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 lilllllllll ^ /" t 1 BRENTANO'S -NEW YORK liiiiiiliHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiilliiiiiiiiiilTT 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, C 75 ] 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 c 76 n 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 C 330 ] 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. C 332 ] 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