The Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini

by Benvenuto Cellini

  Bless me and protect me.’

  At this, the graceful creature starting laughing, lifted his right hand, and, talking gracefully, gave him a Papal blessing. Then Michelagnolo stood up and said that one kissed the feet of the Pope but the cheeks of angels – and when he suited the action to the words the young man blushed furiously and looked more beautiful than ever. After this introduction, we discovered that the room was full of sonnets that we had written and sent to Michelagnolo. My young companion began to read them, and as he spoke them aloud – every one of them – his incredible beauty was so enhanced that I find it impossible to describe. Then there was a great deal of comment and conversation, which I shall not give in detail as that is not my purpose. But I shall just report one thing, because it was said by that splendid painter, Giulio. He looked round shrewdly at everyone present, staring most of all at the women, and then he turned to Michelagnolo and said:

  ‘My dear Michelagnolo, your name, crows, fits this crowd only too well today. But they haven’t even the beauty of crows when they’re set by the side of one of the most beautiful peacocks imaginable.’

  When the food was ready and served and we were about to sit down at table, Giulio asked as a favour that he should be allowed to decide on our places. His request was granted, and, taking each woman in turn by the hand, he arranged them all round the inside, with my one in the middle. Then he put all the men round the outside, with me in the middle as he said that I deserved the highest honour. There was a beautiful trellis of natural jasmines behind where the women sat, and with this background their beauty, and my partner’s especially, was so wonderfully set off that words fail to describe it. So we all set to with a will on that splendid and sumptuous feast.

  After we had eaten, we heard some wonderful singing and music. They were playing and singing from written music, and my lovely companion asked permission to take part. His performance was so much better than almost all the others’ that everyone was astonished. In fact Giulio and Michelagnolo stopped talking about him in the joking way they had done at first, and their praise became grave and serious and showed the wonder they felt. When the music was finished a man called Aurelio Ascolano, who was marvellous at improvisation,50 began to praise the women. While he was reciting his heavenly, beautiful words, the two women who were sitting on either side of my lovely companion never left off chattering. One of them told how she had come to take the wrong turning, the other one started asking my companion how it had happened to her, and who were her men friends, and how long she had been in Rome, and other questions of that sort.

  As a matter of fact, if all I had to do was describe what went on, I could give details of a host of amusing incidents that took place because of Pantasilea’s infatuation for me. But as they are outside my purpose I shall pass them over briefly. Now the chatter of those beastly women began to annoy my companion – to whom we had given the name of Pomona – and so Pomona, in her anxiety to get away from their stupid babbling, began turning now to one side and now to another. The woman whom Giulio had brought asked if there was something wrong with her, and she said, yes, there was, that she thought she was pregnant by several months and felt a pain in her uterus. At once, in their concern for her, the two women started feeling Pomona’s body and discovered she was a male. They drew their hands away quickly, shot up from the table, and began insulting him, in words usually reserved for pretty young men. Immediately uproar broke out, and everyone started laughing and crying out in amazement. The stern Michelagnolo asked permission to give me the penance he thought proper and, when it was granted, with loud cries from everyone else he lifted me up and shouted: ‘Long live Benvenuto: long live Benvenuto.’

  Then he added that that was the sentence I deserved for such a perfect trick. In this way, with day coming to an end, that charming supper-party finished; and we all went home.

  If I wanted to give a detailed description of what work I did, and how many items there were, and what people I did them for, it would take me far too long. All I need say now is that with great care and enthusiasm I gave my time to making myself accomplished in all those different branches of art that I talked about before. I worked away at them all without stopping. I have not yet had an opportunity of describing some of my more notable work, but I shall want to do so when a suitable occasion presents itself, which will not be very long now.

  At that time, Michelagnolo, the sculptor from Siena whom I mentioned, was working on the tomb of the dead Pope Adrian.51 The Roman painter, Giulio, went off to enter the service of the Marquis of Mantua;52 and the other members of our group were scattered, some here, some there, on their own business. So that brilliant society I talked about was almost completely dispersed.

  It was about that time that some small Turkish daggers fell into my hands. The handles, as well as the blades, were made of iron, and even the sheaths were. They had been engraved by iron tools with patterns of beautiful foliage, in the Turkish style, which were nicely filled in with gold. I was seized by a burning desire to try my hand at that kind of art as well, which was so different from the others; and when I found that I could manage perfectly well I made several daggers of that sort. For a variety of reasons these were much finer and far more durable than the Turkish ones. One reason was that I cut much deeper and my undercutting was far wider than that of the Turkish craftsmen. And again, Turkish foliage work is only based on arum leaves, with a few small sunflowers, and, although this is quite pretty, unlike our designs it soon loses its charm. In Italy we have several kinds of foliage design. The Lombards do very beautiful work by copying the leaves of bryony and ivy, in magnificent loops which are very pleasing to the eye. The Tuscans and Romans improve greatly on this because they copy the leaves of the acanthus, commonly known as bear’s foot, and show its stems and flowers all twisting and turning. It gives a charming effect if one has some birds and various kinds of animals engraved on the work as well; and his choice here shows what sort of taste the artist has.

  The design for some of these animals can be found by the artist in nature, in wild flowers, for example, like those known as snapdragons; and a skilful artist can work in various beautiful ideas derived from other flowers. People who are ignorant about such matters call these artistic fantasies ‘grotesques’. This name has been given them in modern times from their having been found by students in certain underground caves in Rome, which in ancient times were used as dwelling-rooms, bath-houses, studies, halls, and so forth. These places are underground, because they have remained as they are while the level of the ground has risen over the years; and in Rome such underground rooms are called grottoes. That, then, is the origin of the name ‘grotesques’. But that is not the right name; because, just as the ancients loved to create monsters by having intercourse with goats, and cows, and horses, and calling their hybrid offspring, monsters, so our artists create another sort of monster, by mingling different kinds of foliage. So monsters, and not grotesques, is the correct term. I designed my foliage in this way, and when it was inlaid the work I produced was much more impressive than the Turkish.

  Around that time I got hold of some vases, some ancient urns choked with ashes, and among the ashes I found a number of ancient iron rings, inlaid with gold, in each of which was set a tiny shell. I consulted the experts about these rings and they told me that they used to be worn by people who wanted to remain in a state of equanimity, no matter what wild accidents either for good or ill came their way. When I learned this, at the request of some gentlemen who were great friends of mine I started making a few rings of the same sort. Mine, however, were made of well-tempered steel, and when they were finely engraved and inlaid with gold they looked very, very beautiful. Merely for the work put into one of them I often earned more than forty crowns.

  In those days it was the fashion to wear a little gold badge in one’s hat and noblemen or gentlemen liked to have them engraved with some emblem or device. I made quite a few of these badges, though it was very difficult work.
Caradosso – that very able man I spoke about before – used to make them; his designs included more than one figure and as a result he never asked for less than a hundred gold crowns each. Because of this, not so much because of what he charged as because he was a slow workman, certain noblemen much preferred to come to me. For them, among other things, I made a medal in competition with that great artist.

  There were four figures engraved on this medal, and it gave me a great deal of trouble. As it happened the noblemen I was working for, after they had compared my medal with the one turned out by that splendid artist Caradosso, said that it showed far better craftsmanship and was more beautiful, and that I was to ask whatever I liked for the pains I had taken over it. They wanted to give me as much satisfaction, they said, as I had given them. To this my reply was that the greatest reward for my exertions, and the one I wanted most of all, was to have equalled the work of such an expert artist, and that if their lordships thought I had done so I reckoned myself very well paid. With that I left them, and they immediately sent me such a generous reward that I was perfectly satisfied. My ambition to do really well became so great that it was the cause of all that followed.

  Now I shall have to digress a little from artistic matters, as I want to give an account of some troublesome events that disturbed my turbulent life. I have already given some details about that brilliant circle of artists I belonged to, and of the amusing results of my connexion with that woman Pantasilea, whose false love I found so distasteful. She was furious with me because of the joke I played in bringing that Spanish boy, Diego, along to the supper-party, and she swore she would have her revenge. Her chance came when something happened, that I shall describe, which put me in very great danger of my life.

  What happened was this. First of all, a young man called Luigi Pulci turned up at Rome. He was the son of the Pulci53 who had been beheaded for incestuous intercourse with his daughter. This young man was a wonderfully talented poet, was a good Latin scholar, and could write well. At the same time he was very graceful and extraordinarily handsome. He had just left some bishop or other, and he was riddled with the French pox.

  When this Luigi had been a boy in Florence it used to be the custom on summer evenings to gather together in the streets; and on those occasions, he used to sing, improvising all the time, among the very best voices. His singing was so lovely that Michelangelo Buonarroti,54 that superb sculptor and painter, used to rush along for the pleasure of hearing him whenever he knew where he was performing. A goldsmith called Piloto55 who was a very talented artist, and I myself, used to accompany him. This, then, was how Luigi Pulci and I came to know each other.

  After many years had passed, in the wretched condition I described he sought me out at Rome and begged me, for the love of God, to come to his help. I took pity on him, because of his great talents, for love of my native town, and because I am naturally kind-hearted. So I brought him home, and there had him given medical attention with the result that, as he was still a young man, he soon recovered his health. While he was recovering he studied all the time, and I helped him to lay his hands on as many books as I could. Recognizing how deeply he was in my debt, he thanked me over and over again with tears in his eyes, saying that if ever God put some good fortune in his way he would pay me back for all I had done. My reply to this was that I had not done all I would have liked to, but only what I could, and that anyway all human beings ought to help each other. However, I reminded him that the kindness I had showed him, he in turn should show to anyone else who ever needed his help as he had needed mine. Also, I told him to look on me, now and always, as a friend.

  Soon after, this young man began to frequent the court of Rome. He soon found a niche for himself and entered the service of an eighty-year-old bishop, called Gurgensis.56 This bishop’s nephew was a Venetian gentleman, called Giovanni, who made it seem that he was tremendously attracted by Luigi’s talents. With these talents for his excuse he made Luigi as much at home in his household as if he were himself. Luigi happened to talk about me and about how tremendously he was in my debt, and as a result Giovanni wanted to meet me.

  Following on this, some evening or other when I had prepared a little supper for Pantasilea and invited a crowd of brilliant friends to join us, we were just about ready to sit down, when Giovanni came in with Luigi. After the introductions had been made they stayed to eat with us. As soon as my brazen-faced whore set eyes on such a handsome young man she began to have designs on him. So immediately our pleasant little supper-party was over, I called Luigi aside and said that as he insisted that he was so much in debt to me he should in no circumstances make any effort to get familiar with that prostitute.

  ‘My dear Benvenuto,’ he said, ‘do you think I’m raving mad?’

  ‘No, not mad,’ I replied, ‘just young. As for me, I swear to God I don’t care a damn about her. But I would be sorry to see you come a cropper because of her.’

  When he heard this he said vehemently that he hoped to God he would come a cropper and break his neck the moment he ever spoke to her. The poor young man must have prayed pretty intensely, because he did in fact break his neck – and I shall tell how it happened in a minute.

  It soon became only too clear that Giovanni’s love for him was dirty rather than disinterested. Every day Luigi was seen wearing different velvet and silk clothes, and it was obvious that he had completely abandoned himself to wickedness and was neglecting his splendid talents. Then he began pretending not to see me or recognize me, after I had taken him to task and told him that he had allowed himself to become enslaved to the sort of bestial vices that would one day break his neck in the way I said.

  His Giovanni had paid out a hundred and fifty crowns on a magnificent black horse for him. The animal was superbly trained, and every day Luigi used to prance around on it, paying his attentions to that whore Pantasilea. I heard all about it, but I never cared a straw. I reflected that everything acted according to its nature, and I concerned myself with my studies.

  Then, one Sunday evening, it happened that we were invited to supper by the Sienese sculptor, Michelagnolo – this was during the summer. Bachiacca, whom I have mentioned before, was with us, and he had brought his former bedmate, Pantasilea. When we sat down she was placed between Bachiacca and me, and half-way through supper she stood up asking to be excused as she felt uncomfortable, and saying that she would come back straight away. We carried on, talking and eating very agreeably, but she was away for an unnecessarily long time. As it was I kept my ears open, and I thought I heard someone laughing softly in the street. I had in my hand the little knife I was using at table. The window was so near where we were sitting that merely by raising myself a little I could see them out in the street – Luigi Pulci and Pantasilea. Then I heard Luigi say:

  ‘If only that devil Benvenuto could see us, we’d be in for it!’

  ‘There’s no need to be afraid,’ she answered, ‘listen to all the noise they’re making. They’re thinking of anything but us.’

  I had recognized them all right, and when I heard what they were saying I hurled myself through the window and seized Luigi by the cloak. I would certainly have killed him with the knife I had in my hand, but as he was sitting on a little white horse he managed to dig in his spurs and leave his cloak in my hands to escape with his life. Pantasilea ran to take refuge in a neighbouring church, and meanwhile everyone inside came running out and begged me not to upset myself or them over a mere tart. I retorted that I was not worried about her, but about that young rascal who had shown such contempt for me. I refused to let any of those worthy men talk me out of it, and seizing my sword I went off by myself towards Prati. The house where we had been having supper was not far from the Castello gate which leads to Prati.

  Soon after I set out the sun went down, and walking slowly I went back into Rome. The night was already dark, but the gates of the city were still open. About two hours after sunset I arrived at Pantasilea’s house. I was determined that if
I found Luigi Pulci there I would make myself very unpleasant to both of them. After I had discovered that there was no one at home, except for a miserable servant girl called Canida, I went to jettison my cloak and sword-scabbard, and then came back to the house which was behind the Banchi, on the Tiber.

  There was a garden opposite, which belonged to an innkeeper called Romolo and which was enclosed by a thick hedge of thorns. I hid myself in the hedge, standing upright, and waiting for the woman to return home with Luigi. After a while my friend Bachiacca appeared on the scene, having either guessed or been told where I was. ‘Is that my old crony?’ he called out softly – we used to call each other ‘crony’ for a joke. Then, almost in tears, he began to beg me for the love of God not to hurt the poor girl, as she was entirely blameless.

  ‘If you don’t move off this instant,’ I said, ‘I shall hit you on the head with this sword.’

  That poor old crony of mine was so terrified at what I said that his bowels started moving and he was forced to retire a little way off to relieve himself. It was a very starry night, and wonderfully bright. All at once I heard a great clatter of horses, approaching from both sides. It was Luigi himself, together with Pantasilea, and accompanied by a certain Messer Benvegnato57 from Perugia, who was Pope Clement’s chamberlain. They had with them four fine young Perugian captains as well as some other intrepid young soldier lads. Altogether there were more than a dozen swordsmen.

  When I saw all this, realizing that I had no way of escape I decided to draw back into the hedge. But I was in agony from all those sharp thorns, and, goaded like a bull, I all but made up my mind to leap out and run for it, when Luigi, who had his arm round Pantasilea’s neck, said: ‘Just one more kiss to spite that treacherous Benvenuto…’

  At this, maddened by the thorns and forced on by what I had just heard, I sprang out, lifted my sword, and shouted: ‘You’re all as good as dead!’