escapes his lips. Men like himself
and Cecchino had the right to slay ; and if their op-
ponents managed to checkmate such virtuous fel-
lows, they must be punished. The best recorded
a6lions of Cellini concern his conduct toward a sis-
ter and six daughters, for whose sake he quitted a
splendid situation in France, and whom he supported
by his industry at Florence; yet he does not boast
about this sustained and unselfish exercise of domes-
tic piety. He was, finally, much attached to his legi-
timate children, though almost brutally indifferent
about a natural daughter whom he left behind in
Paris.
VII
The religious feelings of this singular personage de-
serve to be considered. They were indisputably sin-
cere, and I have no doubt that Cellini turned, as he
c I* n
INTRODUCTION
asserts, in all his difficulties with hearty faith to God.
But, like the majority of Italians in his age, he kept
religion as far apart from morality as can be. His
God was not the God of holiness, chastity , and mercy,
but the fetish who protected him and understood him
better than ungrateful men. He was emphatically,
moreover, the God who " aids such folk as aid them-
selves" a phrase frequently used in these Memoirs.
The long and painful imprisonment which Cellini en-
dured without just cause in the Castle of S. Angelo
made a deep and, to some extent, a permanent im-
pression on his mind. He read the Bible and com-
posed psalms, was visited by angels and blessed with
consolatory visions. About the truth of these expe-
riences there is no doubt. The man's impressible,
imaginative nature lent itself to mysticism and spir-
itual exaltation no less readily than to the delirium
of homicidal excitement. He was just as inclined to
see heaven opened when dying of misery in a dun-
geon as to "see red/' if I may use that French term,
when he met an enemy upon the burning squares
of Rome in summer. The only difference was, that
in the former case he posed before himself as a
martyr gifted with God's special favour, in the lat-
ter as a righteous and wronged hero, whose hand
and dagger God would guide. There was nothing
strange in this mixture of piety and murder. The
assassin of Lorenzino de' Medici whose short nar-
rative, by the way, reads like a chapter of Cel-
lini's Memoirs relates how, while he was running
drenched with blood through Venice after the event,
he took refuge in a crowded church, and fervently
C 13]
INTRODUCTION
commended himself to the Divine protection. Homi-
cide, indeed, was then considered a venial error, and
several incidents might be cited from this autobio-
graphy proving that men devoted to the religious
life screened murderers red-handed after the com-
mission of what we should regard not merely as
criminal, but also as dastardly deeds of violence.
VIII
Among Cellini's faults I do not reckon either base-
ness or lying. He was not a rogue, and he meant
to be veracious. This contradicts the commonplace
and superficial view of his character so flatly that I
must support my opinion at some length. Of course,
I shall not deny that a fellow endowed with such
overweening self-conceit, when he comes to write
about himself, will set down much which cannot be
taken entirely on trust. His personal annals will
never rank as historical material with the Venetian
Despatches, however invaluable the student of man-
ners may find them. Men of his stamp are certain
to exaggerate their own merits, and to pass lightly
over things not favourable to the ideal they present.
But this is very different from lying ; and of calcu-
lated mendacity Cellini stands almost universally ac-
cused. I believe that view to be mistaken.
So far as I have learned to know him, so far as I
have caught his accent and the intonation of his ut-
terance, I hold him for a most veracious man. His
veracity was not of the sort which is at present cur-
rent. It had no hypocrisy or simulation in it, but a
large dose of vainglory with respect to his achieve-
C 14 3
INTRODUCTION
ments, and a trifle of suppression with respect to mat-
ters which he thought unworthy of his fame. Other-
wise, he is quite transparent after his own fashion
the fashion, that is to say, of the sixteenth century,
when swaggering and lawlessness were in vogue,
which must be distinguished from the fashion of the
nineteenth century, when modesty and order are
respectable.
IX
What I have called the accent and the intonation of
Cellini strikes genuinely upon my ear in the open-
ing sentences of a letter to Benedetto Varchi. It should
be premised that this distinguished historian, poet,
and critic was an intimate friend of the great artist,
who sent him his autobiography in MS. to read. "It
gives me pleasure to hear from your worship/' writes
Cellini, "that you like the simple narrative of my
life in its present rude condition better than if it were
filed and retouched by the hand of others, in which
case the exa6l accuracy with which I have set all
things down might not be so apparent as it is. In
truth, I have been careful to relate nothing whereof
I had a doubtful memory, and have confined myself
to the strictest truth, omitting numbers of extraor-
dinary incidents out of which another writer would
have made great capital." In a second letter to Varchi
he declares himself as " bad at dictating, and worse
at composing.." He clearly thought that his imperfect
grammar and plebeian style were more than com-
pensated by the sincerity and veracity of his narra-
tion.
c 15 n
INTRODUCTION
His own attitude with regard to truth can well be
studied in the somewhat comic episode of the Duch-
ess of Tuscany's pearls. 1 She was anxious to coax
her husband into buying some pearls for her, and
entreated Cellini to tell a fib or two in their favour
for her sake. "Now," says Cellini, "I have always
been the devoted friend of truth and the enemy of
lies; yet I undertook the office, much against my
will, for fear of losing the good graces of so great
a princess." Accordingly, he went with "those con-
founded pearls" to the Duke, and having once be-
gun to lie, exaggerated his falsehoods so clumsily
that he raised suspicion. The Duke at last begged
him, as he was an honest man, to say what he really
thought. This appeal upset him: "I blushed up to
the eyes, which filled with tears;" and on the in-
stant he made a clean breast of the whole matter,
losing thereby the favour of the Duchess, who had
been shown in an unpleasing light to her lord and
master. The minute accounts he has left of all his
negotiations for the payment of the Perseus prove
in like manner that the one thing Cellini could not
do was to gain his ends by artifice and underhand
transactions. On the contrary, he blurted out the bit-
ter truth, as he conceived it, in hot blood, and cla-
moured with egregious presumption for what his
vanity demanded. Not lying, not artfulness, but ar-
rogance and overweening self-importance are the
vices of his character.
1 Pita, lib. it. ch. ixxxiii.
INTRODUCTION
XI
His portrait is drawn in this light by contemporaries.
Vasari describes him as "in all his doings of high
spirit, proud, lively, very quick to a6l, and formid-
ably vehement ; a person who knew only too well
how to speak his mind to princes/' Bembo, Caro,
Martelli, Varchi, speak of him always in terms which
would be quite inapplicable to a rogue or a liar. Dur-
ing his imprisonment in S. Angelo, Annibale Caro,
who had known him well for several years, wrote
thus to his friend Luca Martini : " I have still some
hope for Benvenuto, unless his own temper should
do him mischief, for that is certainly extravagant.
Since he was in prison, he has never been able to
refrain from saying things in his odd way, which, in
my opinion, makes the Prince (Pier Luigi Farnese)
uneasy as to what he may do or utter in the future.
These follies, far more than any crime he has com-
mitted in the past, now compromise his safety/' That
passage strongly corroborates the view I have pre-
sented of Cellini's character. I might quote another
letter written by Niccolo Martelli to Benvenuto in
France. It begins by paying a tribute to his "dis-
tinguished talents and gracious nature," saying that
any favours he may receive at the French court will
not be equal to his merits, " both as a rare goldsmith
and admirable draughtsman, and also as a man of
liberal and open conversation with his fellows, free-
handed not only to artists and friends, but also to
all who seek him out; esteeming mighty cardinals
no more than noble spirits in a humble station, which
c i? :
INTRODUCTION
is really worthy of a nature so generous as yours."
These phrases might pass for merely complimen-
tary, did they not so exactly confirm Cellini's own
narrative. They give us good reason to believe that
what he spoke about himself was the truth.
XII
In the next place I will adduce the opinions of two
Italian critics who have been occupied with Cellini's
autobiography. Antonio Cocchi, its first editor (Na-
ples, 1730), says in his preface: "I will not conceal
my belief that there are some things scattered through
his narrative in blame of contemporaries to which we
ought to lend a somewhat doubting ear. It is not that
the author was not an impassioned friend of truth,
but he may have accepted vague reports or yielded
to conjectures." This admission is too cautious. It is
certain that Cellini wrote his Memoirs in no critical
spirit; and what Cocchi calls "his habit of excessive
frankness, his harsh manners, readiness to take af-
front, and implacable hatreds," betrayed him into
great unfairness when dealing with people whom he
disliked. This does not, however, imply of necessity
that he fabricated falsehoods against the folk he could
not tolerate. Truth is ever a more trenchant weapon
than mendacity in most cases. When Aretino, that
unscrupulous gladiator of the pen, was asked how
men might best speak evil of their neighbours, he
replied : " By telling the truth by telling the truth."
And Cellini understood with keen sagacity this force
of plain unvarnished statement. I take it that the most
disagreeable things he said of Paul III., of Luigi Pulci,
C I* 1
INTRODUCTION
of Baccio Bandinelli, and of Giorgio Vasari were crude
verities. The manners of the period and his method
of narration justify this conclusion.
Taking a wider sweep and survey of this subject,
Baretti sums up the impression left upon his mind
by Cellini's self-portraiture thus: "He has painted
himself as brave as a French grenadier, as vindic-
tive as a viper, superstitious to the last degree, full
of eccentricity and caprice; a pleasant companion
among friends, but not susceptible of affectionate
attachments ; rather loose in sexual relations, a bit of
a traitor without being aware of it ; slightly tainted
with spite and envy, a braggart and vain without sus-
pecting himself to be such ; a madcap who firmly be-
lieved he was wise, circumspect, and prudent. Fully
persuaded that he was a hero, he dashed this pic-
ture of himself upon the canvas without a thought of
composition or reflection, just as his fiery and rapid
fancy prompted. We derive from it something of the
same pleasure which we feel in contemplating a
terrible wild beast who cannot get near enough to
hurt us."
XIII
After these general considerations upon the limits
within which Cellini's veracity may be trusted, I pass
to some particulars that have been always challenged
in his statements.
Upon the very first pages of the book we are met
with an astounding legend relating to the foundation
and the name of Florence. Having shown familiar-
ity with previous speculations on the subjedl, he re-
C 19 ]
INTRODUCTION
jecls all other hypotheses in favour of a pure myth,
by which the origin of the city is referred to an im-
aginary ancestor of his own, Fiorino da Cellino, a
captain in the army of Julius Caesar. It is needless
to say that there is no ground whatever for the le-
gend ; and we can hardly believe that Cellini thought
it would impose on any one's credulity. That it flat-
tered his own vanity is certain ; and I suspect from
his way of introducing it that the story formed part
of some domestic gossip regarding his ancestry which
he had heard in boyhood. Many of the so-called Nor-
man pedigrees of our aristocracy used to begin with
fables hardly less ridiculous. To call this one of Cel-
lini's lies would be as absurd as to deny that it con-
firms our belief in his childish self-conceit and un-
critical habit of mind.
A more important piece of boasting is usually cast
in his teeth. He tells us how he went, upon the 6th
of May 1527, to the ramparts of Rome at the mo-
ment when the assault of the Imperial troops was
being hotly pressed, and how he slew a captain with
a well-directed musket-shot. This captain, as he after-
wards learned, was the Constable of Bourbon. Now
there is nothing to prove whether he did or did not
shoot the Constable. He only mentions the fact him-
self on hearsay, and when he enumerated his past
services before the judges who sent him to prison in
1538 he did not mention this feat. 1 That he wounded
the Prince of Orange by the discharge of a culverin
from the Castle of S. Angelo has never been disputed.
Indeed, it is quite certain that he performed more than
1 Vita, lib. i. ch. ciii.
INTRODUCTION
yeoman's duty as a gunner all through the period of
the sack of Rome. In consequence of his excellent sol-
diership, Orazio Baglioni offered him the captaincy of
a band in the army he was collecting for the defence
of Florence. Now Bourbon had been shot dead in the
assault of Rome upon that foggy morning, and Cel-
lini had certainly discharged his arquebuse from the
ramparts. Always posing as a hero in his own eyes,
he was gratified to obtain some colour for the sup-
position that one of his unerring balls had done the
deed. If it were possible to put his thoughts about
this event into a syllogism, it would run as follows:
"Somebody shot Bourbon; I shot somebody; being
what I am, I am inclined to think the somebody I
shot was Bourbon/'
Many of the odd things related by Cellini can be
classified as things which really took place, like the
accident of the scorpion and the tremendous hail-
storm he encountered in the neighbourhood of Ly-
ons. Others may be referred to common superstition.
I will choose the instance of the salamander, which
has often been brought up against him. Here he only
informs us that his father gave him a good box on
the ears, in order that he might not forget the occa-
sion when he saw something in a wood-fire which
his father took for a salamander.
Not a few of the most striking of his presumed lies
turn out, upon inspection, like those of Herodotus,
to be simply the best evidence of his veracity. That is
to say, when we examine them we find that he had
been recording a<5lual phenomena with more than
usual powers of observation, but without the power
C 2> 3
INTRODUCTION
of scientifically accounting for them. Being vividly
conscious of the fact as he observed it, and at the
same time subject to a wrong method of interpre-
tation, he unconsciously proved his veracity by ac-
curately describing what he saw, and then referring
it to such causes as were current at his epoch. I will
sele6l two examples bearing on this point ; both shall
be recorded in his own words.
The first relates to a portent in the heavens, which
he regarded as a sign sent for some fateful warning.
After relating how he and his friend Felice had been
shooting all day on the Roman Campagna, he pro-
ceeds as follows: 1 "We mounted and rode rap-
idly towards Rome; and when we reached a certain
gently rising ground night then had fallen look-
ing in the direction of Florence, both with one breath
exclaimed in the utmost astonishment, ' Oh, God of
heaven ! what is that great thing one sees there over
Florence?' It resembled a huge beam of fire, which
sparkled and gave out extraordinary lustre. I said to
Felice,' Assuredly we shall hear to-morrow that some-
thing of vast importance has happened in Florence/ '
In effecl:, they did hear that Alessandro de' Medici
had been murdered by his cousin Lorenzino. Yet,
meanwhile, Cellini has left a striking, though brief,
picture of the aurora borealis which he happened to
have noticed.
The second of these examples is more curious and
far more confirmatory of his truth. After those half-
delirious experiences in the dungeon of S. Angelo,
when he saw visions and thought that angels mi-
1 Vita, lib. i. ch. Ixxxix.
L 22 ]
INTRODUCTION
nistered to his sick body, he fancied himself un-
der God's special guidance. As a sign of this pecu-
liar grace, he relates the following circumstance: 1
"Since that time till now an aureole of glory (mar-
vellous to relate) has rested on my head. This is
visible to every sort of men to whom I have chosen
to point it out; but these have been very few. This
halo can be observed above my shadow in the morn-
ing, from the rising of the sun for about two hours,
and far better when the grass is drenched with dew.
It is also visible at evening about sunset. I became
aware of it in France, at Paris ; for the air in those
countries is so much freer from mist that one can
see it there far better manifested than in Italy, mists
being far more frequent among us. However, I am
always able to see it, and to show it to others, but
not so well as in the country I have mentioned."
Critics have taken for granted that this is a mere
piece of audacious mendacity meant to glorify him-
self, whereas it is really the record of a very accu-
rate but misinterpreted observation. Any one who
walks abroad in grassy places when the light is low,
as at sunrise or at sunset, can satisfy himself that
his shadow cast on dewy sward is surrounded with
a rim of glory like a lunar rainbow. But if he goes
with companions, he will not see their shadows en-
circled with the same light, because his own body
is the point which focusses the diffused rays. 2 He,
1 Vita, lib. i. ch. cxxviii.
* On the appearance of this passage in the Fortnightly Review for January 1887,
/ received a communication from H. D. Pearsall, Esq., of 3 Cursitor Street, ex-
pressing some interest in my account of Cellini's aureole. He says . " / observed the
phenomenon some years ago in India, and the attendant circumstances were such as
therefore, might well imagine that the aureole is
given to himself alone; and, in order to exhibit it,
he must make his comrade take a place behind him,
where the halo becomes at once visible to both. Long
before I attended to the above passage in Cellini, I
noticed this phenomenon, and pointed it out to friends,
finding that some of them were too deficient in pow-
ers of observation to perceive it, while others at once
recognised the singular and beautiful efFecl:. What
makes the example interesting for the light it casts
on Cellini's habit of mind is that he starts by saying
the aureole surrounds his head, and then very in-
genuously proceeds to tell us that it only surrounds
the shadow of his head at certain times and in cer-
tain places. Those times and places are just what the
experience of one who has observed the same phe-
nomena would lead him to expe6l. Again, he sets
you mention. It is curious, as illustrating the want of observation of most people, that
I have never yet met with any one but yourself who had observed it" In expla-
nation of the aureole he adds : " It appeared to me that the cause was simply the
reflection of the direfl rays of the sun from the wet surface of the blades of grass.
The reason why a spectator at one side cannot see it would, therefore, not be that
the illuminated person s body focus sed the diffused rays, but simply the direfl conse-
quence of the law of reflection of light (angle of incidence = angle of refraction), so
that the reflected rays would reach the eye of the objefl, but not that of any person
at a little distance to one side. The aureole never extended lower than my shoulder,
evidently for the same reason." This explanation is so obviously superior to that sug-
gested by my own vague and unscientific phrase in the text, that I am grateful for
the permission to report it in Mr. Pearsall"s own words. It is worth adding, per-
haps, that when the objefl finds himself at a considerable distance from the reflect-
ing surface of wet grass, as w hen, for instance, he is driving in a carriage above a
grassy meadow, the aureole will extend somewhat lower than his shoulder. This
I have observed.
[Since this note was first published, a friend has pointed out to me a passage in
Thoreaus Walden, at the beginning of the article named Baber Farm, which shows
that Thoreau had observed the phenomenon I have described, and, like me, had con-
nefied his observation with Cellini's Memoirs. This confirmatory evidence gives me
pleasure, and I am glad to report it. J. A. .]
[ 24 ]
INTRODUCTION
up a false theory to explain why he could see it bet-
ter in France than in Italy. It is not that there is more
mist in the latter than the former country, but that
low-lying humidity of atmosphere and heavy dews
on deep grass are favourable to the production of
the appearance, and these conditions may be met
with more frequently in a country like France than
in the provinces of Middle Italy. It was upon the
Alpine meadows, where I am now writing, at the
season of early autumn frosts, that I first noticed it;
and I can predict with some confidence when it is
pretty certain to be reproduced. In my opinion, the
very hesitancies of Cellini in this test-passage are
undesigned corroborations of his general veracity.
A man who deliberately invents something to glorify
himself and mystify the world does not go about his
work in this fashion. He does not describe a natural
phenomenon so exactly that all the limiting condi-
tions, which he regarded as inexplicable imperfec-
tions in the grace conferred upon him, shall confirm
the truth of his observation.
A similar line of reasoning might be adopted with
regard to the extraordinary night-scene in the Col-
iseum. Cellini went thither, firmly believing in ghosts
and fiends, in order to raise devils, with a necroman-
cer. A bonfire was lighted and drugs were cast upon
the coals, which rolled forth volumes of murky smoke.
In the smoke legions of demons appeared. Imagina-
tion and the awe-inspiring influences of the place,
even if we eliminate a possible magic-lantern among
the conjuror's appurtenances, are enough to account
for what Cellini saw. He was credulous, he was super-
INTRODUCTION
stitious ; he was readily exalted to the fever-point of
delirium (as in the case of Charon, who obsessed
him during his Roman illness, the visions of S. An-
gelo when his leg was broken, and the apparition of
the gravedigger during his short fever on the night
of casting Perseus); but there is nothing in his con-
fidences to make us suppose that the phantasmagoria
of the Coliseum was a deliberate invention.
XIV
The most convincing proofs of Cellini's trustworthi-
ness are not, however, to be sought in these minor
details. I find them far stronger and far more abun-
dant in the vast picSlure-gallery of historical portraits
which he has painted. Parini, while tracing the sa-
lient qualities of his autobiography, remarked: "He
is peculiarly admirable in depi6ling to the life by a
few salient touches the characters, passions, personal
peculiarities, movements, and habits of the people
with whom he came in contact."
Only one who has made himself for long years
familiar with the history of Cellini's period can ap-
preciate the extraordinary vividness and truth of Cel-
lini's delineation. Without attempting to do more than
record his recollection of what happened to himself
in commerce with men of all sorts, he has drama-
tised the great folk of histories, chronicles, and dip-
lomatic despatches exactly as our best authorities in
their more colourless and cautious style present them
to our fancy. He enjoyed the advantages of the al-
cove and the ante-chamber ; and without abusing these
in the spirit of a Voltaire or a valet, he has greatly
t 26]
BUST OF COSIMO DE MEDICI
( FLORENCE: i
INTRODUCTION
added to our conception of Clement VII., Paul III.,
Francis I., and Cosimo de' Medici, Grand Duke of
Tuscany. Clement driven to his wits' end for cash
during the sack of Rome ; Paul granting favours to
a cardinal at the end of a copious repast, when wine
was in his head ; Francis interrupting the goldsmiths
in their workshop at the Petit Nesle; Cosimo in-
dulging in horse-play with his buffoon Bernardone
these detach themselves, as living personages,
against the grey historic background. Yet the same
great people, on more ceremonious occasions, or in
the common transactions of life, talk, move, and a6l
precisely as we learn to know them from the most
approved documentary sources. Take, for example,
the singular interview between Paul III. and the
Marquis del Vasto, which Cellini interrupted, and
when he was used by the former to exhaust the
patience of the Spanish envoy. 1 Our authorities tell
us much about the fox-like shifty nature of the Pope ;
and we know that, precisely at this moment, he was
eager to preserve his own neutrality between the
courts of France and Spain. Cellini, thinking only of
his personal affairs, withdraws the curtain from a
scene which we feel at once to be the very truth and
inner life of history.
It was not only in dealing with the greatest aclors
on the world's stage that Cellini showed this keen
fidelity to fa<5l. His portraits of the bestial Pier Luigi
Farnese, of the subtle and bizarre Lorenzino de'
Medici, of the Ferrarese minister Giliolo, of the
Florentine majordomo Ricci, of the proud Comte de
1 Vita, lib, i. ch. xcii.
C 27 H
INTRODUCTION
St. Paul, correspond exaclly to what we learn other-
wise about them, adding slight significant touches
from private information. Madame D'Etampes and
the Duchess Eleanora of Tuscany move across his
pages as they lived, the one with the vivacity of a
king's insolent mistress, the other with the some-
what sickly and yet kindly grandeur of the Span-
ish consort to an astute Italian prince. Lesser folk,
with whom we are equally acquainted through their
writings or biographical notices, appear in crowds
upon a lower plane. Bembo, in his dignified retreat
at Padua ; Torrigianp, swaggering about the Flor-
entine workshops; Giulio Romano, leading the de-
bauched society of Roman artists; Maitre Roux, in
his Parisian magnificence; Alamanni, the humane
and gentle nobleman of letters ; Sansovino, expand-
ing at ease in Venetian comfort; old Michel Angelo,
with his man Urbino, in their simple Roman dwell-
ing; Bandinelli, blustering before the Duke of Flor-
ence in a wordy duel with Cellini, which Vasari also
has reported all these, and how many more be-
sides, are portrayed with an evident reality, which
corresponds in each particular to the man as he is
otherwise revealed to us by independent evidence.
Yet Cellini had no intention of describing such folk
for our benefit. As they happened to cross his life, so
he sketched them with sharp, pungent quill-strokes,
always thinking more about his own affairs than their
personality. Nothing inspires a firmer confidence in
his accuracy as an observer and his veracity as a
narrator than the undesigned corroboration given
to his portraits by masses of external and less vivid
testimony. C 28 3
INTRODUCTION .
This forces me to accept as genuine many of
those powerful and humorous descriptions of char-
acter which we cannot check . How true to life is the
history of young Luigi Pulci, who came to grief in
Rome, after wasting exceptional talents in disgrace-
ful self-indulgence! That episode reads like apiece
justificative in illustration of Aretino's Dialogo delle
Corti. The story too of the mad Castellan of S. An-
gelo, who thought he was a bat, deserves like cre-
dence. The ruffianly postmaster at Siena, shot dead
by Cellini in a quarrel ; the Milanese simpleton who
entreated the surgeon, while sewing up a wound in
his mouth, not to close the whole orifice out of spite ;
the incomparable dilettante at Ferrara, Alfonso de'
Trotti, who made such a fool of himself about some
old models from Cellini's vases ; Tribolo, the quak-
ing coward; Busbacca, the lying courier; Cellini's
father, with his fixed idea about Benvenuto's flute-
playing; Ascanio and his sweetheart hidden in the
head of the great statue of Mars at Paris hundreds
of such rapidly traced silhouettes, with all the force
of life and all the comicality of satiric genius, cross
these pages and enliven them at every turn. We have
faith in their veracity, partly because they correspond
to human nature in the times which Cellini knew, and
partly because his descriptions of character, when
verified by external evidence, are found so faithful.
xv
The trustworthiness of Cellini's Memoirs might be
submitted to yet another test. Numerous details, as,
for instance, the episode of his brother's death and
INTRODUCTION
what he says about Foiano's starvation in S. Angelo,
are supported by Varchi's History of Florence. His
own private memoranda and official petitions to the
Duke of Florence confirm the main records of his
life in that city. The French letters of naturalisation
and the deed conferring on him the lordship of Le
Petit Nesle are in existence. Signor Bertolotti's and
the Marchese Campori's researches have established
the accuracy of his narrative regarding his life in
Rome and his relations to the Cardinal of Ferrara. 1
But it would occupy too much space to pursue this
line of investigation with the scrupulous thorough-
ness, without which such arguments are unconvin-
cing. Enough has perhaps been said in this place up-
on the topic of the man's veracity. What I have at-
tempted to demonstrate is, that he did not mean to
lie, and that we possess strong confirmatory testi-
mony to the truth of his statements and the accuracy
of his observation. This does not imply that a man
of his violent passions and egregious vanity is always
to be trusted, either when he praises his own per-
formance or depreciates his sworn foes.
XVI
A different class of problems have to be faced when
we seek to estimate how far Cellini can be justly
called either a rogue or a villain. I have admitted
in my general review of his character that he was
capable of suppressing portions of the truth respect-
ing matters which involved his own ideal of a manly
1 Benvenuto Cellini a Roma, &c. Arch. Star, di Roma, 1875. Notizie inedite delle
relazioni tra il Cardinale Ipfr. d'Este e B. C., Modena, 1862.
c so :
INTRODUCTION
reputation ; although I am inclined to trust his nar-
rative on all points openly related.
Now there are two important passages in his life
which might be challenged as imperfectly explained
by him, and which are therefore ex hypothesi sus-
picious. The first of these is the long imprisonment
in S. Angelo at Rome ; the second is his final depar-
ture from France.
The account which Cellini gives of the former
episode is that he had been calumniated to Pope
Paul III., and had furthermore incurred the hatred
of Pier Luigi Farnese. 1 At the same time he states
that his first examination before judges turned upon
a charge of having stolen crown jewels amounting
to eighty thousand ducats, while employed to melt
their settings down for Clement VII. 2 It seems that
a Perugian workman in Cellini's employ informed
against him ; and Pier Luigi obtained from his Papal
father a grant of this value when it should be recov-
ered. Cellini successfully disposed of the accusation
by appealing to the books of the Apostolic Camera,
upon which all the articles belonging to the regalia
were duly inscribed. He also asked what he could
have done with so large a sum as eighty thousand
ducats. 3 Upon this point it is worth noticing that
when Cellini made his nuncupatory will some months
previous to this imprisonment, he possessed nothing
at all approaching to the amount of eighty thousand
ducats. 4 Also, he relates how he confessed, during
the lifetime of Pope Clement, to having kept back
1 Lib. i. chaps. lxx. 200, note .
C 35 ]
INTRODUCTION
XVII
After roguery we come now to the question of vil-
lainy and violence. When Benvenuto was first cap-
tured by the Roman authorities, they tried, as I have
already shown, to convicl: him on a charge of steal-
ing court jewels. In the course of his interrogation,
"that catchpoll of a governor" said to him: "And
yet you have murdered several men I" 1 This had
nothing to do with the prisoner's accusation ; but it
had, perhaps, something to do with the attitude of
his judges; and so, I imagine, has it a great deal to
do with the opinion people of the present day will
form of him. It is certain that Cellini himself was
not wholly indifferent to his homicides ; for when he
thought his throat was going to be cut in Torre di
Nona, the memory of them weighed upon his con-
science. 2 At that moment he had assassinated two
men in Rome upon the open streets, namely, the
constable who caused his brother's death, and a
goldsmith called Pompeo. He had thrice risked the
commission of wholesale slaughter, once in Florence,
once in Rome, and thirdly at Ferrara; but these
quarrels resulted in no bloodshed. It does not appear
that he had killed anybody else, although he se-
verely wounded a man named Ser Benedetto in a
sudden fit of rage. 3
So far, then, according to his own admission, Cel-
lini had only two clear murders on his mind in
1538. Possibly he forgot a few of less importance,
for his memory was not always trustworthy about
1 Lib. i. chap. ciii. * Ibid., chap. cx*u. 3 Ibid., chap. hcvi.
C 36 1
INTRODUCTION
trifles .? For instance, when he baptized an illegiti-
mate daughter at Paris in 1 543, he calmly remarked:
"This was the first child I ever had, so far as I
remember/' 1 Afterwards, he made up to some ex-
tent for any previous omissions ; for -he informs us
with circumstantial details how he killed the post-
master at Siena, and how he disabled two of his
enemies at Paris, carving them about the legs and
arms with his sword, in order to avoid a homicide
and display his skill at fence/
Bloodshed, accordingly, played a prominent part
in Benvenuto's life experiences; and those who are
best acquainted with him know that it was hardly
his fault if this feature is not more prominent in
their records. Paolo Micceri and Baccio Bandinelli,
for example, owed their narrow escape from assas-
sination less to his forbearance than to their own
want of pluck. 3 At this point, then, it is necessary
to advance some arguments in his defence. In the
first place, it will be noticed that he speaks with
pride and imperturbability about these murderous
exploits. Whatever ceremony of phrase he used in
describing his departure from Paris, there is no-
thing of this sort when he comes to relate the details
of a homicide. All is candid and above board upon
these occasions, except when he exhibits a slight
sense of shame at being obliged to waylay his bro-
ther's slayer. 4 The causes of this good conscience are
not far to seek. I have already stated that murder
at that epoch passed for a merely venial error. It
1 Lib. ii. chap. xxx
INTRODUCTION
mental luxuriance than any of the higher intellectual
gifts. The man, as he stands revealed in his auto-
biography, was lacking in reserve, in delicacy, in
fineness of emotion, in what the Germans call In-
nigkeitj in elevation of soul and imaginative purity.
The very qualities which render his life-history
dramatic prove the externality of his nature, the
violence and almost coarseness of his temperament,
the absence of poetry, reflection, reverie, and spir-
itual atmosphere in his whole being. We are not,
therefore, surprised to find that his artistic work,
in spite of its prodigious skill, fecundity of inven-
tion, energy, and thoroughness of execution, is de-
ficient in depth, deficient in sweetness, deficient in
true dignity and harmony, deficient in those sug-
gestive beauties which inspire a dream and waken
sympathy in the beholder.
Shortcomings of this kind in the moral and intel-
lectual elements of art were not peculiar to Cellini.
They mark nearly the whole produ6tions of his
epoch. Only at Venice did the really grand style
survive in the painting of Titian, Veronese, and Tin-
toretto. Michel Angelo indeed was, yet alive in
1543, the year when Benvenuto essayed works on
a large scale in sculpture; but Michel Angelo's
greatest achievements belonged to the past. Giulio
Romano retained something of the sacred fire which
animated his master Raphael's pictures. His vigor-
ous but coarse and soulless frescoes may be properly
compared with Cellini's statuary. Meanwhile, the
marbles of Bandinelli and Ammanati, the manneristic
productions of Montelupo and Montorsoli, the slo-
1 51 :
INTRODUCTION
venly performances of Vasari, the cold and vacuous
paintings of Bronzino, reveal even a lower spiritual vi-
tality. The lamp of plastic art had burned low in Italy.
XXV
When Cellini left the sphere of jewellery and gold-
smith's work, that emptiness of emotional and moral
intention on which I have been dwelling became
even more apparent. It was during his second visit
to France, in the year 1543, that he aspired to be a
sculptor in the stri6l sense of the word. At Paris he
began to cast statues on a large scale in bronze,
and to design colossal works combining statuary
and architecture. Of the clay models for the foun-
tain at Fontainebleau, with its gigantic Mars, so
minutely described in his autobiography, nothing,
so far as I am aware, is now extant. But we still
possess the Nymph, which was transferred from
Fontainebleau by Henry II. to Diane de Poitier's
country-seat at Anet, and thence removed to the
galleries of the Louvre, where it may now be seen.
The defects of this recumbent figure are obvious.
Though it might pass muster on a candlestick, the
model, expanded to something over life-size, reveals
a fatal want of meaning. The vacant features, the
defective physical structure, and the inert pose of
this nude woman are not compensated by the suc-
cess of Benvenuto's casting, which is indeed remark-
able. All the bad points of the later Florentine
school appear here a preposterous elongation of
the body, an affected attenuation of the joints and
extremities, and a complete absence of expression.
C 5* 3
INTRODUCTION
XXVI
It was not perhaps Cellini's fault that, having worked
till past forty as a goldsmith, he should fail to pro-
duce an ideal statue at the first attempt. We ought
rather to note with admiration his industry in the
pursuit of this new aim, and the progress he after-
wards made under great difficulties at Florence.
His sojourn at Paris in the service of King Francis
somewhat spoiled him as a man, but powerfully
stimulated his energies as an artist. After his return
to Italy, he was always more or less discontented
with his lot; but he never ceased to be ambitious.
From that last period of his a<5tive life ( 1 545-1 559 )
five eminent specimens of sculptor's work remain.
One of these is the large bronze bust of Duke
Cosimo, now to be seen in the Palazzo del Bargello
at Florence. It is an unsympathetic and heavy piece
of portraiture, but true to the character of the model.
A second is the bust of Bindo Altoviti in the Palazzo
Altoviti at Rome. Another is the antique statue in
the Uffizzi, restored by Benvenuto for a Ganymede.
He had to supply the head, arms, and part of the
legs of this fragment. The marble, so far as I re-
member, is well wrought, but the motive of the re-
stored figure shows a misconception of classical art.
The boy's head, to begin with, is like some wax block
in a barber's window expressionless, simpering,
and crisply curled. Then, instead of lifting the cup
for Jove to drink from, this Florentine Ganymede
teases a fawning eagle at his side by holding up
a goldfinch for the royal bird to peck at. Before
c 53 :
INTRODUCTION
speaking of the Perseus, which is Cellini's master-
piece, I must allude to his Crucifix in white marble.
This he esteemed one of his best productions, and
we have abundant evidence to prove that folk in
Florence were of his opinion. It still exists in the
Escorial, whither the Grand Duke sent it as a
present to Philip II. of Spain. Not having seen the
Crucifix, I can pass no judgment on its artistic qual-
ity or value as a piece of Christian sculpture. 1
XXVII
Cellini's most substantial title to fame rests, and
must always rest, upon his Perseus, that dramatic
bronze so superbly placed upon its pedestal in the
Loggia de* Lanzi, fronting the great piazza of Flo-
rence. Until quite recently this statue stood in close
proximity to Michel Angelo's David. It still chal-
lenges comparison with Donatello's Judith, the
Hercules and Cacus of Bandinelli, Ammanati's Nep-
tune, and Gian Bologna's Rape of the Sa'bines. Sur-
rounded by these earlier and contemporary per-
formances of the Florentine school, the Perseus
holds its own with honour. It lacks, indeed, the se-
vere pregnancy and sombre reserve of Donatello's
style. It misses the athletic simplicity and massive
strength of Michel Angelo's hero. But it has some-
thing of fascination, a bravura brilliancy, a sharpness
of technical precision, a singular and striking pic-
turesqueness, which the works of those elder mas-
ters want. Far above Gian Bologna's academical
1 The fine engraving of this crucifix in Plans book (planche xx.) suggests that
Cellini aimed at a realistic representation of physical exhaustion.
C 54 H
INTRODUCTION
group of two naked men and a naked woman, above
the blatant incapacity of Bandinelli and the dull
pomposity of Ammanati, the Perseus soars into a
region of authentic, if not pure or sublime, inspira-
tion. No one who has seen it once will forget that
ornate figure of the demigod, triumphant in his
stately pose above the twisted corpse of the decapi-
tated Gorgon.
Much might be urged in depreciation of Cellini's
Perseus. Contrary to the traditions of later Floren-
tine design, the hero's body is too thick, his limbs
too coarse, and his head too large for statuesque
dignity. Why this should be so tempts our curiosity;
for the small wax model made by Cellini, and now
preserved among several precious relics of like sort
in the Palazzo del Bargello, exhibits the same fig-
ure with longer and slimmer proportions. There the
Perseus stands as light and airy as Gian Bologna's
Mercury, without any loss of his superhuman vi-
gour. I have sometimes indulged the conjecture
that Benvenuto deliberately shortened and thickened
his statue with the view of working it in bronze.
We know that he was anxiously preoccupied with
the problem of casting the whole figure in such
wise that the liquid metal should fill all parts of the
mould, from the upraised head of Medusa to the
talaria and feet of Perseus, at one jet. He succeeded
in this tour de force of technical dexterity. But pos-
sibly he sacrificed the grace and elevation of his
own conception to the ambition of the craftsman.
Be this as it may, the first defect to notice in the
Perseus is this of physical vulgarity. Then the face
: 55 :
INTRODUCTION
is comparatively vacant of expression, though less
so than with many of the master's works. Next, the
helmet is surcharged with ornament, and the torso
displays many meaningless muscular details. But
after these criticisms have been made, the group
that is, the conquering hero and the prostrate Gor-
gon remains one of the most attractive produces
of modern statuary. We discern in it the last spark
of genuine Italian Renaissance inspiration. 1 It is still
instinct with the fire and bizarre force of Florentine
genius.
The pedestal has been, not altogether unjustly,
blamed for being too small for the statue it supports.
In proportion to the mass of bronze above it, this
elaborately decorated base is slight and overloaded
with superfluous details. Yet I do not feel sure that
Cellini might not have pleaded something in self-
defence against our criticism. No one thinks of the
pedestal when he has once caught sight of Perseus.
It raises the demigod in air; and that suffices for
the sculptor's purpose. Afterwards, when our minds
are satiated with the singular conception so intensely
realised by the enduring art of bronze, we turn in
leisure moments to the base on which the statue
rests. Our fancy plays among those masks and cornu-
copias, those goats and female Satyrs, those little
snuff-box deities, and the wayward bas-relief be-
neath them. There is much to amuse, if not to instruct
or inspire us there.
* The works of Jean Boullogne of Douai, commonly called Gian Bologna, 'which
are somewhat later in date than Cellini's, ought perhaps to have been mentioned
as exceptions in the sentence above.
I 56]
INTRODUCTION
Although the Perseus may not be a great work
of plastic design, worthy of sculpture in its best
periods, it can never cease to be the most charac-
teristic producl of the vehement, ambitious artist's
soul which throbbed in the writer of Cellini's Me-
moirs. It remains the final effort of Florentine genius
upon the wane, striking a last blow for the ideals,
mistaken, perchance, but manfully pursued, which
Florence followed through the several stages of
the Renaissance.
XXVIII
Cellini's autobiography circulated in MS. and was
frequently copied before its first committal to the
press in 1730. The result is that the extant MSS.
differ considerably in their readings, and that the
editions, of which I am acquainted with six, namely,
those of Cocchi, Carpani, Tassi, Molini, Bianchi,
and Camerini, have by no means equal value. 1 The
1 i. Antonio Cocchis edition 'was printed at Naples in 1730, 'with the date Colo-
nia. 2. Gio. Palamede Carpani 's 'was printed in three volumes at Milan, Soc. Tip.
de" 1 Classici Italiani, in 1806. 3. Francesco Tassfs appeared at Florence, Guglielmo
Pialti, in three 'volumes, 1829. 4. Giuseppe Molinfs appeared at Florence, Tipogr.
alT insegna di Dante, in tivo 'volumes, 1832. "This edition had been preceded by a
duodecimo text published by Molini on the T,oth of December 1830, simultaneously
with Tassfs above mentioned. When Molini compared Tassi s text 'with the Lau-
rentian MS., he saw that there 'was room for a third edition (that of 1832^), more
exati than either. 5. B. Bianchi' s appeared at Florence, Le Monnier, i 'vol., 1852.
6. That of Eugenia Camerini, Milan, Sonzogno, 1886, is a popular reprint, 'with
an introduction and some additional notes. The text 'which I have principally used
is Bianchi s. I may here take occasion to explain that the notes appended to my
translation have to a large extent been condensed from the annotations of Carpani s,
Tassis, and Molims editions, with some additional information derived from Bi-
anchi, Camerini, and the valuable French work of Plon (B. C., Orfevre, Medail-
leur, Sculpteur, Paris, 1883^). A considerable number of notes have been supplied
by myself, partly upon details respecting the Italian text, and partly upon points
connected with history and technical artistic processes. It does not seem necessary
C 57]
INTRODUCTION
one to be generally recommended is that of Signor
B. Bianchi, founded upon the preceding edition of
Molini. Tassi and Molini, I must state, were the
first editors to avail themselves of the original or
parent codex, while Bianchi compared Molini 's
printed text throughout with the autograph. This
authoritative MS. belongs to the Laurentian collec-
tion in Florence. It was written for the most part
by Michele di Goro Vestri, the youth whom Cellini
employed as his amanuensis; in some parts also by
himself, and again by a second amanuensis. Perhaps
we owe its abrupt and infelicitous conclusion to the
fa6l that Benvenuto disliked the trouble of writing
with his own hand. From notes upon the codex, it
appears that this was the MS. submitted to Bene-
detto Varchi in 1559. It once belonged to Andrea,
the son of Lorenzo Cavalcanti. His son, Lorenzo
Cavalcanti, gave it to the poet Redi, who used it as
a testo di lingua for the Delia Cruscan vocabulary.
Subsequently it passed into the hands of the book-
sellers, and was bought by L. Poirot,who bequeathed
it, on his death in 1825, to the Laurentian Library. 1
The autobiography has been translated into Ger-
man by Goethe, into French by Leopold Leclanche,
and into English by Nugent and Roscoe. The Ger-
man version, I need hardly say, is an excellent
piece of pure and solid style; and, for the most part,
I have found it reproduce the meaning of the ori-
afte r this acknowledgment, to refer each item to the original sources 'which have
been successively incorporated into a variorum commentary on the Memoirs, or to
indicate the portion I can claim for my o-iun researches.
1 See Tassi, vol. i. pp. xix.-xxiv.; and Molini, vol. i. pp. vi.-ix.,for the history of
this MS.
L 58 H
INTRODUCTION
ginal with fidelity. The French, which appeared sub-
sequently to a version of Vasari by the same trans-
lator, displays a more intimate familiarity with six-
teenth-century Italian than Goethe's ; but it is some-
times careless, especially toward the conclusion,
showing that the writer did not always choose to
follow Cellini in his redundancies of phrase. Of the
English version which bears the name of Thomas
Roscoe, son to the distinguished author of the Lives
of Lorenzo de Medici and Leo X. , I am unable to
speak very highly. It has the merit of a sound old-
fashioned style, but it is grossly inaccurate ; the un-
intentional misunderstandings of the text are innu-
merable, and the translator has felt himself at liberty
to omit or to misrepresent whole passages which he
deemed unfit for ears and eyes polite. Since my
excuse for offering a new translation to the English
public rests upon the deficiencies of Roscoe, I must
be permitted to point out a few of his errors in this
place.
To begin with, although Mr. Roscoe in his pre-
face declares that he has adhered closely to the
original text published by Molini,he deals unscrupu-
lously with some important passages. For example,
he blurs the incident of Faustina and her waiting-
maid recorded in book i. chapter xxix. He suppresses
the episode of Paolo Micceri and Caterina in book ii.
chapters xxx., xxxiii.-xxxv. He confuses the story
of Cencio and La Gambetta in book ii. chapter Ixi. It
is true that he might defend his action on the score
that these passages are unedifying and offensive;
but he ought to have indicated the nature and ex-
[ 59 1
INTRODUCTION
tent of his modifications and omissions. Personally,
I am of opinion that if a book is worth translating,
it ought to be set forth at full. Upon this principle
I have made my own version, feeling that it is not
right to defraud English readers of any insight into
the conditions of society in the sixteenth century,
or of any insight into the character of Cellini him-
self, which these Memoirs may afford. Here, however,
there is room for various judgments; and some cri-
tics may maintain that Roscoe chose the more ex-
pedient method.
Upon the point of accuracy, on the other hand,
all competent judges will be agreed. I therefore
proceed to select a few test-passages which will
show how little Roscoe's translation is to be relied
upon. In each case I will first copy the Italian, next
add a literal version, and finally give Roscoe's
words :
Questo cartone fu la prima bella opera che Michel
Agnolo mostro delle maravigliose sue virtu, e lo fece
a gara con un altro che lo faceva. (Bianchi, p. 22.)
This cartoon was the first fine work of art which
Michel Agnolo displayed in proof of his marvellous
talents, and he made it in competition with another
draughtsman (i.e., Lionardo da Vinci).
This cartoon was the first in which Michel Agnolo
displayed his extraordinary abilities ; as he made this
and another, which were to adorn the hall. ( Roscoe,
p. 21. )'
1 / quote from Bohni edition, London, 1850. The italics are mine.
60
INTRODUCTION
n
Perche vedevo continuamente i fatti del divino Mi-
chel Agnolo ... e da quella mai mi sono ispiccato.
(Bianchi, p. 23.)
Because I kaS'perpetually before my eyes the works
of the divine Michel Agnolo . . . and from it I have
never swerved.
Because I had seen the works of the divine Michel
Agnolo . . . and never once lost sight of it. ( Roscoe,
p. 23.)
ni
Cosi ci legammo i grembiuli indietro. ( Bianchi, p. 25.)
So we tied our aprons behind our backs.
So we buckled on our knapsacks. (Roscoe, p. 25.)
IV
Mi prego, che io facessi di sorte che lui T avessi a'
sua di. (Bianchi, p. 101.)
He begged me so to work that he should have it
during his lifetime.
Requested me to endeavour to please him by my ex-
ecution.
v
Me ne andai dalli destri del mastio. ( Bianchi, p. 239.)
I went toward the latrines of the fortress.
I went and got out upon the right side of the tower.
(Roscoe, p. 248.)
VI
Perche io ho considerato che in quella vostra forma e
entrato piu roba che '1 suo dovere. ( Bianchi, p. 322. )
C' I
INTRODUCTION
For I have reflected that more metal entered that
mould of yours than it could properly hold.
For I have taken into consideration that there has
been a greater consumption of metal upon this work
than should have been. (Roscoe, p. 323.)
VII
Se io avessi veduto mettervi nella forma F anima, con
una sola parola io v' arei insegnato che la figura sa-
rebbe venuta benissimo. ( Bianchi, p. 323. )
If I had seen you placing your block inside the
mould, I could with one word have taught you how
the figure would have come out to perfection.
If I had but instructed you with a single word, the
figure would have come out admirably. (Roscoe,
p. 323.)
VIII
Mandate a 1' Elba. (Bianchi, p. 421.)
Sent to the island of Elba.
Sent to the Elbe. (Roscoe, p. 413.)
IX
La qual cosa non credette mai nessuno di questi pra-
tici di quella arte. (Bianchi, p. 421.)
Which none of the masters versed in that art be-
lieved to be possible.
And do not imagine that every common artist could
have done as much. (Roscoe, p. 41 3-)
x
E' bisognava fare molto maggiore la fornace, dove
INTRODUCTION
io arei potuto fare un rame di gitto, grosso quanto io
ho la gamba, e con quella gravezza di metallo caldo
per forza ve F arei fatto andare ; dove il mio ramo
che va insino a' piedi quella sei braccia che io dico,
non e grosso piu che dua dita. Impero e' non por-
tava '1 pregio. (Bianchi, p. 423.)
I must have made the furnace much larger, in which
case I might have constructed a conduit as thick as
my leg, and so by the weight of the molten metal I
could have forced it down ; whereas, my pipe, which
runs the six cubits I have stated to the statue's feet,
is not thicker than two inches. However, it was not
worth the trouble and expense.
I must then have made the furnace much bigger,
to be able to cast apiece of brass as thick as my leg, and
with that weight of hot metal I should have made it
come out by force; whereas, my brass, which goes
down to the feet six cubits, as I mentioned before, is
not above two inches thick. Therefore it was not worth
your notice. (Roscoe, p. 415.)
XI
Io feci una manica. (Bianchi, p. 424.)
I made a funnel-shaped furnace.
I made a sort offence. (Roscoe, p. 416.)
xn
Dare nelle spine. (Bianchi, p. 426.)
Drive in the plugs.
Pour out the hot metal. (Roscoe, p. 417.)
INTRODUCTION
XIII
II principe e Don Giovanni. (Bianchi, p. 450.)
The Prince ( or Duke's eldest son ) and Don Gio-
vanni.
The princes , Don Giovanni, &c. (Roscoe, p. 437. )
XIV
E diceva male di questo popolo. (Bianchi, p. 455.)
And he spoke abusively of that people of Florence.
And all the ill that was said of him by the populace.
(Roscoe, p. 441.)
XV
lo ne feci un poco di mal giudizio, ma io non im-
maginavo nulla di quello che mi avvenne. (Bianchi,
p. 481.)
I drew a somewhat bad conclusion from his hint;
but I did not in the least pi6lure to myself what was
going to happen to me.
/ was guilty of an error in judgment, but was not at
all mistaken in what happened to me. ( Roscoe, p. 467. )
XVI
A voi e' danno tutte le stoviglie. (Bianchi, p. 483.)
To you they give all the crockery.
They give you napkins. (Roscoe, p. 469.)
XVII
Io sentendomi ardere il sesso. (Bianchi, p. 483.)
I, feeling my seat burn.
I felt my brain all on fire. (Roscoe, p. 469.)
[ 64 -)
INTRODUCTION
XVIII
Importava la maggior gabella ; e che egli non man-
cherebbe. (Bianchi, p. 490.)
It (the lease) involved the highest tax, and that
he would not fail of his word.
The farm would produce more, and could not possi-
bly fail. (Roscoe, p. 475-)
I have sele6led these few instances at random, when
I might have culled the like by handfuls. But I may
furthermore add that Roscoe is hardly less negligent
in translating the Italian of Cellini's commentators.
Thus we read on page 265 this version of a note by
Carpani : " He was under apprehension of being flayed
alive." Carpani wrote scannato, which means having
his throat cut. 1 It remains in the last place to be re-
marked that Roscoe is not excused by having fol-
lowed bad readings of the original or incomplete au-
thorities. His translation (dated, in its second edition,
January i , 1 847 ) appeared after the labours of Car-
pani, Tassi, and Molini, and professes on the title-
page to be " collated with the new text of Giuseppe
Molini/'
I have now shown reason why a new translation
of Cellini's autobiography in our language is not a
superfluity. At the same time, after severely criti-
cising my predecessor, I disclaim the pretension that
my own version will be found impeccable. There are
many passages which it is extremely hard for an
Italian even, versed in the old dialecl of Tuscany, to
1 Carpani, 'vol. i. p. 423.
C5 3
INTRODUCTION
understand. 1 This is due in a great measure to Cel-
lini's colloquial style, and to the involved construc-
tions occasioned by his impetuous flow of utterance
in dictation, but also to his habitual use of familiar
terms regarding life and art, the exacl: significance
of which can now be hardly reproduced. Further-
more, I may add that it is no easy matter to avoid
slips while working through so long a narrative in
prose, and aiming at a certain uniformity of diclion.
The truth is, that to translate Cellini's Memoirs taxes
all the resources of the English language. It is, in the
first place, well-nigh impossible to match that vast
vocabulary of vulgar phrases and technical termi-
nology. Some of Cellini's most vivid illustrations owe
their pungency and special colouring to customs which
have long passed out of current usage. Many of his
most energetic epigrams depend for their effedl upon
a spontaneous employment of contemporary Floren-
tine slang. Not a few of his most striking descriptions
lose their value without the precise equivalents for
works of art or handicraft or armoury now obsolete.
In the next place, his long-winded and ungrammati-
cal periods, his suspended participles, his vehemently
ill-conjugated verbs, his garrulous anacolutha and
passionate aposiopeses, his ingenious recourse to re-
peated pronouns and reiterated adverbs for sustain-
ing a tottering sentence, his conversational resump-
tion of the same connective phrases, his breathless
and fiery incoherence following short incisive clauses
of a glittering and trenchant edge, all these peculiari-
ties, dependent on the man's command of his vernacu-
1 See Molinfi preface to hit edition, vol. i. p. x.
INTRODUCTION
lar and his untutored talent for expression, offer
stumbling-blocks at every turn to the translator who
wishes to preserve something of the tone of the origi-
nal while presenting a continuous discourse to modern
readers. The almost impossible task has to be at-
tempted of reproducing the effect of heedless ani-
mated talking.
My own system has been to adopt a compromise
between such literal rendering as might have made
the English version not only unpalatable, but almost
unintelligible, and such elaborate recasting of the
original as would have preserved the sense at a re-
grettable sacrifice of character and vivacity. I may
here notice that Cellini appears, at the commence-
ment of his undertaking, to have been more tenta-
tive, more involved in di6lion, than he afterwards
became; in facl, he only gradually formed his style.
Therefore I have suffered the earlier sections of my
version to retain a certain stiffness, which relaxes by
degrees until the style of the translator is in its turn
fashioned.
BOOK FIRST
This tale of my sore-troubled life I write ,
To thank the God of nature, who conveyed
tMy soul to me, and with such care hath stayed
That divers noble deeds I 've brought to light.
'Twos He subdued my cruel fortune 1 s spite :
Life glory virtue measureless hath made
Such grace worth beauty be through me displayed
That few can rival, none surpass me quite.
Only it grieves me when I understand
What precious time in vanity I've spent
The wind it beareth man's frail thoughts away.
Yet, since remorse avails not, I 'm content,
vfs erst I came, WELCOME to go one day,
Here in the Flower of this fair Tuscan land.
BENVENUTO CELLINI
(PAINTED ON PORPHYRY)
THE LIFE OF
BENVENUTO CELLINI
BOOK FIRST
LL men of whatsoever quality they
be, who have done anything of ex-
cellence, or which may properly re-
semble excellence, ought, if they are
persons of truth and honesty, to de-
scribe their life with their own hand ;
but they ought not to attempt so fine an enterprise
till they have passed the age of forty. This duty
occurs to my own mind, now that I am travelling
beyond the term of fifty-eight years, and am in Flo-
rence, the city of my birth. Many untoward things
can I remember, such as happen to all who live
upon our earth; and from those adversities I am
now more free than at any previous period of my
career nay, it seems to me that I enjoy greater
content of soul and health of body than ever I did
in bygone years. I can also bring to mind some
pleasant goods and some inestimable evils, which,
when I turn my thoughts backward, strike terror
in me, and astonishment that I should have reached
this age of fifty-eight, wherein, thanks be to God, I
am still travelling prosperously forward.
ii
It is true that men who have laboured with some
show of excellence, have already given knowledge
c 71 n
LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
of themselves to the world ; and this alone ought to
suffice them ; I mean the fa<5l that they have proved
their manhood and achieved renown. Yet one must
needs live like others; and so in a work like this
there will always be found occasion for natural brag-
ging, which is of divers kinds, and the first is that a
man should let others know he draws his lineage
from persons of worth and most ancient origin.
I am called Benvenuto Cellini, son of Maestro Gio-
vanni, son of Andrea, son of Cristofano Cellini; my
mother was Madonna Elisabetta, daughter to Stefano
Granacci; both parents citizens of Florence. It is
found written in chronicles made by our ancestors
of Florence, men of old time and of credibility, even
as Giovanni Villani writes, that the city of Florence
was evidently built in imitation of the fair city of
Rome ; and certain remnants of the Colosseum and
the Baths can yet be traced. These things are near
Santa Croce. The Capitol was where is now the Old
Market. The Rotonda is entire, which was made for
the temple of Mars, and is now dedicated to our
Saint John. That thus it was, can very well be seen,
and cannot be denied ; but the said buildings are much
smaller than those of Rome. He who caused them to
be built, they say, was Julius Caesar, in concert with
some noble Romans, who, when Fiesole had been
stormed and taken, raised a city in this place, and
each of them took in hand to ere6l one of these nota-
ble edifices.
Julius Cassar had among his captains a man of high-
est rank and valour, who was called Fiorino of Cellino,
which is a village about two miles distant from Monte
I 72 3
LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
Fiascone. Now this Fiorino took up his quarters under
the hill of Fiesole, on the ground where Florence
now stands, in order to be near the river Arno, and
for the convenience of the troops. All those soldiers
and others who had to do with the said captain, used
then to say: "Let us go to Fiorenze;" as well be-
cause the said captain was called Fiorino, as also be-
cause the place he had chosen for his quarters was
by nature very rich in flowers. Upon the foundation
of the city, therefore, since this name struck Julius
Csesar as being fair and apt, and given by circum-
stance, and seeing furthermore that flowers them-
selves bring good augury, he appointed the name of
Florence for the town. He wished besides to pay his
valiant captain this compliment; and he loved him all
the more for having drawn him from a very humble
place, and for the reason that so excellent a man was
a creature of his own. The name that learned inven-
tors and investigators of such etymologies adduce,
as that Florence is flowing at the Arno, cannot hold;
seeing that Rome is flowing at the Tiber, Ferrara is
flowing at the Po, Lyons is flowing at the Saone,
Paris is flowing at the Seine, and yet the names of
all these towns are different, and have come to them
by other ways. 1
Thus then we find ; and thus we believe that we
are descended from a man of worth. Furthermore,
we find that there are Cellinis of our stock in Ra-
1 He is alluding to the name Fluenzia, which some antiquaries of his day thought to
have been the earliest name of the city, derived from its being near " Arno fluente."
I have translated the 'word "Jluente " in the text literally, though of course it signifies
"situated on a flowing river." I need not call attention to the apocryphal nature of
Cellini s own derivation from the name of his supposed ancestor.
C' 78 3
LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
venna, that most ancient town of Italy, where too
are plenty of gentle folk. In Pisa also there are
some, and I have discovered them in many parts of
Christendom; and in this state also the breed exists,
men devoted to the profession of arms; for not
many years ago a young man, called Luca Cellini,
a beardless youth, fought with a soldier of experi-
ence and a most valorous man, named Francesco
da Vicorati, who had frequently fought before in
single combat. This Luca, by his own valour, with
sword in hand, overcame and slew him, with such
bravery and stoutness that he moved the folk to
wonder, who were expecting quite the contrary
issue; so that I glory in tracing my descent from
men of valour.
As for the trifling honours which I have gained
for my house, under the well-known conditions of
our present ways of living, and by means of my
art, albeit the same are matters of no great moment,
I will relate these in their proper time and place,
taking much more pride in having been born hum-
ble and having laid some honourable foundation for
my family, than if I had been born of great lineage
and had stained or overclouded that by my base
qualities. So then I will make a beginning by saying
how it pleased God I should be born.
in
My ancestors dwelt in Val d'Ambra, where they
owned large estates, and lived like little lords, in
retirement, however, on account of the then con-
tending factions. They were all men devoted to
C 74]
LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
arms and of notable bravery. In that time one of
their sons, the younger, who was called Cristofano,
roused a great feud with certain of their friends
and neighbours. Now the heads of the families on
both sides took part in it, and the fire kindled
seemed to them so threatening that their houses
were like to perish utterly; the elders upon this
consideration, in concert with my own ancestors,
removed Cristofano ; and the other youth with whom
the quarrel began was also sent away. They sent
their young man to Siena. Our folk sent Cristofano
to Florence ; and there they bought for him a little
house in Via Chiara, close to the convent of S. Orsola,
and they also purchased for him some very good
property near the Ponte a Rifredi. The said Cristo-
fano took wife in Florence, and had sons and daugh-
ters ; and when all the daughters had been portioned
off, the sons, after their father's death, divided what
remained. The house in Via Chiara with some other
trifles fell to the share of one of the said sons, who
had the name of Andrea. He also took wife, and had
four male children. The first was called Girolamo,
the second Bartolommeo, the third Giovanni, who
was afterwards my father, and the fourth Francesco.
This Andrea Cellini was very well versed in archi-
tecture, as it was then practised, and lived by it as
his trade. Giovanni, who was my father, paid more at-
tention to it than any of the other brothers. And since
Vitruvius says, amongst other things, that one who
wishes to practise that art well must have something
of music and good drawing, Giovanni, when he had
mastered drawing, began to turn his mind to music,
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LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
and together with the theory learned to play most ex-
cellently on the viol and the flute; and being a per-
son of studious habits, he left his home but seldom.
They had for neighbour in the next house a man
called Stefano Granacci, who had several daughters,
all of them of remarkable beauty. As it pleased
God, Giovanni noticed one of these girls who was
named Elisabetta; and she found such favour with
him that he asked her in marriage. The fathers of
both of them being well acquainted through their
close neighbourhood, it was easy to make this match
up; and each thought that he had very well ar-
ranged his affairs. First of all the two good old men
agreed upon the marriage; then they began to dis-
cuss the dowry, which led to a certain amount of
friendly difference; for Andrea said to Stefano:
" My son Giovanni is the stoutest youth of Florence,
and of all Italy to boot, and if I had wanted ear-
lier to have him married, I could have procured one
of the largest dowries which folk of our rank get
in Florence:" whereupon Stefano answered: "You
have a thousand reasons on your side ; but here am
I with five daughters and as many sons, and when
my reckoning is made, this is as much as I can pos-
sibly afford." Giovanni, who had been listening
awhile unseen by them, suddenly broke in and said:
"O my father, I have sought and loved that girl
and not their money. Ill luck to those who seek to
fill their pockets by the dowry of their wife! As
you have boasted that I am a fellow of such parts,
do you not think that I shall be able to provide for
my wife and satisfy her needs, even if I receive
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LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
something short of the portion you would like to
get? Now I must make you understand that the
woman is mine, and you may take the dowry for
yourself." At this Andrea Cellini, who was a man
of rather awkward temper, grew a trifle angry ; but
after a few days Giovanni took his wife, and never
asked for other portion with her.
They enjoyed their youth and wedded love through
eighteen years, always greatly desiring to be blessed
with children. At the end of this time Giovanni's wife
miscarried of two boys through the unskilfulness of
the doctors. Later on she was again with child, and
gave birth to a girl, whom they called Cosa, after the
mother of my father. 1 At the end of two years she
was once more with child ; and inasmuch as those long-
ings to which pregnant women are subject, and to
which they pay much attention, were now exactly the
same as those of her former pregnancy, they made
their minds up that she would give birth to a female as
before, and agreed to call the child Reparata, after the
mother of my mother. It happened that she was de-
livered on a night of All Saints, following the feast-
day, at half-past four precisely, in the year i5oo. 2
The midwife, who knew that they were expecting
a girl, after she had washed the baby and wrapped
it in the fairest white linen, came softly to my father
Giovanni and said : " I am bringing you a fine pre-
sent, such as you did not anticipate." My father, who
was a true philosopher, was walking up and down,
1 Cosa is Florentine for Niccolosa.
z The hour is reckoned, according to the old Italian fashion, from sunset of one day to
sunset of the next twenty-four hours.
I 77 3
LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
and answered: "What God gives me is alway dear
to me;" and when he opened the swaddling clothes,
he saw with his own eyes the unexpected male child.
Joining together the palms of his old hands, he raised
them with his eyes to God, and said: "Lord, I thank
Thee with my whole heart ; this gift is very dear to
me ; let him be Welcome/' All the persons who were
there asked him joyfully what name the child should
bear. Giovanni would make no other answer than
"Let him be Welcome Benvenuto;" 1 and so they
resolved, and this name was given me at Holy Bap-
tism, and by it I still am living with the grace of God.
Andrea Cellini was yet alive when I was about three
years old, and he had passed his hundredth. One day
they had been altering a certain conduit pertaining
to a cistern, and there issued from it a great scorpion
unperceived by them, which crept down from the
cistern to the ground, and slank away beneath a
bench. I saw it, and ran up to it, and laid my hands
upon it. It was so big that when I had it in my little
hands, it put out its tail on one side, and on the other
thrust forth both its mouths. 2 They relate that I ran
in high joy to my grandfather, crying out: "Look,
grandpapa, at my pretty little crab." When he recog-
nised that the creature was a scorpion, he was on the
point of falling dead for the great fear he had and
anxiety about me. He coaxed and entreated me to
1 Benvenuto means Welcome.
3 'Ike luord is bocche, so I ha which all those men-
at-arms frequented. He had flung himself upon a
settee, and was sleeping. Just then the guard of the
Bargello passed by; 1 they were taking to prison a
certain Captain Cisti,a Lombard, who had also been
a member of Giovanni's troop, but was not in the
service of the Duke. The captain, Cattivanza degli
Strozzi, chanced to be in the same shop; 2 and when
Cisti caught sight of him, he whispered: "I was
bringing you those crowns I owed ; if you want them,
come for them before they go with me to prison."
Now Cattivanza had a way of putting his neigh-
bours to the push, not caring to hazard his own per-
1 The Bargello was the chief constable or sheriff in Italian towns. I shall call him
Bargello always in my translation, since any English equivalent would be mislead-
ing. He did the rough work of policing the city, and was consequently a mark for
all the men of spirit who disliked being kept in order. Gio5 2 9> he had already given him the Imperial crown.
C 232 ]
LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
ward, adding: "Benvenuto is a fellow who esteems
his own great talents but slightly, and us less; look
to it then that you keep him always going, so that
I may find the chalice finished on my return."
That beast of a Cardinal sent for me after eight
days, bidding me bring the piece up. On this I went
to him without the piece. No sooner had I shown
my face, than he called out: "Where is that onion-
stew of yours ? ' Have you got it ready ? " I answered :
" O most reverend Monsignor, I have not got my
onion-stew ready, nor shall I make it ready, unless
you give me onions to concocl: it with/' At these
words, the Cardinal, who looked more like a donkey
than a man, turned uglier by half than he was natu-
rally ; and wanting at once to cut the matter short,
cried out: "I'll send you to a galley, and then per-
haps you '11 have the grace 2 to go on with your labour."
The bestial manners of the man made me a beast too ;
and I retorted: " Monsignor, send me to the galleys
when I 've done deeds worthy of them ; but for my
present laches, I snap my fingers at your galleys:
and what is more, I tell you that, just because of
you, I will not set hand further to my piece. Don't
send for me again, for I won't appear, no, not if you
summon me by the police."
After this, the good Cardinal tried several times
to let me know that I ought to go on working, and
to bring him what I was doing to look at. I only told
his messengers: "Say to Monsignor that he must
1 Cipollata. Literally, a sho-~w of onions and pumpkins ; metaphorically ', a mess, gal-
limaufry,
8 Arai dl grazia di. I am not sure whether I have given the right shade of
meaning in the text above. It may mean : You. touching on divers topics artistic and
agreeable ; then, since it seemed to me that I had ac-
quitted myself with more honour than I had ex-
pected, I took the occasion of a slight lull in the con-
versation to make my bow and to retire. The Em-
peror was heard to say: "Let five hundred golden
crowns be given at once to Benvenuto." The person
who brought them up asked who the Pope's man
was who had spoken to the Emperor. Messer Du-
rante came forward and robbed me of my five hun-
dred crowns. I complained to the Pope, who told me
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LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
not to be uneasy, for he knew how everything had
happened, and how well I had conducted myself in
addressing the Emperor, and of the money I should
certainly obtain my share.
xcn
When I returned to my shop, I set my hand with
diligence to finishing the diamond ring, concerning
which the four first jewellers of Rome were sent to
consult with me. This was because the Pope had
been informed that the diamond had been set by the
first jeweller of the world in Venice; he was called
Maestro Miliano Targhetta ; and the diamond being
somewhat thin, the job of setting it was too difficult
to be attempted without great deliberation. I was
well pleased to receive these four jewellers, among
whom was a man of Milan called Gaio. He was the
most presumptuous donkey in the world, the one
who knew least and who thought he knew most;
the others were very modest and able craftsmen. In
the presence of us all this Gaio began to talk, and
said: " Miliano's foil should be preserved, and to do
that, Benvenuto, you shall doff your cap; 1 for just
as giving diamonds a tint is the most delicate and
difficult thing in the jeweller's art, so is Miliano the
greatest jeweller that ever lived, and this is the most
difficult diamond to tint." I replied that it was all
the greater glory for me to compete with so able a
master in such an excellent profession. Afterwards
1 In the Oreficeria Cellini gives an account of honu these foils nuere made and ap-
plied. They 'were composed of paste, and coloured so as to enhance the effeft of precious
stones, particularly diamonds.
C 331 ]
LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
I turned to the other jewellers and said: "Look here!
I am keeping Miliano's foil, and I will see whether
I can improve on it with some of my own manufac-
ture; if not, we will tint it with the same you see
here/' That ass Gaio exclaimed that if I made a foil
like that he would gladly doff his cap to it. To which
I replied: "Supposing then I make it better, it will
deserve two bows." "Certainly so," said he; and I
began to compose my foils.
I took the very greatest pains in mixing the tints,
the method of doing which I will explain in the
proper place. 1 It is certain that the diamond in ques-
tion offered more difficulties than any others which
before or afterwards have come into my hands, and
Miliano's foil was made with true artistic skill. How-
ever, that did not dismay me ; but having sharpened
my wits up, I succeeded not only in making some-
thing quite as good, but in exceeding it by far. Then,
when I saw that I had surpassed him, I went about
to surpass myself, and produced a foil by new pro-
cesses which was a long way better than what I had
previously made. Thereupon I sent for the jewellers ;
and first I tinted the diamond with Miliano's foil;
then I cleaned it well and tinted it afresh with my
own. When I showed it to the jewellers, one of the
best among them, who was called Raffael del Moro,
took the diamond in his hand and said to Gaio: " Ben-
venuto has outdone the foil of Miliano." Gaio, un-
willing to believe it, took the diamond and said:
"Benvenuto, this diamond is worth two thousand
ducats more than with the foil of Miliano." I rejoined:
1 Oreficeria, cap. i.
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LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
"Now that I have surpassed Miliano, let us see if I
can surpass myself." Then I begged them to wait for
me a while, went up into a little cabinet, and having
tinted the diamond anew unseen by them, returned
and showed it to the jewellers. Gaio broke out at
once: "This is the most marvellous thing that I
have ever seen in the course of my whole lifetime.
The stone is worth upwards of eighteen thousand
crowns, whereas we valued it at barely twelve thou-
sand/' The other jewellers turned to him and said:
" Benvenuto is the glory of our art, and it is only
due that we should doff our caps to him and to his
foils/' Then Gaio said: " I shall go and tell the Pope,
and I mean to procure for him one thousand golden
crowns for the setting of this diamond/' Accordingly
he hurried to the Pope and told him the whole story;
whereupon his Holiness sent three times on that day
to see if the ring was finished.
At twenty-three o'clock I took the ring to the pal-
ace ; and since the doors were always open to me,
I lifted the curtain gently, and saw the Pope in pri-
vate audience with the Marchese del Guasto/ The
Marquis must have been pressing something on the
Pope which he was unwilling to perform ; for I heard
him say: "I tell you, no; it is my business to remain
neutral, and nothing else." I was retiring as quickly
as I could, when the Pope himself called me back; so
I entered the room, and presented the diamond ring,
upon which he drew me aside, and the Marquis re-
tired to a distance. While looking at the diamond,
1 Alfonson d'A-uahs, successor and heir to the famous Ferdinando d^Avalos, Marquis
of Pescara. He afledfor many years as Spanish Viceroy of Milan.
333
LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
the Pope whispered to me: "Benvenuto, begin
some conversation with me on a subject which shall
seem important, and do not stop talking so long as
the Marquis remains in this room." Then he took
to walking up and down ; and the occasion making
for my advantage, I was very glad to discourse with
him upon the methods I had used to tint the stone.
The Marquis remained standing apart, leaning against
a piece of tapestry; and now he balanced himself
about on one foot, now on the other. The subje6l I
had chosen to discourse upon was of such importance,
if fully treated, that I could have talked about it at
least three hours. The Pope was entertained to such
a degree that he forgot the annoyance of the Mar-
quis standing there. I seasoned what I had to say with
that part of natural philosophy which belongs to
our profession ; and so having spoken for near upon
an hour, the Marquis grew tired of waiting, and
went off fuming. Then the Pope bestowed on me the
most familiar caresses which can be imagined, and
exclaimed: " Have patience, my dear Benvenuto, for
I will give you a better reward for your virtues than
the thousand crowns which Gaio tells me your work
is worth/'
On this I took my leave ; and the Pope praised me
in the presence of his household, among whom was
the fellow Latino Juvenale, whom I have previously
mentioned. This man, having become my enemy,
assiduously strove to do me hurt; and noticing that
the Pope talked of me with so much affeclion and
warmth, he put in his word: "There is no doubt at
all that Benvenuto is a person of very remarkable
334
LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
genius ; but while everyone is naturally bound to feel
more good-will for his own countrymen than for
others, still one ought to consider maturely what lan-
guage it is right and proper to use when speaking
of a Pope. He has had the audacity to say that Pope
Clement indeed was the handsomest sovereign that
ever reigned, and no less gifted; only that luck was
always against him : and he says that your Holiness
is quite the opposite ; that the tiara seems to weep for
rage upon your head ; that you look like a truss of
straw with clothes on, and that there is nothing in
you except good luck." These words, reported by
a man who knew most excellently how to say them,
had such force that they gained credit with the Pope.
Far from having uttered them, such things had never
come into my head. If the Pope could have done so
without losing credit, he would certainly have taken
fierce revenge upon me ; but being a man of great
tacl and talent, he made a show of turning it off with
a laugh. Nevertheless he harboured in his heart a
deep vindictive feeling against me, of which I was
not slow to be aware, since I had no longer the same
easy access to his apartments as formerly, but found
the greatest difficulty in procuring audience. As I
had now for many years been familiar with the man-
ners of the Roman court, I conceived that some one
had done me a bad turn ; and on making dexterous
inquiries, I was told the whole, but not the name of
my calumniator. I could not imagine who the man
was ; had I but found him out, my vengeance would
not have been measured by troy weight. 1
1 Io ne aret fatte vendette a misura di carbotu.
C 335 ]
LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
XCIII
I went on working at my book, and when I had
finished it I took it to the Pope, who was in good
truth unable to refrain from commending it greatly.
I begged him to send me with it to the Emperor, as
he had promised. He replied that he would do what
he thought fit, and that I had performed my part
of the business. So he gave orders that I should be
well paid. These two pieces of work, on which I had
spent upwards of two months, brought me in five
hundred crowns: for the diamond I was paid one
hundred and fifty crowns and no more; the rest was
given me for the cover of the book, which, however,
was worth more than a thousand, being enriched with
multitudes of figures, arabesques, enamellings, and
jewels. I took what I could get, and made my mind
up to leave Rome without permission. The Pope
meanwhile sent my book to the Emperor by the
hand of his grandson, Signor Sforza. 1 Upon accept-
ing it, the Emperor expressed great satisfaction, and
immediately asked for me. Young Signor Sforza,
who had received his instructions, said that I had
been prevented by illness from coming. All this was
reported to me.
My preparations for the journey into France were
made; and I wished to go alone, but was unable on
account of a lad in my service called Ascanio. He was
of very tender age, and the most admirable servant
in the world. When I took him he had left a former
1 Sforza Sforza, son of Bosio, Count of Santa Fiore, and of Costanza Farnese, the
Popes natural daughter. He ivas a youth of sixteen at this epoch.
[ 336 J
LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
master, named Francesco, a Spaniard and a gold-
smith. I did not much like to take him, lest I should
get into a quarrel with the Spaniard, and said to
Ascanio: "I do not want to have you, for fear of
offending your master/' He contrived that his master
should write me a note informing me that I was free
to take him. So he had been with me some months;
and since he came to us both thin and pale of face,
we called him "the little old man;" indeed I almost
thought he was one, partly because he was so good
a servant, and partly because he was so clever that
it seemed unlikely he should have such talent at
thirteen years, which he affirmed his age to be. Now
to go back to the point from which I started, he im-
proved in person during those few months, and gain-
ing in flesh, became the handsomest youth in Rome.
Being the excellent servant which I have described,
and showing marvellous aptitude for our art, I felt
a warm and fatherly affection for him, and kept him
clothed as if he had been my own son. When the
boy perceived the improvement he had made, he
esteemed it a good piece of luck that he had come
into my hands ; and he used frequently to go and
thank his former master, who had been the cause of
his prosperity. Now this man had a handsome young
woman to wife, who said to him: "Surgetto" (that
was what they called him when he lived with them),
"what have you been doing to become so hand-
some?" Ascanio answered: "Madonna Francesca,
it is my master who has made me so handsome, and
far more good to boot." In her petty spiteful way
she took it very ill that Ascanio should speak so;
[ 337 ]
LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
and having no reputation for chastity, she contrived
to caress the lad more perhaps than was quite seemly,
which made me notice that he began to visit her
more frequently than his wont had been.
One day Ascanio took to beating one of our lit-
tle shopboys, who, when I came home from out of
doors, complained to me with tears that Ascanio had
knocked him about without any cause. Hearing this,
I said to Ascanio: "With cause or without cause,
see you never strike any one of my family, or else
I'll make you feel how I can strike myself/' He
bandied words with me, which made me jump on
him and give him the severest drubbing with both
fists and feet that he had ever felt. As soon as he
escaped my clutches, he ran away without cape or
cap, and for two days I did not know where he was,
and took no care to find him. After that time a Span-
ish gentleman, called Don Diego, came to speak to
me. He was the most generous man in the world.
I had made, and was making, some things for him,
which had brought us well acquainted. He told me
that Ascanio had gone back to his old master, and
asked me, if I thought it proper, to send him the
cape and cap which I had given him. Thereupon I
said that Francesco had behaved badly, and like a
low-bred fellow ; for if he had told me, when Asca-
nio first came back to him, that he was in his house,
I should very willingly have given him leave; but
now that he had kept him two days without inform-
ing me, I was resolved he should not have him; and
let him take care that I do not set eyes upon the
lad in his house. This message was reported by Don
C 338 ]
LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
Diego, but it only made Francesco laugh. The next
morning I saw Ascanio working at some trifles in
wire at his master's side. As I was passing he bowed
to me, and his master almost laughed me in the face.
He sent again to ask through Don Diego whether
I would not give Ascanio back the clothes he had
received from me; but if not, he did not mind, and
Ascanio should not want for clothes. When I heard
this, I turned to Don Diego and said: " Don Diego,
sir, in all your dealings you are the most liberal and
worthy man I ever knew; but that Francesco is quite
the opposite of you; he is nothing better than a
worthless and dishonoured renegade. Tell him from
me that if he does not bring Ascanio here himself
to my shop before the bell for vespers, I will as-
suredly kill him ; and tell Ascanio that if he does not
quit that house at the hour appointed for his master,
I will treat him much in the same way." Don Diego
made no answer, but went and inspired such terror
in Francesco that he knew not what to do with him-
self. Ascanio meanwhile had gone to find his father,
who had come to Rome from Tagliacozzo, his birth-
place ; and this man also, when he heard about the
row, advised Francesco to bring Ascanio back to
me. Francesco said to Ascanio: "Go on your own
account, and your father shall go with you." Don
Diego put in : " Francesco, I foresee that something
very serious will happen ; you know better than I do
what a man Benvenuto is ; take the lad back cour-
ageously, and I will come with you/' I had prepared
myself, and was pacing up and down the shop wait-
ing for the bell to vespers ; my mind was made up
C 339 3
LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
to do one of the bloodiest deeds which I had ever
attempted in my life. Just then arrived Don Diego,
Francesco, Ascanio, and his father, whom I did not
know. When Ascanio entered, I gazed at the whole
company with eyes of rage, and Francesco, pale as
death, began as follows: "See here, I have brought
back Ascanio, whom I kept with me, not thinking
that I should offend you." Ascanio added humbly:
" Master, pardon me; I am at your disposal here, to
do whatever you shall order. "Then I said: "Have
you come to work out the time you promised me?"
He answered yes, and that he meant never to leave
me. Then I turned and told the shopboy he had
beaten to hand him the bundle of clothes, and said
to him: "Here are all the clothes I gave you; take
with them your discharge, and go where you like."
Don Diego stood astonished at this, which was quite
the contrary of what he had expecled ; while Ascanio
with his father besought me to pardon and take him
back. On my asking who it was who spoke for him,
he said it was his father; to whom, after many en-
treaties, I replied : " Because you are his father, for
your sake I will take him back."
xciv
I had formed the resolution, as I said a short while
back, to go toward France; partly because I saw
that the Pope did not hold me in the same esteem
as formerly, my faithful service having been be-
smirched by lying tongues; and also because I feared
lest those who had the power might play me some
worse trick. So I was determined to seek better for-
[ 340 ]
LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
tune in a foreign land, and wished to leave Rome
without company or license. On the eve of my pro-
jected departure, I told my faithful friend Felice to
make free use of all my effects during my absence;
and in the case of my not returning, left him every-
thing I possessed. Now there was a Perugian work-
man in my employ, who had helped me on those
commissions from the Pope; and after paying his
wages, I told him he must leave my service. He
begged me in reply to let him go with me, and said
he would come at his own charges ; if I stopped to
work for the King of France, it would certainly be
better for me to have Italians by me, and in particu-
lar such persons as I knew to be capable of giving
me assistance. His entreaties and arguments per-
suaded me to take him on the journey in the manner
he proposed. Ascanio, who was present at this de-
bate, said, half in tears: "When you took me back,
I said I wished to remain with you my lifetime, and
so I have it in my mind to do." I told him that no-
thing in the world would make me consent; but when
I saw that the poor lad was preparing to follow on
foot, I engaged a horse for him too, put a small va-
lise upon the crupper, and loaded myself with far
more useless baggage than I should otherwise have
taken. 1
From home I travelled to Florence, from Florence
to Bologna, from Bologna to Venice, and from Venice
to Padua. There my dear friend Albertaccio del Bene
made me leave the inn for his house ; and next day
I went to kiss the hand of Messer Pietro Bembo,
1 He left Rome, April i, 1537.
C 341 ]
LIFE OF BENVENUTO CELLINI
who was not yet a Cardinal. 1 He received me with
marks of the warmest affection which could be be-
stowed on any man ; then turning to Albertaccio, he
said: "I want Benvenuto to stay here, with all his
followers, even though they be a hundred men; make
then your mind up, if you want Benvenuto also, to
stay here with me, for I do not mean elsewise to let
you have him." Accordingly I spent a very pleasant
visit at the house of that most accomplished gentle-
man. He had a room prepared for me which would
have been too grand for a cardinal, and always in-
sisted on my taking my meals beside him. Later on,
he began to hint in very modest terms that he should
greatly like me to take his portrait. I, who desired
nothing in the world more, prepared some snow-
white plaster in a little box, and set to work at once.
The first day I spent two hours on end at my mod-
elling, and blocked out the fine head of that eminent
man with so much grace of manner that his lordship
was fairly astounded. Now, though he was a man
of profound erudition and without a rival in poetry,
he understood nothing at all about my art; this made
him think that I had finished when I had hardly be-
gun, so that I could not make him comprehend what
a long time it took to execute a thing of that sort
thoroughly. At last I resolved to do it as well as I
was able, and to spend the requisite time upon it;
but since he wore his beard short after the Venetian
fashion, I had great trouble in modelling a head to
1 / need hardly say that this is the Bembo 'who ruled wer Italian literature like
a dictator from the reign of Leo X. onwards. He