The Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini by Benvenuto Cellini
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Benvenuto Cellini >> The Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini
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40 This etext was produced by Norman Wolcott.
Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini
[Redactor’s Note: This version of the Autobiography, one of the most
famous of all time, was translated by John Addington Symonds
(1840-1893). Cellini lived from 1500-1571. This version is in ISO Latin1
with 8 bit accents, and is also supplied in a single file HTML version.]
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The Autobiography of
Benvenuto Cellini
Translated By
John Addington Symonds
With Introduction and Notes
Volume 31
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Introductory Sonnet
THIS tale of my sore-troubled life I write,
To thank the God of nature, who conveyed
My soul to me, and with such care hath stayed
That divers noble deeds I’ve brought to light.
‘Twas He subdued my cruel fortune’s spite:
Life glory virtue measureless hath made
Such grace worth beauty be through me displayed
That few can rival, none surpass me quite.
Only it grieves me when I understand
What precious time in vanity I’ve spent-
The wind it beareth man’s frail thoughts away.
Yet, since remorse avails not, I’m content,
As erst I came, WELCOME to go one day,
Here in the Flower of this fair Tuscan land.
Introductory Note
AMONG the vast number of men who have thought fit to write down the
history of their own lives, three or four have achieved masterpieces
which stand out preeminently: Saint Augustine in his “Confessions,”
Samuel Pepys in his “Diary,” Rousseau in his “Confessions.” It is among
these extraordinary documents, and unsurpassed by any of them, that the
autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini takes its place.
The “Life” of himself which Cellini wrote was due to other motives than
those which produced its chief competitors for first place in its class.
St. Augustine’s aim was religious and didactic, Pepys noted down in his
diary the daily events of his life for his sole satisfaction and with no
intention that any one should read the cipher in which they were
recorded. But Cellini wrote that the world might know, after he was
dead, what a fellow he had been; what great things he had attempted, and
against what odds he had carried them through. “All men,” he held,
“whatever be their condition, who have done anything of merit, or which
verily has a semblance of merit, if so be they are men of truth and good
repute, should write the tale of their life with their own hand.” That
he had done many things of merit, he had no manner of doubt. His repute
was great in his day, and perhaps good in the sense in which he meant
goodness; as to whether he was a man of truth, there is still dispute
among scholars. Of some misrepresentations, some suppressions of
damaging facts, there seems to be evidence only too good-a man with
Cellini’s passion for proving himself in the right could hardly have
avoided being guilty of such-; but of the general trustworthiness of his
record, of the kind of man he was and the kind of life he led, there is
no reasonable doubt.
The period covered by the autobiography is from Cellini’s birth in 1500
to 1562; the scene is mainly in Italy and France. Of the great events of
the time, the time of the Reformation and the Counter-Reformation, of
the strife of Pope and Emperor and King, we get only glimpses. The
leaders in these events appear in the foreground of the picture only
when they come into personal relations with the hero; and then not
mainly as statesmen or warriors, but as connoisseurs and patrons of art.
Such an event as the Sack of Rome is described because Benvenuto himself
fought in it.
Much more complete is the view he gives of the artistic life of the
time. It was the age of Michelangelo, and in the throng of great artists
which then filled the Italian cities, Cellini was no inconsiderable
figure. Michelangelo himself he knew and adored. Nowhere can we gain a
better idea than in this book of the passionate enthusiasm for the
creation of beauty which has bestowed upon the Italy of the Renaissance
its greatest glory.
Very vivid, too, is the impression we receive of the social life of the
sixteenth century; of its violence and licentiousness, of its zeal for
fine craftsmanship, of its abounding vitality, its versatility and its
idealism. For Cellini himself is an epitome of that century. This man
who tells here the story of his life was a murderer and a braggart,
insolent, sensual, inordinately proud and passionate; but he was also a
worker in gold and silver, rejoicing in delicate chasing and subtle
modelling of precious surfaces; a sculptor and a musician; and, as all
who read his book must testify, a great master of narrative. Keen as was
Benvenuto’s interest in himself, and much as he loved to dwell on the
splendor of his exploits and achievements, he had little idea that
centuries after his death he would live again, less by his “Perseus” and
his goldsmith’s work than by the book which he dictated casually to a
lad of fourteen, while he went about his work.
The autobiography was composed between 1558 and 1566, but it brings the
record down only to 1562. The remainder of Cellini’s life seems to have
been somewhat more peaceful. In 1565 he married Piera de Salvadore
Parigi, a servant who had nursed him when he was sick; and in the care
of his children, as earlier of his sister and nieces, he showed more
tenderness than might have been expected from a man of his boisterous
nature. He died at Florence, May 13, 1571, and was buried in The Church
of the Annunziata in that city.
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Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini
I
ALL men of whatsoever quality they be, who have done anything of
excellence, or which may properly resemble excellence, ought, if they
are persons of truth and honesty, to describe their life with their own
hand; but they ought not to attempt so fine an enterprise till they have
passed the age of forty. This duty occurs to my own mind now that I am
travelling beyond the term of fifty-eight years, and am in Florence, the
city of my birth. Many untoward things can I remember, such as happen to
all who live upon our earth; and from those adversities I am now more
free than at any previous period of my career-nay, it seems to me that I
enjoy greater content of soul and health of body than ever I did in
bygone years. I can also bring to mind some pleasant goods and some
inestimable evils, which, when I turn my thoughts backward, strike
terror in me, and astonishment that I should have reached this age of
fifty-eight, wherein, thanks be to God, I am still travelling
prosperously forward.
II
IT is true that men who have laboured with some show of excellence, have
already given knowledge of themselves to the world; and this alone ought
to suffice them; I mean the fact that they have proved their manhood and
achieved renown. Yet one must needs live like others; and so in a work
like this there will always be found occasion for natural bragging,
which is of divers kinds, and the first is that a man should let others
know he draws his lineage from persons of worth and most ancient origin.
I am called Benvenuto Cellini, son of Maestro Giovanni, son of Andrea,
son of Cristofano Cellini; my mother was Madonna Elisabetta, daughter to
Stefano Granacci; both parents citizens of Florence. It is found written
in chronicles made by our ancestors of Florence, men of old time and of
credibility, even as Giovanni Villani writes, that the city of Florence
was evidently built in imitation of the fair city of Rome; and certain
remnants of the Colosseum and the Baths can yet be traced. These things
are near Santa Croce. The Capitol was where is now the Old Market. The
Rotonda is entire, which was made for the temple of Mars, and is now
dedicated to our Saint John. That thus is was, can very well be seen,
and cannot be denied, but the said buildings are much smaller than those
of Rome. He who caused them to built, they say, was Julius Cæsar, in
concert with some noble Romans, who, when Fiesole had been stormed and
taken, raised a city in this place, and each of them took in hand to
erect one of these notable edifices.
Julius Cæsar had among his captains a man of highest rank and valour,
who was called Fiorino of Cellino, which is a village about two miles
distant from Monte Fiascone. Now this Fiorino took up his quarters under
the hill of Fiesole, on the ground where Florence now stands, in order
to be near the river Arno, and for the convenience of the troops. All
those soldiers and others who had to do with the said captain, used then
to say: “Let us go to Fiorenze;” as well because the said captain was
called Fiorino, as also because the place he had chosen for his quarters
was by nature very rich in flowers. Upon the foundation of the city,
therefore, since this name struck Julius Cæsar as being fair and apt,
and given by circumstance, and seeing furthermore that flowers
themselves bring good augury, he appointed the name of Florence for the
town. He wished besides to pay his valiant captain this compliment; and
he loved him all the more for having drawn him from a very humble place,
and for the reason that so excellent a man was a creature of his own.
The name that learned inventors and investigators of such etymologies
adduce, as that Florence is flowing at the Arno, cannot hold; seeing
that Rome is flowing at the Tiber, Ferrara is flowing at the Po, Lyons
is flowing at the Saone, Paris is flowing at the Seine, and yet the
names of all these towns are different, and have come to them by other
ways. [1]
Thus then we find; and thus we believe that we are descended from a man
of worth. Furthermore, we find that there are Cellinis of our stock in
Ravenna, that most ancient town of Italy, where too are plenty of gentle
folk. In Pisa also there are some, and I have discovered them in many
parts of Christendom; and in this state also the breed exists, men
devoted to the profession of arms; for not many years ago a young man,
called Luca Cellini, a beardless youth, fought with a soldier of
experience and a most valorous man, named Francesco da Vicorati, who had
frequently fought before in single combat. This Luca, by his own valour,
with sword in hand, overcame and slew him, with such bravery and
stoutness that he moved the folk to wonder, who were expecting quite the
contrary issue; so that I glory in tracing my descent from men of valour.
As for the trifling honours which I have gained for my house, under the
well-known conditions of our present ways of living, and by means of my
art, albeit the same are matters of no great moment, I will relate these
in their proper time and place, taking much more pride in having been
born humble and having laid some honourable foundation for my family,
than if I had been born of great lineage and had stained or overclouded
that by my base qualities. So then I will make a beginning by saying how
it pleased God I should be born.
Note 1. He is alluding to the name 'Fluenzia,' which some antiquaries of
his day thought to have been the earliest name of the city, derived from
its being near 'Arno Fluente.' I have translated the word 'fluente' in
the text literally, though of course it signifies “situated on a flowing
river.” I need not call attention to the apocryphal nature of Cellini’s
own derivation from the name of his supposed ancestor.
III
MY ancestors dwelt in Val d’ Ambra, where they owned large estates, and
lived like little lords, in retirement, however, on account of the then
contending factions. They were all men devoted to arms and of notable
bravery. In that time one of their sons, the younger, who was called
Cristofano, roused a great feud with certain of their friends and
neighbours. Now the heads of the families on both sides took part in it,
and the fire kindled seemed to them so threatening that their houses
were like to perish utterly; the elders upon this consideration, in
concert with my own ancestors, removed Cristofano; and the other youth
with whom the quarrel began was also sent away. They sent their young
man to Siena. Our folk sent Cristofano to Florence; and there they
bought for him a little house in Via Chiara, close to the convent of S.
Orsola, and they also purchased for him some very good property near the
Ponte a Rifredi. The said Cristofano took wife in Florence, and had sons
and daughters; and when all the daughters had been portioned off, the
sons, after their father’s death, divided what remained. The house in
Via Chiara with some other trifles fell to the share of one of the said
sons, who had the name of Andrea. He also took wife, and had four male
children. The first was called Girolamo, the second Bartolommeo, the
third Giovanni, who was afterwards my father, and the fourth Francesco.
This Andrea Cellini was very well versed in architecture, as it was then
practised, and lived by it as his trade. Giovanni, who was my father,
paid more attention to it than any of the other brothers. And since
Vitruvius says, amongst other things, that one who wishes to practise
that art well must have something of music and good drawing, Giovanni,
when he had mastered drawing, began to turn his mind to music, and
together with the theory learned to play most excellently on the viol
and the flute; and being a person of studious habits, he left his home
but seldom.
They had for neighbour in the next house a man called Stefano Granacci,
who had several daughters, all of them of remarkable beauty. As it
pleased God, Giovanni noticed one of these girls who was named
Elisabetta; and she found such favour with him that he asked her in
marriage. The fathers of both of them being well acquainted through
their close neighbourhood, it was easy to make this match up; and each
thought that he had very well arranged his affairs. First of all the two
good old men agreed upon the marriage; then they began to discuss the
dowry, which led to a certain amount of friendly difference; for Andrea
said to Stefano: “My son Giovanni is the stoutest youth of Florence, and
of all Italy to boot, and if I had wanted earlier to have him married, I
could have procured one of the largest dowries which folk of our rank
get in Florence:” whereupon Stefano answered: “You have a thousand
reasons on your side; but here am I with five daughters and as many
sons, and when my reckoning is made, this is as much as I can possibly
afford.” Giovanni, who had been listening awhile unseen by them,
suddenly broke in and said: “O my father, I have sought and loved that
girl and not their money. Ill luck to those who seek to fill their
pockets by the dowry of their wife! As you have boasted that I am a
fellow of such parts, do you not think that I shall be able to provide
for my wife and satisfy her needs, even if I receive something short of
the portion you would like to get? Now I must make you understand that
the woman is mine, and you may take the dowry for yourself.” At this
Andrea Cellini, who was a man of rather awkward temper, grew a trifle
angry; but after a few days Giovanni took his wife, and never asked for
other portion with her.
They enjoyed their youth and wedded love through eighteen years, always
greatly desiring to be blessed with children. At the end of this time
Giovanni’s wife miscarried of two boys through the unskilfulness of the
doctors. Later on she was again with child, and gave birth to a girl,
whom they called Cosa, after the mother of my father. [1] At the end of
two years she was once more with child; and inasmuch as those longings
to which pregnant women are subject, and to which they pay much
attention, were now exactly the same as those of her former pregnancy,
they made their minds up that she would give birth to a female as
before, and agreed to call the child Reparata, after the mother of my
mother. It happened that she was delivered on a night of All Saints,
following the feast-day, at half-past four precisely, in the year 1500.
[2] The midwife, who knew that they were expecting a girl, after she had
washed the baby and wrapped it in the fairest white linen, came softly
to my father Giovanni and said: “I am bringing you a fine present, such
as you did not anticipate.” My father, who was a true philosopher, was
walking up and down, and answered: “What God gives me is always dear to
me;” and when he opened the swaddling clothes, he saw with his own eyes
the unexpected male child. Joining together the palms of his old hands,
he raised them with his eyes to God, and said “Lord, I thank Thee with
my whole heart; this gift is very dear to me; let him be Welcome.” All
the persons who were there asked him joyfully what name the child should
bear. Giovanni would make no other answer than “Let him be
Welcome-Benvenuto;” [3] and so they resolved, and this name was given me
at Holy Baptism, and by it I still am living with the grace of God.
Note 1. Cosa is Florentine for Niccolòsa.
Note 2. The hour is reckoned, according to the old Italian fashion, from
sunset of one day to sunset of the next-twenty-four hours.
Note 3. Benvenuto means Welcome.
IV
ANDREA CELLINI was yet alive when I was about three years old, and he
had passed his hundredth. One day they had been altering a certain
conduit pertaining to a cistern, and there issued from it a great
scorpion unperceived by them, which crept down from the cistern to the
ground, and slank away beneath a bench. I saw it, and ran up to it, and
laid my hands upon it. It was so big that when I had it in my little
hands, it put out its tail on one side, and on the other thrust forth
both its mouths. [1] They relate that I ran in high joy to my
grandfather, crying out: “Look, grandpapa, at my pretty little crab.”
When he recognised that the creature was a scorpion, he was on the point
of falling dead for the great fear he had and anxiety about me. He
coaxed and entreated me to give it him; but the more he begged, the
tighter I clasped it, crying and saying I would not give it to any one.
My father, who was also in the house, ran up when he heard my screams,
and in his stupefaction could not think how to prevent the venomous
animal from killing me. Just then his eyes chanced to fall upon a pair
of scissors; and so, while soothing and caressing me, he cut its tail
and mouths off. Afterwards, when the great peril had been thus averted,
he took the occurrence for a good augury.
When I was about five years old my father happened to be in a
basement-chamber of our house, where they had been washing, and where a
good fire of oak-logs was still burning; he had a viol in his hand, and
was playing and singing alone beside the fire. The weather was very
cold. Happening to look into the fire, he spied in the middle of those
most burning flames a little creature like a lizard, which was sporting
in the core of the intensest coals. Becoming instantly aware of what the
thing was, he had my sister and me called, and pointing it out to us
children, gave me a great box on the ears, which caused me to howl and
weep with all my might. Then he pacified me good-humouredly, and spoke
as follows: “My dear little boy, I am not striking you for any wrong
that you have done, but only to make you remember that that lizard which
you see in the fire is a salamander, a creature which has never been
seen before by any one of whom we have credible information.” So saying,
he kissed me and gave me some pieces of money.
Note 1. The word is 'bocche,' so I have translated it by 'mouths.' But
Cellini clearly meant the gaping claws of the scorpion.
V
MY father began teaching me to play upon the flute and sing by note; by
notwithstanding I was of that tender age when little children are wont
to take pastime in whistles and such toys, I had an inexpressible
dislike for it, and played and sang only to obey him. My father in those
times fashioned wonderful organs with pipes of wood, spinets the fairest
and most excellent which then could be seen, viols and lutes and harps
of the most beautiful and perfect construction. He was an engineer, and
had marvellous skill in making instruments for lowering bridges and for
working mills, and other machines of that sort. In ivory he was the
first who wrought really well. But after he had fallen in love with the
woman who was destined to become my mother-perhaps what brought them
together was that little flute, to which indeed he paid more attention
than was proper-he was entreated by the fifers of the Signory to play in
their company. Accordingly he did so for some time to amuse himself,
until by constant importunity they induced him to become a member of
their band. Lorenzo de’ Medici and Pietro his son, who had a great
liking for him, perceived later on that he was devoting himself wholly
to the fife, and was neglecting his fine engineering talent and his
beautiful art. [1] So they had him removed from that post. My father
took this very ill, and it seemed to him that they had done him a great
despite. Yet he immediately resumed his art, and fashioned a mirror,
about a cubit in diameter, out of bone and ivory, with figures and
foliage of great finish and grand design. The mirror was in the form of
a wheel. In the middle was the looking-glass; around it were seven
circular pieces, on which were the Seven Virtues, carved and joined of
ivory and black bone. The whole mirror, together with the Virtues, was
placed in equilibrium, so that when the wheel turned, all the Virtues
moved, and they had weights at their feet which kept them upright.
Possessing some acquaintance with the Latin tongue, he put a legend in
Latin round his looking-glass, to this effect-”Whithersoever the wheel
of Fortune turns, Virtue stands firm upon her feet:”
Rota sum: semper, quoquo me verto, stat Virtus.
A little while after this he obtained his place again among the fifers.
Although some of these things happened before I was born, my familiarity
with them has moved me to set them down here. In those days the
musicians of the Signory were all of them members of the most honourable
trades, and some of them belonged to the greater guilds of silk and
wool; [2] and that was the reason why my father did not disdain to
follow this profession, and his chief desire with regard to me was
always that I should become a great performer on the flute. I for my
part felt never more discontented than when he chose to talk to me about
this scheme, and to tell me that, if I liked, he discerned in me such
aptitudes that I might become the best man in the world.
Note 1. The Medici here mentioned were Lorenzo the Magnificent, and his
son Pietro, who was expelled from Florence in the year 1494. He never
returned, but died in the river Garigliano in 1504.
Note 2. In the Middle Ages the burghers of Florence were divided into
industrial guilds called the Greater and the Lesser Arts. The former
took precedence of the latter, both in political importance and in
social esteem.
VI
AS I have said, my father was the devoted servant and attached friend of
the house of Medici; and when Piero was banished, he entrusted him with
many affairs of the greatest possible importance. Afterwards, when the
magnificent Piero Soderini was elected, and my father continued in his
office of musician, Soderini, perceiving his wonderful talent, began to
employ him in many matters of great importance as an engineer. [1] So
long as Soderini remained in Florence, he showed the utmost good-will to
my father; and in those days, I being still of tender age, my father had
me carried, and made me perform upon the flute; I used to play treble in
concert with the musicians of the palace before the Signory, following
my notes: and a beadle used to carry me upon his shoulders. The
Gonfalonier, that is, Soderini, whom I have already mentioned, took much
pleasure in making me chatter, and gave me comfits, and was wont to say
to my father: “Maestro Giovanni, besides music, teach the boy those
other arts which do you so much honour.” To which my father answered: “I
do not wish him to practise any art but playing and composing; for in
this profession I hope to make him the greatest man of the world, if God
prolongs his life.” To these words one of the old counsellors made
answer: “Ah! Maestro Giovanni, do what the Gonfalonier tells you! for
why should he never become anything more than a good musician?”
Thus some time passed, until the Medici returned. [2] When they arrived,
the Cardinal, who afterwards became Pope Leo, received my father very
kindly. During their exile the scutcheons which were on the palace of
the Medici had had their balls erased, and a great red cross painted
over them, which was the bearing of the Commune. [3] Accordingly, as
soon as they returned, the red cross was scratched out, and on the
scutcheon the red balls and the golden field were painted in again, and
finished with great beauty. My father, who possessed a simple vein of
poetry, instilled in him by nature, together with a certain touch of
prophecy, which was doubtless a divine gift in him, wrote these four
verses under the said arms of the Medici, when they were uncovered to
the view:-
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