The Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini

by Benvenuto Cellini

  The Pope had just given me instructions to make this beautiful coin when Bandinello the sculptor came up. This was before he had been knighted; and with his usual mixture of presumption and ignorance he said: ‘The goldsmiths must be provided with designs for such beautiful works.’

  I immediately turned to him and told him that I had no need of his designs for my work, but that I felt sure that before long my designs would deal some nasty blows to his. The Pope was delighted at what I said, and leaning towards me he added:

  ‘Now go along my dear Benvenuto, put all your energies into serving me, and pay no attention to what these idiots say.’

  So off I went, and in next to no time I made two steel dies. I stamped a coin, in gold, and one Sunday after dinner brought this coin and the dies along to the Pope. When he saw them he was astonished as well as delighted, not only because of my superb craftsmanship, which impressed him tremendously, but even more because I had been so incredibly quick about it. To add still further to the Pope’s delight and amazement I had brought with me all the old coins that had been stamped years ago by those expert craftsmen who worked for Pope Julius and Pope Leo. Then, when I saw that he thought mine were superior, I took a petition from my breast pocket, in which I asked to be appointed superintendent of the dies. 81 The job itself was worth six gold crowns a month, without counting the dies which were paid for by the Master of the Mint at the rate of a ducat for three.

  The Pope took my petition and then turned to give it to his datary, telling him to have it seen to straight away, The secretary took it, and, as he was slipping it into his pocket, he commented:

  ‘Holy Father, your Holiness should not be in such a great hurry; these matters call for a great deal of deliberation.’

  ‘I’ve heard what you say,’ replied the Pope. ‘Now give me that petition.’

  He took hold of it, impulsively signed it in his own hand, and then handed it back with the remark:

  ‘I don’t think you have any answer to that. Hurry the business up, now; that is how I want it. Benvenuto’s shoes are worth more than the eyes of all those other numskulls.’

  I thanked his Holiness and went back to my work, overjoyed beyond words.

  I was at that time still working in the shop belonging to Raffaello del Moro, whom I mentioned before. This worthy man had a very beautiful young daughter, and in his plans for her he had some designs on me. I became partly aware of this and liked the idea very much, but all the same I gave no hint of what I felt. In fact I was so reticent that he was quite astonished.

  Now it happened that this poor young girl’s right hand became diseased, and the two bones, of her little finger and the one next to it, were eaten into. Through the carelessness of her father the girl was attended to by an ignorant quack who said that even if worse did not happen her whole right arm would be crippled. When I saw how tremendously dismayed her poor father was I told him not to put his faith in all that was told him by such an ignorant doctor. He then told me that none of his friends were doctors or surgeons, and begged me, if I knew of anyone, to call him in.

  Without any delay I sent for a doctor, called Jacomo, who came from Perugia 82 and who was a first-rate surgeon. The young girl was terrified because she must have guessed what the quack had said, but when this competent surgeon saw her he told us that she would not be harmed in the slightest, and that she would be able to use her right hand perfectly well. Even though her two end fingers would remain a little weaker than the others, this would be no impediment at all.

  He began his treatment, and then, a few days later when he wanted to cut away some of the diseased bone, her father called me in so that I too should see something of what the poor girl had to suffer. The doctor was using a number of clumsy iron instruments, I saw what little progress he was making, and how terribly he was hurting the girl, and I told him to hold off for five minutes till I returned. Then I ran along to the workshop and made a very delicate little steel tool, curved, and sharp enough for a razor. When I came back the doctor began work with it, so gently that she felt no pain at all, and the operation was soon finished. For this reason among others her worthy father began to love me as much as or even more than he loved his two sons. And he did his very best to restore his beautiful young daughter’s health.

  In those days I was very friendly with a Messer Giovanni Gaddi,83 a clerk of the Camera who was very fond of the arts, although he himself had no artistic talent. Living with him there was a very scholarly Greek, called Giovanni; 84 a Lodovico da Fano,85 also a great scholar; Messer Antonio Allegretti; 86 and Annibal Caro,87 who was then still a young man. That excellent painter, the Venetian, Bastiano,88 and I myself enjoyed their company; and we used to meet at Giovanni’s almost every day.

  It was my friendship with Giovanni that led that upright goldsmith, Raffaello, to say to him:

  ‘My dear Messer Giovanni, I think you know what sort of man I am. Now, I want to give my young daughter to Benvenuto, and I can’t think of any go-between better than your lordship. So I beg you to help me, and I want you yourself to decide what her dowry should be.’

  He had hardly finished what he had to say when the hare-brained fellow, completely at random, interrupted him with:

  ‘Talk no more about it, Raffaello – you’re farther away from getting what you want than January is from blackberries.’

  The poor man completely gave up hope and soon began trying to marry her off to someone else. The mother, the girl herself, and all the family were furious with me, and I did not even know the reason why. As I concluded they must be paying me back with bad money for all the kindness I had shown them, I decided to open in the same district a shop of my own. Giovanni said nothing to me till after the girl was married, which happened a few months later.

  Meanwhile I was working hard in order to finish the morse, and I was also serving the Mint, for the Pope had ordered me to design another coin, with the value of two carlins. On one side was to be his Holiness’s head, and on the reverse the figure of Christ walking on the sea and stretching out His hand to St Peter, with the inscription: Quare dubitasti? The coin pleased everyone so much that one of the Pope’s secretaries, who was an extremely accomplished man called Sanga,89 said to him:

  ‘For all their show, your Holiness can pride himself on having a coinage unequalled by what the ancients had.’

  The Pope replied: ‘And Benvenuto can take pride in serving an emperor like myself who recognizes his worth.’

  While I was employed on the great work in gold I used to show it to the Pope almost every day, at his own request: and whenever he saw it his astonishment increased.

  At that time one of my brothers was in the service of Duke Alessandro at Rome. 90 The Duke, for whom the Pope had recently obtained the Duchy of Penna, had in his pay a large number of first-rate fighting-men who had been trained in the school of Giovanni de’ Medici. They were all courageous men, but the Duke reckoned that my brother was one of the bravest among them.

  One day after lunch he went along to the shop of a certain Baccino della Croce, a place near the Banchi which all those fine fellows were in the habit of frequenting, stretched himself out on a couch, and fell asleep. Just then, the police patrol passed by, with one of Giovanni’s men – a captain from Lombardy called Cisti, who was no longer in the Duke’s service – under arrest. Another captain, Cattivanza degli Strozzi,91 happened to be at the door of the shop, and when Cisti saw him he shouted out:

  ‘I was going to bring you those few coins I owe you – if you still want them, you’d better do something before they throw me and my money into prison!’

  Captain Cattivanza was the sort of man who was always ready to egg others on but didn’t care to risk his own skin; so finding a number of daring young men standing near by, he told them to run after Cisti and get the money from him, and if the police resisted to show their mettle by using force. There were only four of them, bold enough but hardly suited to such a tricky business, and they were all very you
ng. One was called Bertino Aldobrandi, another Anguillotto da Lucca, and I forget the names of the rest. Bertino had been trained by my brother and was a very keen follower of his; and my brother in turn was passionately fond of him.

  Well, these four daring young men dashed after the police, who were armed with pikes, arquebuses, and two-handed swords, and who numbered more than fifty, and after exchanging a few words they drew their weapons. They attacked with such tremendous vigour that if Cattivanza had only shown his face, without even drawing sword, the police would have been put to flight.

  But after a short struggle Bertino received some ugly wounds and was beaten to the ground, while Anguillotto was wounded in the right arm, couldn’t use his sword, and so got away as well as he could. When the other two had made off, Bertino was lifted from the ground, dangerously wounded.

  While all this was taking place we were still sitting round the table, because that morning dinner had been served an hour later than usual. Hearing the noise, the eldest son, Giovanni, got up to go and see what all the fracas was about.

  I said to him: ‘For God’s sake don’t meddle – in matters like this you’re certain to lose something, and there’s nothing to be gained.’

  His father said much the same, also begging him not to go. But he was already running downstairs without paying the slightest attention to us. As soon as he arrived at the Banchi, where the fight had taken place, he saw Bertino being picked up, and started to run back.

  But on the way he met my brother, Cecchino, who asked him what was up; and although some onlookers made signs for him to keep his mouth shut he shouted out like a madman that Bertino Aldobrandi had been murdered by the police. My poor brother let out a roar that could have been heard ten miles away and said: ‘Can you just let me know which one of them killed him?’

  Giovanni said, yes, that it was the man who carried a two-handed sword and wore a blue feather in his cap. My poor brother dashed off, recognized the murderer by the way he had been described, and with his usual boldness flung himself furiously into the middle of the patrol. Before the man whom he was after had time to get on guard, he ran him right through the belly and forced him to the ground with the hilt of his sword.

  Then he turned on the others with such ferocious energy that he would have driven them off by himself, if it had not been for the fact that one of them, firing his arquebus in self-defence, wounded the brave, unlucky young fellow above the right knee. As he lay there on the ground the police ran off, fearing a possible attack from another fighter as formidable as he was.

  As the tumult still continued, I too rose from the table, buckled on my sword (in those days everyone used to wear one) and went to the bridge of Sant’Angelo, where I found a crowd had gathered. I was recognized by some of them, who made way for me and when I went forward curiously showed me something I would have been far from taking great pains to see had I known what it was.

  At first I did not realize it was my brother, because his clothes were different from those he had had on a short time before. So he recognized me first, and said:

  ‘My dear brother, don’t let my bad luck upset you – it’s only what my sort of employment asks for. But get me away from here quickly. I’ve only a few hours left.’

  While he was talking, with the terseness that such a situation demands I was told what had happened. I replied to him:

  ‘Brother, this is the saddest blow I could ever receive. But never despair – before you close your eyes you shall see me get revenge on the man who wounded you.’

  Our words were packed with significance, but very brief.

  By this time the guard was some fifty paces away from us, because the chief constable, Maffio,92 had made some of them turn back to carry away the corporal my brother had killed. I walked briskly towards them, with my cloak tightly wrapped round me, and went right up to Maffio. I would certainly have killed him, since I mingled with the very thick crowd around him. Then, as quick as lightning, I was half out with my sword, when Berlinghier Berlinghieri 93 bound my arms from behind. This Berlinghier was a very bold young man, who was a great friend of mine. On this occasion he had with him four other young men like himself; and they shouted to Maffio:

  ‘Get out of here – this man was just about to kill you by himself.’

  Maffio asked who I was, and they replied: ‘He’s the brother of the man you see over there.’

  That was all he wanted to hear; he hurriedly beat a retreat to the Torre di Nona; 94 and they said to me:

  ‘Benvenuto, we restrained you by force, but it was for your own good. Now let’s go and look after your brother – he’s sinking fast.’

  We walked back to my brother, and I had him carried into a house. The doctors who were consulted treated him, but could not make up their minds whether or not to cut off his leg – and perhaps that would have saved him. Anyhow, as soon as the wound had been attended to Duke Alessandro appeared on the scene. He spoke very affectionately to Cecchino, who was still conscious, and then my brother said to him:

  ‘My lord, my only regret is that you’ve lost a servant who may not be the bravest of your soldiers but whom you’ll never replace with anyone who loves you as much and is as loyal as I have been.’

  The Duke said that he must think only of saving his life; and as for the rest, he well knew his courage and loyalty. Then he turned to some of his attendants and told them to make sure that the brave young man went in want of nothing.

  When he had left, Cecchino’s wound started to bleed so copiously that it was impossible to stanch it, and as a result he went out of his mind. He was raving without stop all the following night, except for when they wanted to give him communion, and then he said:

  ‘You should have given me confession before this. Now it’s impossible for me to receive the blessed sacrament in this wreck of a body. Let me receive it spiritually through my eyes, and then it will enlighten my immortal soul, which only begs Him for mercy and forgiveness.’

  When he had said this the sacrament was taken away, and he fell into the same delirium as before, compounded of the most horrible words and the most terrifying ravings imaginable. This went on all night, without a break. As the sun rose over the horizon, he turned to me and said:

  ‘My dear brother, I don’t want to stay here any longer, because they’ll force me to do something desperate that will make them regret having crossed my path.’

  Then he flung out both his legs, raising the one that we had put inside a very heavy case, as if he were mounting a horse. Finally, he turned and looked at me and repeated three times: ‘Good-bye, good-bye.’ With this last word, his brave soul departed.

  At the proper time, which was later on in the day, towards nightfall, I had him buried with the greatest honour in the church of the Florentines. Afterwards I had a very beautiful marble monument made for him, with trophies and banners adorning it. I must not forget to mention that when one of his friends had asked him whether he knew the man who had let fire at him with the arquebus, he had said, yes, and had described him. Although my brother had tried hard to prevent my hearing, I had heard only too well; and in due course I shall tell what the result was.

  But to come back to the marble stone. A number of brilliant men of letters, who knew Cecchino, gave me an epitaph which they said such a splendid young man well deserved. It ran as follows:

  Francisco Cellino Florentino, qui quod in teneris annis ad Ioannem Medicem ducem plures victorias retulit et signifer fuit, facile documentum dedit quantae fortitudinis et consilii vir futurus erat, ni crudelis fati archibuso transfossus, quinto aetatis lustro jaceret, Benvenutus frater posuit. Obiit die xxvii Maii, mdxxix.

  He was twenty-five years old. As the soldiers used to call him Cecchino, the Fifer’s son – although his real name was Giovanfrancesco Cellini – I wanted to have the name by which he was usually known engraved under our coat of arms. I had this name cut in very beautiful antique letters, all of which were broken except the first and the last. The wri
ters who had composed that fine epitaph for me asked why I had done this. I told them that the letters were broken because his splendid body was itself wasted and dead; and the first and the last were left entire, because the first was in memory of the great gift given him by God of a soul kindled by divine power, a soul which was never broken; and the last was left entire to record the glory and fame of his brilliant courage. This idea they thought very noble, and it has since then been used by others.

  I also had the arms of the Cellini family carved on to the stone, but I changed them slightly. In Ravenna, which is a very ancient city, the Cellini family is held in great honour and has for its coat of arms a lion rampant, in gold, against a field of azure, with a red lily clasped in his right paw, with a label above and three little golden lilies. That is the proper Cellini coat of arms. The one my father showed me had only the paw, along with the rest of the bearings; but I would prefer to follow that of the Cellinis of Ravenna, as described above.

  To return to what I carved on my brother’s tomb: I had the lion’s paw, clasping an axe in place of a lily, with the field quartered. The axe was there only to remind me that I had to revenge him.

  I worked as industriously as I could, trying to finish the work that I was doing in gold for Pope Clement. He was very anxious to have it, and he used to send for me twice or three times a week in order to have a look at it. Every time he saw it, he was more delighted than before. But very often he would reproach me, almost angrily, because of my great sorrow over my brother’s death; and on one occasion, when he saw me unusually crushed and dispirited, he said:

  ‘Oh, Benvenuto? I never realized you were an idiot. Didn’t you know before now that there’s no remedy for death? You are doing your best to follow him.’

  I left the Pope and went back home to carry on with the morse and with my work for the Mint.95 But at the same time I began to keep a close watch on the arquebusier who had smashed my brother, as if he were a girl I was madly in love with. This fellow had once been a light cavalry soldier, and then he had joined the chief constable’s corporals as an arquebusier. What increased my fury was that he had boasted about what he had done, saying: