After I had arrived in Florence I had an audience with Duke Alessandro who welcomed me with extraordinary warmth and tried to persuade me to stay with him. But meanwhile I had run into a sculptor who lived in Florence and who was an old crony of mine, since I had stood as godfather to his son. He was called Tribolo.133 I was having a chat with him when he told me that his first master, Jacopo del Sansovino,134 had sent for him to join him, and as he had never seen Venice and expected to make a good profit he was very eager to go there. Then he asked me if I had ever seen Venice, and I said, no. At this he begged me to go along with him, and I promised that I would.
So my reply to Duke Alessandro was that first I wanted to visit Venice, and afterwards I would be only too pleased to return to his service. He insisted on my promising to do so, and he ordered me to have a talk with him before I left. The next day, having made all my preparations, I went to take leave of the Duke, and I found him in the Pazzi Palace, where at that time the wife and daughters of Signor Lorenzo Cibo135 were living. I sent word to his Excellency that, with his gracious permission, I wanted to set out for Venice, and a reply was brought to me by the young lord Cosimo de’ Medici (today, Duke of Florence). He told me that I was to go and find Niccolò da Monte Aguto, who would give me fifty gold crowns which his Excellency presented to me as a sign of his love.
After I had enjoyed myself I was to come back and work for him.
I received the money from Niccolò and then I went in search of Tribolo, who was ready and waiting. He asked me if I had bound up my sword. I told him that anyone setting out on a journey on horseback shouldn’t do such a thing. Then he said that it was the custom in Florence, because there was in office a certain Ser Maurizio136 who, for the merest trifle, would have whipped St John the Baptist himself; so one had to carry one’s sword bound up till outside the gates. I roared with laughter at all this, and then we set off. We joined up with the courier to Venice, who was known as Lamentone, and in his company we travelled past Bologna to arrive one evening at Ferrara. There we found lodgings in an inn by the piazza and Lamentone went off to find some of the exiles, as he had some letters and messages from their wives. It was with the consent of the Duke that the courier might speak with them, but no one else, under the penalty of the same banishment as theirs.
Meanwhile, as there were still nearly two hours before nightfall, Tribolo and I set out to see the Duke of Ferrara returning from Belfiore,137 where he had been watching the jousting. On the route we ran into a large number of exiled Florentines who stared hard at us, as if trying to force us to talk to them. Tribolo, who was the most timid man I’ve known, kept on saying: ‘Don’t look at them, and don’t say a word to them – if you want to return to Florence.’
We waited to see the Duke come back, and then we returned to the inn where we found Lamentone. About an hour after sunset, Niccoló Benintendi,138 his brother Piero, and another old man who I believe was Jacopo Nardi,139 as well as several young men, appeared on the scene. Straight away they all began to ask the courier for news about their relations in Florence. Tribolo and I kept our distance so that we could avoid talking to them. After they had been chatting for a while with Lamentone, Niccoló Benintendi said:
‘I know those two fellows very well – why’re they shitting themselves rather than speak to us?’
Tribolo, all the same, told me to keep quiet. Then Lamentone said to them that, unlike him, we had not been given permission. Benintendi replied that that was all bosh, and that we could go and rot for all he cared, and added other pretty things of that sort.
At this with all the gentleness I could command I raised my head and said:
‘Gentlemen, you can do us a great deal of harm, but we can’t give you any help, and though you’ve been talking about us very rudely even that won’t make us lose our temper with you.’
The old fellow Nardi said that I had spoken like the fine young man I was. But Niccolò Benintendi broke in:
‘They and their Duke can kiss my arse!’
I replied that he was mistaken about us and that we had nothing to do with his affairs. Then old Nardi took our part and told Benintendi that he was in the wrong; but he still continued insulting us. So I told him that I would say and do something to him that he would find very disagreeable, and that he should mind his own business and leave us alone. He repeated that we and the Duke could kiss his arse, and added that we were all a pack of asses. So then I threw the insult back at him, and drew my sword.
The old man, who wanted to get downstairs first, tripped over at the top, and they all piled on top of him. I dashed forward scraping my sword viciously along the wall, and shouting, ‘I’ll kill the lot of you.’
But I was careful not to hurt any of them, though it would have been only too easy. In the middle of all this commotion, the innkeeper started shouting, Lamentone cried out: ‘Don’t do it!’, some of them were screaming: ‘Help! Murder!’ and the rest: ‘Let’s get out of here!’ They were all in a wonderful muddle and looked just like a herd of swine. Then the innkeeper came along with a light, and I went back upstairs and sheathed my sword.
Lamentone started grumbling at Niccoló Benintendi because of the bad way he had behaved, while the innkeeper said to him:
‘It’s as much as your life is worth to draw a sword here, and if the Duke heard of your audacity he’d have you hanged. I won’t do what you deserve, but if you show yourself in this inn again it’ll be worse for you.’
Then he came up to me and refused to hear of it when I tried to make excuses for myself; he insisted that he understood perfectly well how intolerably I had been provoked, and he warned me to be on my guard against them on the journey.
After we had finished supper a boatman came in to take us on to Venice; I asked him if we could have the boat to ourselves, and when he agreed we struck a bargain. Next morning, good and early, we mounted our horses and set out for the landing-stage, which is a few miles or so from Ferrara. When we arrived there we found Niccoló Benintendi’s brother and three others lying in wait for me. They were carrying two lances, while I was armed with a good pike that I had bought in Ferrara. As I was also well armed I was not the least bit scared – unlike Tribolo who began crying: ‘God help us! They’ve come to kill us.’
Lamentone turned to me and said: ‘The best thing for you to do is to go back to Ferrara. This looks dangerous. Please, Benvenuto, they’re just like mad beasts – don’t provoke their anger.’
I replied: ‘Let’s go on. God helps those who are in the right, and anyhow, you shall see how I can help myself. Isn’t this the boat we hired?’
‘Yes,’ said Lamentone.
‘Then, if I have anything to do with it, we shall get on it in spite of them.’
I spurred on my horse, and when I was within fifty paces of them I dismounted and walked boldly forward holding my pike. Tribolo had stayed behind, huddled on his horse as if he had been frozen, and Lamentone, the courier, was puffing and blowing like the wind itself. That was his usual habit, but he was doing it more than ever now, while he waited to see what the upshot of this devilish business would be. When I reached the boat the boatman came up to me and said that those Florentine gentlemen wanted to join us in it, if I was willing.
I replied: ‘The boat was hired for us and for no one else, and I’m heartbroken that I can’t have their company.’
At this an arrogant young man of the Magalotti family said:
‘Benvenuto, we’ll make it possible for you to do so.’
I answered: ‘If God, and the right that’s on my side, and my own strength have anything to do with it, you’ll do nothing of the kind.’
And as I said this I jumped into the boat. Then I pointed my pike at them and shouted:
‘This’ll prove to you how impossible it is.’
The young Magalotti, wanting to put up some sort of show, gripped his weapon and marched forward. I leapt on to the side of the boat and landed him such a thrust that if he had not fallen backwards I
would have run him through. His friends, far from coming to his help began to move away.
I saw that I could kill him, but instead of attacking I said: ‘Get up, my friend, take your weapons and go away. You can now see clearly enough that I can’t be forced to do what I don’t want to do, and that what I could have done, I didn’t want to.’
Then I called Tribolo, and the boatman, and Lamentone; and we set off for Venice. We had gone ten miles along the Po when the young men, who had climbed on to a skiff, caught us up. As they drew level that fool Piero Benintendi said:
‘Go on your way now, Benvenuto, but we’ll meet again in Venice.’
‘Hurry up then,’ I called back, ‘I’m going there, and I’m ready to meet you at any time.’
So we arrived at Venice. I went to ask advice from a brother of Cardinal Cornaro, and I asked him if I might carry arms. He told me that I might certainly do so, as the worst thing that could happen to me would be to lose my sword.
So, with weapons in our hands, we went to visit the sculptor, Jacopo del Sansovino, who had sent for Tribolo. He gave me a warm welcome and asked us to stay for dinner, which we did. While he was talking to Tribolo he told him that he had no use for his services just then, but that he should come back some other time. At this I burst out laughing and said to Sansovino, with a smile:
‘Your houses are somewhat too far apart if he has to come back some other time.’
Poor Tribolo, who was dumbfounded, managed to say:
‘I’ve got your letter on me – the one you wrote telling me to come.’
Sansovino’s reply to this was that outstanding artists of the kind that he was could do things of that sort, and more. Tribolo shrugged his shoulders and kept murmuring: ‘Patience, patience.’
Despite the excellent dinner that Sansovino had given me this made me take Tribolo’s part. He was clearly in the right, and at the same time all through the meal Sansovino never once stopped boasting about his great achievements, running down Michelangelo and all other sculptors, and praising himself beyond belief. This began to annoy me so much that I felt sick with every mouthful I took.
However I merely commented briefly: ‘Messer Jacopo, outstanding artists act as such, and brilliant men who create good and beautiful works of art are shown in a much better light when others praise them than when they praise themselves so confidently.’
At this we all rose from the table, fuming with anger.
That very same day I was walking near the Rialto when I came across Piero Benintendi, who was with several others. I knew that they were out to do me some harm, so I slipped into a chemist’s shop to wait till the storm had blown over. Afterwards I heard that the young Magalotti, whom I had treated with such courtesy, had given them a severe dressing-down; and so that business was settled.
A few days later we set off back towards Florence. On the way we happened to stay at a place on this side of Chioggia, on the left as you go towards Ferrara. The innkeeper wanted to be paid in his own way before we went to bed, and when I said that in other places it was usual to pay in the morning, he answered: ‘But I want to be paid this evening, and in my own way.’
In reply to this I said that men who wanted to be paid to suit themselves had better make a world to suit themselves, since it was done differently in this world. The landlord answered that I should not go on tormenting him, because he was determined to do it the way he wanted. Tribolo was shaking with fear and nudged me to keep quiet in case worse should happen; so we paid up in the way that was wanted and then went to bed.
We were provided with beautifully comfortable beds, with everything new and spotlessly clean. All the same I didn’t sleep all night with thinking up what I could do to get my own back. One moment I planned to set his house on fire, and the next, to slit the throats of the four good horses that he had in his stable. I saw that it would be easy enough to do this, but I did not see how that would ensure the safety of myself and my friend. Finally what I did was to put Tribolo’s and my own belongings into the boat; then, after the tow-ropes had been attached to the horses, I said that they were not to move the boat till I came back, as I had left a pair of slippers in the bedroom. I went back to the inn and called for the landlord, who said that he would have nothing to do with us and that we could go and stew in a brothel. Standing near me, half-asleep, there was a young lout of a stable-boy who said: ‘The landlord wouldn’t move a finger for the Pope – he’s got a tart in bed with him that he’s been after for a long time.’
Then he asked me for a tip, and I gave him a few of those small Venetian coins and told him to tell the man with the tow-rope to hang on a little till I found my slippers and came back. Then I went upstairs, got a sharp little knife, and used it to cut the four beds that were there into shreds; I reckoned that I had done more than fifty crowns’ worth of damage.
I went back to the boat, with some strips from the bed-covers in my pocket, and hurriedly told the man on the tow-rope to move off at once. We had travelled a little way from the inn when my crony Tribolo said that he had left some of the little straps for his case behind and that he must certainly go back for them. I told him not to worry about a couple of little straps because I could make him some pretty big cracks on the spot.140 He said that I was always having a joke, but that he had to go back for his straps whatever happened. He began ordering the man who was on the tow-rope to stop, while I told him to go on; and at the same time I explained to Tribolo the damage I had done, and showed him a few sample pieces of the bed-covers and the other stuff. This threw him into such a panic that he never left off shouting to the fellow: ‘Get a move on, get a move on quickly.’
He refused to believe that we were out of danger till we had arrived at the gates of Florence.
As soon as we were there Tribolo said: ‘For God’s sake, let’s bind up our swords – and no more mischief. I’ve had shakings in my belly all the time I’ve been with you.’
‘My dear old Tribolo,’ I replied, ‘there’s no need for you to bind up your sword since you’ve never drawn it.’
I said this to him on the spur of the moment, since I had not seen him act once like a man on the whole journey.
At this he looked down at his sword and said: ‘By God, you’re right! It’s still tied up as it was when I fixed it before leaving home.’
My friend thought I had made a poor companion, because I had stuck up for myself and defended myself against people who would have done us harm; and for my part, I thought he had behaved far worse in not coming to my help when I was in difficulties. The impartial observer can judge for himself.
As soon as I had dismounted I went off to find Duke Alessandro. I expressed my deep gratitude for the present of fifty crowns and told his Excellency that I was more than eager to serve him in anything I was capable of. He immediately commissioned me to make the dies for his coinage; and the first I made was a coin worth forty soldi,141 with the head of his Excellency on one side and the figures of St Cosmas and St Damian on the reverse. They were silver coins, and they were so pleasing that the Duke went so far as to say that they were the finest coins in Christendom. And that was also what the whole of Florence and everyone who saw them thought. As a result I begged his Excellency to make me an allowance and to give me the rooms at the Mint. He told me to keep on working for him, and that he would let me have far more than I asked; meanwhile, he said that he had given instructions to the Master of the Mint – a certain Carlo Acciaiuoli – and that I was to go to him for all the money I wanted. I found that he had in fact done so, though I drew money so sparingly that, according to my account, I always kept in credit.
Next I went on to make the dies for the giulio; the design showed St John, in profile, sitting down with a book in his hand; and in my opinion I had never done anything so well. On the other side were the arms of Duke Alessandro. After this I made the dies for the half-giulio, showing the young St John in full-face. This was the first coin ever made with the head full-face on so fine a piece o
f silver; only experts in the art can see how difficult it is. Finally I made the dies for the gold crowns; these were designed with a cross and some little cherubim on one side, and his Excellency’s arms on the other.
When I had finished these four kinds I begged his Excellency to decide on my allowance and to give me over the rooms, if he was satisfied with what I was doing. In reply his Excellency said, very kindly, that he was very pleased with me and that he would have the matter arranged. While I was talking to him he was in his wardrobe, and he was examining a splendid little gun that had been sent him from Germany; seeing that I was eyeing it very intently, he put the beautiful instrument in my hand, saying that he knew very well how much pleasure I took in such things, and that, as a pledge of what he had promised, I might choose from his wardrobe any arquebus that took my fancy, except that one. He added that he knew there were many even more beautifully made, and as good. I accepted his offer and thanked him; and when he saw me looking round the room, he ordered his Master of the Wardrobe, a certain Pretino da Lucca, to let me take whatever I liked. Then after a few very affectionate words he went away. I stayed behind, chose the best and finest-looking arquebus I had ever seen or possessed, and carried it home.
Two days later I took his Excellency the little designs for some works of art in gold that he wanted me to make; he intended to send them as a present to his wife, who was still in Naples.142 I asked him once again if he would hurry up the arrangements for what he had promised me, but his Excellency said that first he wanted me to make the dies for a fine portrait of himself, such as I had done for Pope Clement. I began the portrait in wax, and the Duke commanded that whenever I came along to work on it I should always be shown straight in. Realizing that the job would take some time, I sent for a certain Pietro Pagolo143 from Monte Ritondo, near Rome, who had been with me in Rome from boyhood. I discovered that he was with a goldsmith by the name of Bernardonaccio,144 who was not treating him very well. So I took him away from there, and gave him expert training in how to strike coins from the dies. Meanwhile I was busy on the Duke’s portrait. Quite a few times I found him having an after-dinner nap all alone with that Lorenzo of his,145 who afterwards murdered him. I was astonished that a Duke should trust a man like that.
The Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini Page 19
