Then the bell sounded and everyone was sent outside. Prinzivalle spoke to the assembly in my defence.
‘Just consider, my lords,’ he said, ‘this poor young man’s simplicity. Here he is accusing himself of having given someone a slap because he thinks it less of an offence than it is to give a punch, while in fact the penalty for slapping someone in the New Market is twenty-five crowns, as against little or nothing when it comes to punching. He is a very talented young man and he supports his family by the hard work he’s always doing. I wish to God there were a great many more of his kind in Florence, instead of a shortage.’
Among the magistrates were some of those republicans, wearing their hoods twisted up, who were influenced by the appeals and false information of my opponents, because they belonged to Fra Girolamo’s party. They would have been only too glad to send me to prison with a stiff sentence. But the good Prinzivalle prevented all that, and instead they imposed a small fine of four bushels of flour to be given to the convent of the Murate. When I was called in again, he ordered me to keep quiet, under pain of their displeasure, and said that I must accept my sentence. Then I was given a severe dressing-down and we were sent to the chancellor, with me muttering to myself: ‘It was a slap, not a punch.’ So we left the magistrates roaring with laughter.
The chancellor commanded us on behalf of the magistracy to give securities, but only I was condemned to pay the four bushels. I felt as if I had been assassinated: but all the same I sent for one of my cousins, a surgeon called Annibale, the father of Librodoro Librodori, with the idea of asking him to go bail for me. But he refused to come. So in a furious temper, swelling up like an asp, I made up my mind to do something desperate. This just shows how the stars completely rule rather than merely influence our lives.
Knowing how much this Annibale owed my family, I grew so angry that I was utterly determined to make mischief, and anyway I am rather hot-blooded by nature. I waited till I saw that the magistrates had gone to dinner, and then finding myself alone and seeing that none of the officials were keeping watch on me any more, I left the palace fuming with rage and rushed back to my workshop. There I seized hold of a stiletto and hurried round to where those enemies of mine lived. I found them sitting down at dinner, in their home above the shop, and as soon as I appeared that young Gherardo who had started the quarrel hurled himself on me.
I stabbed him in the chest, piercing his doublet and jacket right through to the shirt, without in fact touching his skin or doing him the slightest injury. But from the way my hand sank in and the way his clothes were torn I imagined I had given him a very nasty wound. He fell to the ground, terrified out of his wits, and I shouted out: ‘You traitors, today I’m going to kill the whole bunch of you.’
All of them, the father and the mother and the sisters, thinking that the Day of Judgement had come, threw themselves on their knees and without any restraint began screaming for mercy. With their making no attempt to defend themselves and Gherardo stretched out on the ground like a corpse, I decided that it would be too cowardly to touch them. But still mad with anger I ran downstairs and out into the street, and there I found all the rest of the household waiting for me, more than a dozen of them. One of them had an iron shovel, another a thick length of iron piping, and others of them stake-heads, hammers, and cudgels. I joined battle, snorting like a mad bull, threw four or five to the ground and fell down with them, all the time hitting out with my dagger.
Those who were still standing up joined in as well as they could, letting me have it with both hands, with their hammers and cudgels and stakes. But, as God in His mercy sometimes takes a hand in things, I did not do them the slightest injury, nor they me. All I lost was my hat, captured by the enemy who treated it roughly, though before that they had kept clear of it. Then they looked for their dead and wounded; but not one of them had been injured.
I made off towards Santa Maria Novella and all of a sudden ran into Frate Alesso Strozzi. I did not know this good friar, but I begged him for the love of God to save my life as I had committed a great sin. He said that I was not to be at all frightened, because even if I had done all the evil in the world I would be perfectly safe in his cell. Then about an hour later the magistrates, having held a special meeting, published one of the most terrible proclamations that had ever been known, threatening the most severe penalties against anyone, no matter what his position or rank, who gave me shelter or knew where I was. My poor afflicted father, like the good man he was, went to the magistrates, threw himself on his knees, and begged them to have mercy on his poor young son. Then one of those hot-heads, shaking the top of his twisted hood, rose to his feet and began insulting my unhappy father.
‘Get off your knees and leave this place immediately,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow we shall have this son of yours marched out to his execution.’
My poor father retorted fiercely: ‘You will do what God wills and nothing more.’
Then the same man replied: ‘What I said is certainly what God wills.’
Finally my father told him that he was consoled by the thought that he most certainly did not know what was God’s will, and with that he walked out. He went in search of me with a young man of my own age, called Piero, the son of Giovanni Landi. We loved each other more than if we had been brothers. Under his cloak Piero hid a splendid sword and a very fine coat of mail. When they found me, my plucky father told me how things had gone and what the magistrates had said to him. Then he kissed me on the forehead and eyes, and gave me his affectionate blessing with the words: ‘May God’s power assist you.’ With his own hands he buckled on the sword and helped me into the coat of mail, and then he added:
‘My dear son, with these you’re ready either to live – or die.’
Piero Landi who was there as well, his eyes continually wet with tears, had brought me ten gold crowns. I asked him to pull out a few hairs that were on my chin, the first sign of my beard, and then Alesso dressed me up like a friar and gave me a lay brother to go along with me. I left the convent, walked through the Prato gate and along by the city walls as far as the Piazza di San Gallo. Then I climbed up the slope of Montui and in one of the first houses I came to I found a man called Grassuccio, the brother of Messer Benedetto da Monte Varchi.24 I immediately unfrocked myself and became a man once more. Then we mounted the two horses that were waiting for us and rode through the night to Siena. Grassuccio returned to Florence, met my father, and told him that I had reached a place of safety.25
The old man was almost beside himself with joy, and it seemed an eternity before he found the magistrate who had been so insulting. When he came across him he said:
‘You see, Antonio, God knew what was to happen to my son, not you.’
The fellow replied: ‘Just let us get hold of him again.’
And finally my father said, ‘Meanwhile I’ll be thanking God for saving him from you.’
At Siena I waited for the courier to Rome and joined up with him. When we had passed the Paglia we met the messenger who was bringing news about the new Pope – it was Pope Clement. Then, when I reached Rome, I went and found work in the goldsmith’s shop belonging to Maestro Santi; he himself had died, but one of his sons was in charge. This son did no work there himself, and the workshop was run completely by a young man from Jesi called Lucagnolo. He was a countryman who had come to work for Santi when he was a young child. He was small but very well built, and he was a better craftsman than anyone I had so far come across. He worked very easily and skilfully, but he restricted himself to large things, like very beautiful vases and bowls.
After I had started work I undertook to make some candlesticks for the Bishop of Salamanca, a Spaniard. They were as richly ornamented us such objects can be. The next thing that happened was that a pupil of Raphael’s called Gianfrancesco, and usually known as Il Fattore, who was a very fine painter, being a friend of the Bishop got me into his good books. The Bishop commissioned a great amount of work from me, and I earned a good deal of
money.26
At that time I used to go and draw, sometimes in Michelangelo’s chapel and sometimes in the house of Agostino Chigi of Siena,27 where there were many beautiful paintings done by that splendid artist Raphael of Urbino. I used to go along there only when there was a feast day since Agostino’s brother, Gismondo Chigi, was then living there. They became very proud of themselves when they saw young men of my sort coming along to study in their houses.
One day Messer Sigismondo’s wife,28 who had seen me around in her house very often, came up to me and began examining my drawings; then she asked me whether I was a sculptor or a painter. She was an extraordinarily beautiful and gracious woman. When I told her I was a goldsmith she said that I drew far too well for a goldsmith.
Then she sent one of her maids to bring a beautiful lily that she had, made of magnificent diamonds set in gold. She showed it to me and wanted me to say what I thought its value was. I reckoned it was worth eight hundred crowns. She said that I had valued it very rightly and then she asked me if I thought I had enough skill to set it really well. I answered that I would be only too happy to do so, and while she was still there I drew her a little design for it. It was all the better because of the pleasure I got from talking with such a very beautiful and gracious lady. After I had finished the sketch we were joined by another very beautiful Roman lady. She came down from upstairs and asked Madonna Porzia what she was doing there. With a smile, Madonna Porzia said: ‘I’m enjoying myself watching this fine young man draw. He’s good as well as handsome.’
Suddenly becoming bold, though my daring was mixed with a little honest modesty, I blushed and said: ‘Such as I am, madam, I shall always be more than anxious to serve you.’
Then that gracious lady, blushing a little in turn, said: ‘You can be sure that I want you to serve me.’
She gave me the lily and told me to take it away with me, and then, handing me twenty crowns that she took out of her purse, she said: ‘Do it in the same way that you sketched the design, and save me the old gold that it’s set in now.’
At this the other lady broke in: ‘If I were that young man I shouldn’t hesitate to make myself scarce.’
Madonna Porzia replied that virtues were very rarely found along with vices and that if I did such a thing I would strongly contradict my fine appearance, which was that of an honest young man. Then she turned away, taking the other lady’s hand in hers, and laughing very prettily she said: ‘Good-bye, Benvenuto.’
I spent some time on the drawing I was doing, which was copied from a figure of Jupiter by Raphael, and then when I had finished I went away and began to make a tiny wax model in order to show what the finished work would be like. When I brought it along for Madonna Porzia to see she was with the Roman lady that I had met before. They were both delighted with what I had done, praising me so much that rather daringly I promised that the actual work would be twice as good as the model.
I set to work, and at the end of twelve days I had finished the jewel, which as I said above was shaped like a lily, adorning it with little masks and cherubs and animals, all of them exquisitely enamelled, so that the diamonds forming the lily had their beauty immensely enhanced.
While I was working on it, that skilled craftsman Lucagnolo – I have already said what an able man he was – let me know that he thought it was a waste of time. He kept on saying that I would reap far more honour and profit if I carried on helping him make his large silver vases as I used to at first. My answer to this was that I could do that sort of work whenever I felt like it, but that what I was doing now did not fall into a man’s lap every day, and that anyway there was just as much honour in it as in his large silver vases, and a great deal more profit.
Lucagnolo thought this was very funny. ‘You’ll realize the truth, Benvenuto,’ he said, ‘because I shall hurry up, and by the time you’re through with your work I shall finish this vase that I began at the same time as you started on the jewel. And then we shall find out clearly enough what I make out of the vase and what you make out of your jewel.’
I said that I was only too pleased to put it to the test with an expert like him, and when it was over we would see who was mistaken. So, smiling rather scornfully, the two of us bent our heads proudly over our work, with such eagerness that at the end of about ten days we had both produced very beautifully-made works of art. Lucagnolo’s was a very large bowl, meant for Pope Clement’s table as a receptacle for pieces of bone and rind. It was intended for show rather than use, and was adorned with two fine handles, a great many masks of various sizes, and clusters of beautiful leaves. The whole thing was so wonderfully done that I said it was the most perfect vase I had ever seen.
Thinking that he had convinced me, Lucagnolo answered: ‘Your work looks just as beautiful to me, but it won’t be long before we see the difference between them.’
Then he took his vase along to the Pope who was very pleased with it and had him paid on the spot at the usual rate. Meanwhile I went back with the jewel to Madonna Porzia. She was astonished when she set eyes on it, and she told me that I had by far and away surpassed what I had promised. Then she said that I must ask whatever I liked in return, since she thought that I deserved so much that even if she gave me a castle it still wouldn’t be reward enough. ‘However,’ she added with a laugh, ‘as I can’t give you a castle, you must ask for something that I can give.’
My reply to this was that the greatest reward of all was to see how pleased she was with it. Then, laughing with her, I bowed and began to take my leave, repeating that that was the only reward I wanted. She turned to her companion and said: ‘Now do you see what sort of company is kept by the virtues that we decided were in him? They have nothing to do with vice.’
They were both astonished at my attitude, and then Madonna Porzia said:
‘Dear Benvenuto, have you ever heard the saying that when the poor give to the rich the devil has a good laugh?’
‘Still,’ I replied, ‘he has a great deal of bad luck and this once I want to see him laugh.’
As I left, however, she told me that this time she had no intention of being so kind to him.
I went back to the workshop and I found Lucagnolo there, with the money he had got for his vase in a little packet. As I came in, he called out: ‘Come over here and let’s compare what you were paid for your little jewel with what I was paid for my vase.’
I told him that he should leave it as it was till the following day, and that as I believed my work was in its way no less beautiful than his, I expected to be paid just as well.
Next day Madonna Porzia sent one of her head servants round to my shop: he called me outside and then handed me a packet full of money, with a message from her to say that she did not mean the devil to have the laugh to himself. Among other compliments worthy of such a lady she suggested by this that my work deserved much more than she was sending me.
It seemed an eternity to Lucagnolo before he could compare his earnings with mine. He came rushing into the workshop, and then, in the presence of about a dozen workmen and neighbours who were already there, anxious to see the result of the contest, he took hold of his packet, and crying out: ‘Phew! Phew!’ three or four times, laughing contemptuously, he poured the money very noisily on to the counter. There were twenty-five giulios, and he reckoned that what I had would come to four or five large crowns. Completely unnerved by his shouting and by the looks and smiles of the onlookers, I peeped inside my packet and saw that it was filled with gold. Then keeping my eyes on the ground, from one side of the counter in complete silence I lifted my packet right up in the air and poured out the contents as if from a mill-hopper. There were twice as many coins as he had. As a result, all those eyes that had been staring scornfully at me suddenly switched to Lucagnolo, and everyone said: ‘Benvenuto has been paid in gold, and there’s twice as much, so it makes a much better show.’
I felt certain that Lucagnolo was going to fall down dead on the spot, he was so filled with shame
and envy. In fact a third of my earnings went to him (that is the usual custom – two-thirds fall to the workman and a third to the master of the shop) but his furious envy got the better of his greed. It should have been altogether the other way round, seeing that he was the son of a peasant of Jesi. He started cursing his work and the people who taught him, saying that from now on he would stop making large plate and give all his time to making my pimping little trash, since it was so well paid for. I grew as furious as him and retorted that every bird whistled its own tune and that he was talking after the fashion of the hovels he came from, but that although I reckoned I would find it very easy to make his stuff, which was all balls anyway,29 he would never succeed in making my trash. Then I stamped away in a rage, saying that he would soon see what was what. Everyone there told him quite bluntly that he was in the wrong, accused him of being the lout that he was, and praised me for being the man I had shown myself.
Next day I went along to thank Madonna Porzia. I said that she had done the opposite of the proverb, for when I wanted to make the devil laugh she had made him deny God again. We both laughed happily, and then she commissioned some more beautiful work from me.
Meanwhile I managed, through one of Raphael’s pupils, to get the Bishop of Salamanca to order a large water-bowl from me. It was the kind called an acquereccia, used as a sideboard ornament. As the Bishop wanted two of the same size he had Lucagnolo working on one and me on the other. The design for these was supplied us by the painter Gianfrancesco whom I mentioned before.
A Milanese called Giovanpiero della Tacca allowed me to use a corner of his workshop and I started on the vase with tremendous enthusiasm. I made my calculations, put by enough money for some of my own needs, and sent all the rest to help my poor father in Florence. It happened that when this was paid to him he ran into one of those madmen who were among the Eight when I stirred things up a little. It was the same man who had abused him and sworn that he was determined to have me marched out to execution.
The Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini Page 6
