I set out very industriously to learn all these different crafts. And then, of course, there was the exquisite art of enamelling! As for that, I never came across a better craftsman than our Florentine, Amerigo. I never knew him, but I knew his magnificent work, and I have never, anywhere in the world, seen any man’s work that could approach his splendid perfection by a long chalk. Enamelling is an extraordinarily difficult business, because in the finishing process the fire very often completely ruins the work; but all the same I bent all my energies to learning the craft. I found it very hard going but I got so much pleasure out of it that I looked on my exertions as a kind of relaxation. This attitude was the result of a special gift from God of a temperament so healthy and well balanced that whatever I took it in my head to do I could always accomplish.
All the crafts I have mentioned are so very different that if an artist is good at one of them and then turns to the others, he never succeeds in reaching the same standard as in the one he is perfect at. All the same I did everything I could to become expert in each one of them. And when the time comes I shall prove my success.
About that time, when I was still only a young man of around twenty-three, a plague broke out in Rome and raged so fiercely that every day many thousands died of it. This frightened me a little, and I began to seek relief in a sport that I found very enjoyable. But there was a reason for this that I shall tell you about. It happened in this way. On feast days I used to love going along to study the ancient buildings, and I used to make copies of them, sometimes in wax and sometimes on paper. These buildings are all broken down, and the ruins shelter a vast number of pigeons. I felt the urge to have a shot at some of them, so because of my fear of the plague and to avoid the risk of contagion, I used to get my Paulino to carry the gun and he and I would go off by ourselves to the ruins.
Many a time we used to come back laden with some very plump pigeons. I did not like loading my gun with more than a single ball, so my successful hunting was the result of really good marksmanship. I had a straight fowling-piece made by myself, so bright that it shone outside and in just like a mirror. I also manufactured my owngunpowder, discovering the most wonderful secrets that are still unknown to anyone else. But in order not to digress too long, I shall give just one instance in the connexion that will flabbergast anyone who knows something about the matter. This is it. When I charged my gun with powder, a fifth of the weight of the ball, the shot carried two hundred yards point-blank.
Although the great pleasure I found in these expeditions threatened to draw me away from my trade and my studies – and in fact it did so – in another way it gave me much more than it took, because every time I went hunting my health improved remarkably from the invigorating fresh air.
I have a naturally melancholy disposition, but on these trips I used to grow very light-hearted, and found myself working better and more skilfully than when I spent all my time studying and working. So all in all my gun brought me more gain than loss. Besides this, it was the cause of my becoming friendly with some antique-collectors who hung around the Lombard peasants when they made their seasonal visit to Rome to dig the vineyards. While they were digging these peasants were always finding ancient medals and agates, chrysoprases, cornelians, and cameos, and also precious stones, like emeralds, sapphires, diamonds, and rubies. The collectors were sometimes able to buy these from the peasants for a few coins. And sometimes – in fact quite often – when I met these collectors I gave them, for what they had, more than as many gold crowns as they had paid giulios.
These transactions, without taking into account the great profit I made which was easily tenfold, also helped me establish good relations with nearly every cardinal in Rome. I shall just mention one of the most outstanding and rare of these treasures. Among many other things there fell into my hands a dolphin’s head, about the size of one of those big beans used for voting. The head was exquisitely cut, but Nature showed her superiority to art in the magnificence of the emerald itself. Its colour was such that the man who bought it from me for a few dozen crowns had it set, like an ordinary gem, in a ring, and then sold it for hundreds.
Then there was another kind of stone – a head cut from the most wonderful topaz ever seen in the world. In this, art equalled nature. It was as big as a large hazel-nut, cut with exquisite beauty into a head representing Minerva. And then again there was another, different stone. This was a cameo, with a representation of Hercules binding the three-headed Cerberus cut on it.41 It was a work of such beauty and genius that even our great Michelangelo had to confess that he had never seen anything so marvellous.
As well as all this, among the many bronze medals that came my way there was one designed with a head of Jupiter. It was the largest medal I had ever seen, and the head was absolutely perfect; on its reverse there were some very beautiful figures that were just as perfect. I could go on talking for ever about all this, but I do not want to take too long.
I shall now go back a little in the story, but this will not be off the subject. As I said above, the plague had broken out in Rome. While it was raging a very great surgeon called Jacomo da Carpi42 appeared on the scene. Among his other patients this able man took on some who were in a very bad way from the French pox. In Rome, as it happens, this particular disease is very fond of priests – especially very rich priests. So when the great doctor had made himself known, he claimed that in the use of certain fumigations he had a splendid cure for the disease. He insisted, however, on the payment being settled before he began the cure, and his fees were reckoned not in tens but in hundreds.
This able man also knew a great deal about the art of design; and one day he happened to be passing by my shop when his eye fell on some drawings that I had lying around. Among them were designs for fantastic little vases. I had done them to amuse myself, and they were utterly different from anything ever seen before.
The doctor asked me if I would make some of them for him, in silver, and I was only too delighted to do so as it suited my own whim. Although the great doctor paid me very generously for them, the fame they won for me was worth a hundred times more, since the best goldsmiths in the trade said that they had never seen anything more beautiful or better made. I finished them for him, he at once showed them to the Pope; and the next day he suddenly decamped.
He was a very learned man, and he could talk marvellously about medical matters. The Pope in fact wanted him to stay in his service, but he said that he had no intention of entering anyone’s service, and that anyone who wanted him would have to come to him. He was a cunning devil, and he knew what he was doing when he left Rome, because, not many months later, all those he had cured fell so ill that they were a hundred times worse than before. If he had stayed he would have been killed.
He showed off my vases to a great many noblemen, including his Excellency the Duke of Ferrara.43 He told the Duke that they had been given to him by a great nobleman in Rome and that he had told the nobleman that if he wanted to be cured he must give him the two little vases. The nobleman had replied that they were antiques, and that the doctor might ask for anything else and he would not mind, but that he should leave the vases. Then, the doctor said, he had acted as if he would not perform the cure, and so he had obtained what he wanted.
All this was told me in Ferrara by Alberto Bendedio, who very solemnly showed me some earthenware copies of the vases. When I saw them I burst out laughing and then fell silent. As a result, Alberto Bendedio, who was a very pompous man, lost his temper and cried out:
‘You’re laughing at them, eh? I can tell you that not for a thousand years has there been any man capable of even copying them.’
In order not to damage their reputation I kept quiet and admired them in amazement.
In Rome many great noblemen told me that they thought these vases were marvellous works of antique art. Some of them were friends of mine, and so, emboldened by all this, I confessed that I had made them myself. When they refused to believe it, to prove that
I was telling the truth I had to support my claim by making some new designs. My word by itself was not good enough, as Jacomo had cunningly insisted on carrying off the original drawings. This little operation proved quite profitable for me.
The plague raged away for a good few months, and I remained untouched. Many of my friends died but I stayed safe and sound. One evening one of my associates happened to bring home to supper a Bolognese prostitute called Faustina. The woman was very beautiful, but she was about thirty. However she had with her a little maid of about thirteen or fourteen. As Faustina belonged to my friend I would not have touched her for all the gold in the world. Although she declared that she was madly in love with me I never betrayed my friend’s trust. But when they went to bed I had the little maid, who was as fresh as fresh; and it would have been worse for her if her mistress had known it. I had a wonderful time that night and was much more satisfied than I would have been with Faustina.
Next day, towards dinner time, I felt very tired, as if I had been walking for miles, and when I tried to eat I was attacked by a fierce headache. At the same time I discovered some swellings on my left arm, and a carbuncle on the outside of my left wrist.
Everyone in the house was terrified: my friend, the fat cow, and the little one, all ran away, and I was left alone with a wretched shopboy who refused to leave me. I felt stifled round my heart and I knew for certain that I was as good as dead. Then my apprentice’s father, who was the household doctor to Cardinal Iacobacci,44 happened to pass by the shop. My assistant ran out and shouted to him:
‘Father, come and have a look at Benvenuto. He’s slightly ill in bed.’
Not thinking what could be wrong with me, he came in at once and felt my pulse. Then, after he had seen and felt what he would have preferred not to, he turned on his son and shouted:
‘You treacherous boy – you’ve ruined me. How can I ever go to the Cardinal again?’
His son answered: ‘Father, my master is worth all the cardinals in Rome.’
At this the doctor turned to me and said: ‘As I’m here I may as well see to you. But I warn you that if this is the result of intercourse you’re as good as dead.’
I told him that I had indulged in it that very night, and he said: ‘With what sort of creature, and when?’
‘Last night,’ I answered, ‘with a very young girl.’
Realizing he had spoken rather stupidly, he immediately went on to say:
‘As the swellings are recent and not yet putrid, and we’ve started the cure in good time, don’t be too frightened. I shall cure you all right.’
He gave me some treatment and went on his way. Almost immediately a very close friend of mine called Giovanni Rigogli appeared on the scene. He commiserated with me for my terrible illness and for having been deserted by my companion, and he told me I could rely on him not to leave till he saw me better. I said that he was not to stay near me, since I was done for. But I begged him to do one thing for me. I wanted him to take the store of crown pieces that were in a little box by my bed, and, when God took me from this world, to send them off to my poor father, with a letter telling him gently that I too had joined the victims of that terrible epidemic.
That dear friend of mine replied with an out-and-out refusal to leave me and said that whatever way things went he knew perfectly well what he ought to do for his friend. So, with God’s help, the days went by; and the remedies given me were so efficacious that I began to improve tremendously, till I soon recovered from that terrible illness.
While the sore was still open with a plug of lint in it and bandaged up, I used to go out riding on a little wild pony I had. It was covered with long hair and was about the size of a large bear cub; in fact it looked just like a bear. I rode out on it to find the painter, Rosso, who was staying outside Rome, towards Civitavecchia, at a place called Cerveteri that belonged to the Count of Anguillara.45 My friend Rosso was delighted to see me, and I said: ‘I’ve come to do to you what you did to me so many months ago.’
He immediately burst out laughing, flung his arms round me and kissed me, and told me to keep quiet because of the Count. I stayed there very comfortably and happily for about a month, enjoying good wine and the best food, and made much of by the Count. Every day I used to wander by myself along the sea-shore, where I would dismount and collect great quantities of various kinds of rare pebbles, and little snails, and wonderfully beautiful shells. The last day I went there I was attacked by a crowd of masked men who had disembarked from a Moorish caravel. When they thought they had cornered me in a way that escape was impossible, I suddenly leapt on my pony determined to go either to the devil or the deep blue sea, since I was in such a dangerous situation that I knew I would be either shot or drowned. But, thanks to God, my pony – the one I described above – made an incredible jump and I escaped safely, offering prayers to God. I told the Count what had happened. He at once raised the alarm. But the caravel had put out to sea. The next day, healthy and happy, I went back to Rome.
By now the worst of the plague was over, and all those who were still alive went round greeting each other affectionately. This rejoicing gave birth to a society that included the best painters and sculptors and goldsmiths that there were in Rome. The founder of the club was a sculptor called Michelagnolo;46 he came from Siena and was such an expert craftsman that he could be compared with anyone else in his trade. But above all he was the most agreeable and genial man in the world. As far as age was concerned he was the oldest among us, but his vigour made him seem the youngest.
We used to meet together very often, at least twice a week. I must not forget to mention that our society also included Giulio Romano, the painter,47 and Gianfrancesco, two splendid pupils of the great Raphael of Urbino. After we had been meeting time and time again, our admirable president decided that the following Sunday we would all meet for supper at his house, and each of us was to bring what Michelagnolo called his ‘crow’ along with him. Whoever failed to do so would have to stand all the others a supper.
Those of us who did not know any women of the town had to go to no little trouble and expense to get hold of one, in order to avoid being disgraced at our brilliant supper-party. I thought I was well provided for with a very beautiful young woman called Pantasilea who was madly in love with me; but I had to give her up to a close friend of mine, Bachiacca,48 who had been, and still was, passionately fond of her. This gave rise to a few lovers’ quarrels, because when Pantasilea saw how easily I had given her up to Bachiacca she came to the conclusion that I didn’t care a straw for her love, great as it was. Shortly after, her determination to pay me back for the insult led to no end of trouble, which I shall describe when the time comes.
When it was nearly time for us to appear at our brilliant meeting and present our crows I was still without one, but I decided it would be wrong to fail over such a silly thing. What gave me most worry was that I had no wish to have that distinguished gathering see me bring in under my wing some bedraggled old scarecrow. So I hit on a trick that would amuse everyone enormously.
I made up my mind as to what I would do, and then I called in a young lad of sixteen who lived next door, the son of a Spanish coppersmith. He was studying Latin, and was very studious. His name was Diego. He was a handsome boy, with a wonderful complexion, and his head was even more beautifully modelled than that of the ancient statue of Antinous.49 I had drawn him very often and he brought me a great deal of honour. He never went out with anyone and so he was completely unknown. Also, he dressed very badly and slovenly and all he loved was his precious studying.
When he came in I asked him to let me dress him up in the woman’s clothes I had got ready. He was quite willing and put them on at once. Then I quickly improved even his beautiful face by the attractive way I arranged his hair, and I put two little rings in his ears. They had two beautiful large pearls, and as the rings were split I just clipped them on, which made it look as if his lobes were pierced. After that I arranged some beautiful g
old and richly jewelled necklaces round his neck, and adorned his lovely hands with rings.
Then with a smile I took him by the ear and led him in front of my large mirror. When he saw himself he blurted out: ‘Help! is that Diego?’
‘It most certainly is,’ I said. ‘It’s the Diego I have never yet asked for anything, but now I want him to do me one harmless favour, which is that I want him to come out to supper, in the same clothes he has on now, with that famous society I’ve often told him about.’
Now, he was a good-living, thoughtful young man, and very intelligent. He quietened down, stared at the floor, and stood for a while without saying a word. Then, all at once, he looked up at me and said: ‘If it’s with Benvenuto, I’ll come. Let’s be on our way.’
I put a large scarf round his head – the sort that in Rome is called a summer-cloth – and when we reached the meeting-place everyone was already there to welcome us. Michelagnolo was standing between Giulio and Gianfrancesco. When I took the scarf off my pretty young man’s head, Michelagnolo, who as I’ve said before was the pleasantest, wittiest man imaginable, stretched out his hands, placed one on Giulio and one on Gianfrancesco, and with all his strength forced them to bow down. Then he himself, falling on his knees, pretended to cry for mercy and shouted out to everyone:
‘Look at this! Look what the angels of paradise are like. Though they are called angels, some of them are women.’
Then he added:
‘Angel of grace and beauty,
The Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini Page 8
