THE GREAT SIEGE OF ST. ANGELO
Leo X--The Castle witnesses many foul deeds--It is beautified and
state apartments added--Clement VII improves and embellishes
it--The Castle attacked by Charles of Bourbon on behalf of the
emperor Charles V--Stands a long siege--Benvenuto Cellini does good
service--Remarkable character of that eminent goldsmith--His story
as told in his Memoirs--Clement VII takes refuge in the
castle--Cellini commands a battery and does great execution upon
the enemy--Helps the pope to conceal his jewels.
The pontificate of Leo X was the golden age of the arts, though crimes
of every character were still unchecked in Rome. The pope, one of the
Medici of Florence, who had reason to suspect Cardinal Alfonso Petrucci
of being privy to a plot to murder him, dissimulated his anger and
affectionately invited the cardinal to visit Rome. Petrucci was promised
a safe conduct and the pope gave his word to the Spanish ambassador that
the cardinal should come to no harm. He arrived accompanied by a friend,
also a cardinal, and both were immediately arrested and imprisoned in
St. Angelo. An extensive conspiracy was supposed to be on foot, and many
other victims found their way to the dungeons of the castle. The exact
fate that overtook them was never made known, but it is certain that
Petrucci and his friend were put to the torture, and after trial and
conviction the first-named was strangled in his cell, and the second was
only released after the payment of an exorbitant fine; even then he had
purchased freedom with death hanging over him from slow poison which had
been administered to him before his release. Leo X also made away with
Gian Paolo Baglioni, ruler of Perugia, whom he suspected of a secret
understanding with his enemies. Baglioni was distrustful and hesitated
to answer a summons to Rome, but went at last, relying upon the fair
promises that he should come to no harm. Leo received him at St. Angelo,
which he was visiting temporarily, and there was no hope for Baglioni,
who was seized and subjected at once to torture, under which he
confessed to many crimes. He was then cast into a dungeon, where he
lingered for a couple of months, and was eventually decapitated.
Leo X had a strong liking for the castle and constantly resided there in
the apartments, most of which are still on view, and which he greatly
beautified. By his order Michael Angelo designed the marble front for
the chapel of the Angel already erected in the topmost part. This upper
story was the scene of a theatrical representation when Ariosto’s comedy
“_I Suppositi_” was performed under the direction of Cardinal Bibbiena,
the stage decorations being the work of Raphael. To facilitate the
pope’s ascent to the upper story, the governor of the castle
constructed a lift or elevator communicating from the ground floor to
the top of the castle, one of the earliest instances of the domestic use
of hydraulics. The remains of this elevator may still be seen in the
guiding beams inserted in the well or shaft for the movement of the cage
or platform.
Another Medicis, Giulio, who became pope in 1553, with the title of
Clement VII, was strenuous in his efforts to embellish the castle, being
more eager to decorate and improve it than to strengthen it, although it
was destined to receive some severe shocks during his reign. One of his
works was to replace the angel destroyed by the gunpowder explosion, and
a marble statue was provided by Raphael, son of Baccio da Monte-Lupo,
who also added some fine decoration in stone work and scagliola in many
of the principal rooms. Clement VII was often at issue with other
European potentates and especially with the emperor Charles V, who
declared war against him and invaded his dominions. Clement at first
hoped that the people of Rome would support him in his resistance to the
enemy, but was disappointed, and lingering too long in the Vatican, only
escaped capture at the last moment by a hurried flight along the covered
passage into his stronghold of St. Angelo. The Leonine city forthwith
became the prey of the German troops, who overran the whole Borgo,
sacking the houses of the cardinals and courtiers, pillaging the
Vatican and robbing St. Peter’s of everything of value. They were
checked only by the guns of St. Angelo, and withdrew at nightfall
carrying off their booty. The next day the emperor made overtures and
terms were arranged at a conference between them. It was only a truce of
brief duration, for Clement soon became embroiled with the emperor
Charles V and sided with the French against him. This brought on him a
fresh and more serious attack from Duke Charles of Bourbon, who,
although a cousin of the French king and constable of France, had
transferred his services to Charles V.
The following episode in the chequered fortunes of St. Angelo is
especially interesting, for it brings upon the scene that strange but
remarkable character, Benvenuto Cellini, who was to a great extent the
hero of the siege. We have fortunately an ample and graphic record of
his adventurous life, by his own hand, in the autobiographical memoirs
which Horace Walpole thought “more amusing than any novel” and which are
indeed, as they have been styled, “the most entertaining and delightful
work in the whole compass of Italian literature.” The learned historian
Roscoe, who edited these memoirs, ably summarises the advantages enjoyed
by the author. Benvenuto Cellini belonged to a golden age of the arts,
essentially that of the Old Masters; he was intimately associated with
Michael Angelo, Titian and the most eminent sculptors and painters of
the time; he was on friendly terms with popes and monarchs, great
princes, powerful statesmen, distinguished commanders, lordly
ecclesiastics, and braving displeasure, held his head high, speaking his
mind freely to all. We are admitted behind the scenes and see these
historic personages in their private and domestic life, betraying
themselves unconsciously at their worst, exposing their small vices,
their meanness, pettiness, ingratitude, and yielding to their greater
passions which often impelled them to cruelty, injustice, rank
oppression and violent crime. Cellini’s presentment of people and things
in his epoch is extraordinarily vivid and forcible; he was a prominent
actor in many of the eventful episodes of that stormy period; he had the
gift of language and the power to describe with vigour and precision the
moving scenes of which he was an eye-witness and frequently participated
in. He is conceited, self-sufficient, bombastic; he blows his own
trumpet continually and is always full of vain-glorious satisfaction at
the supreme excellence of his work and his triumph over all competitors.
Of mercurial disposition he is quick to quarrel with any one, to resent
offence, not always intended, but ever ready to justify his ebullitions
of ill temper, sword in hand to face his enemies and fight all comers.
Withal he was a genius of the first water; his productions, as fully
proved by the work that survives, were fine specimens of his versatile
artistic power, and we need only refer to his principal achievement, the
great bronze statue of Perseus, which all the world admires to-day in
the Galeria dei Lanzi of Florence. Cellini was a Florentine, a subject
of the Medicis, born in the days of Lorenzo the Magnificent, and his
father, an admirable artist in ivory, an engineer and a notable
musician, was much favoured by that liberal patron of the arts. In his
youth Benvenuto bound himself to a goldsmith, and according to Vasari,
had “no equal in that branch for many years, nor in making fine figures
of alto and basso relievo.... He set jewels and adorned them with
admirable collets and diminutive figures so exquisitely formed and some
of them so curious and fanciful that nothing finer can be conceived.”
His father would have preferred that he should apply himself to music,
but Benvenuto stuck to his trade and, as he tells us, “so great was my
inclination to improve that in a few months I rivalled the most skilful
journeyman in the business.... I continued however to play sometimes
through complacence, either upon the flute or the horn, and I constantly
drew tears and deep sighs from him when he heard me. From a feeling of
filial piety I often gave him that satisfaction, endeavouring to
persuade him that it also gave me particular pleasure.” Benvenuto being
concerned with his brother in a serious affray, was banished from
Florence and wandered through some of the northern cities following his
trade, but returned and was invited to England in the employment of King
Henry VII. He would not leave his native city, however, where he became
the victim of envious rivals “who robbed and calumniated him, doing him
the greatest injustice.” He says: “They declared loudly they would make
me repent, but I, being a stranger to fear, little regarded their
menaces.” A fierce quarrel soon followed, Benvenuto was injured and
retaliated by striking one of his assailants to the ground where he lay
motionless and insensible. Drawing a knife he cried: “Some one run for a
confessor as there will be no necessity for a surgeon.” Benvenuto was
arrested and carried before the council of eight, who would have sent
him to prison, but through the good offices of friends only a penalty of
a fine was imposed. His passionate temper would not suffer him to sink
his differences, and running to his workshop, he took up a dagger,
meaning to make short work of his adversaries. Single handed he attacked
the whole family of the man who had been the originator of the quarrel.
They were a dozen in number, all armed with cudgels, hammers and scraps
of iron. “Rushing amongst them like a mad bull,” he says, “I threw down
four or five and fell to the ground along with them, now aiming my
dagger at one, now at another.” No fatal consequences ensued, however,
for Benvenuto adds, “Upon looking about for the wounded and slain, it
appeared that none of them had sustained any injury.” After this
disturbance, Benvenuto knew that he must fly, for the authorities vowed
vengeance. The magistrates assembled, decreed his immediate arrest, and
threatened the severest penalties against any one who dared to grant him
an asylum or be privy to his concealment. Cellini’s father pleaded for
mercy and begged hard that his youthful but hot-headed son might be
spared, but was peremptorily bidden to take himself off. There could be
no safety for Benvenuto, who forthwith left the city, disguised as a
friar accompanied by a lay brother. Outside the walls horses were
provided, and the fugitive galloped away to Sienna on the road to Rome.
At Sienna he encountered a messenger bringing the news that Cardinal
Giulio Medicis had been elected pope and had taken the title of Clement
VII.
Fortune smiled on Benvenuto Cellini when he reached the Holy City. He
found plenty of work and many kindly patrons; he was permitted to sit at
the feet of Michael Angelo, who was then engaged in the adornment of the
Sistine Chapel, and was welcomed at the house of Agostino Chigi, who
possessed many fine paintings of Raphael, which he was allowed to copy
for use in his own designs. Work was plentiful. He received a commission
to set some fine diamonds for a beautiful Roman lady and produced a
perfect piece, which won him great fame and a substantial reward.
Another order came from the bishop of Salamanca for a large silver vase
to contain water. But in the midst of this congenial and profitable
employment the claims of music once more interposed. By way of pleasing
his aged father, he agreed to join the pope’s private band for a special
chamber concert, and acquitted himself so well that Clement asked his
name. Finding Benvenuto was the son of Giovanni Cellini of Florence, the
pope proposed to take him into his service as a musician, but learning
that he was an expert goldsmith and jeweller, promised him constant
employment in that direction also. Meanwhile the commission for the
bishop of Salamanca was being executed, but that proud and overbearing
prelate offended Cellini by constantly demanding that the vase should be
sent to him, that he might judge for himself what progress was being
made. Cellini, quick-tempered as usual, refused to part with it without
some payment on account, and the bishop essayed to take the vase by
force. A crowd of Spaniards came down upon Cellini’s shop, but were
faced by Benvenuto with a loaded fowling piece. “Miscreants! traitors!
cut-throats!” he cried, “are the houses and shops of citizens to be
assaulted in this manner? If any thief amongst you offers to approach
this door, I will shoot him dead.” The disturbance brought out the
neighbours to support Cellini, and he was assured that if he killed the
Spanish dogs they would stand by him. Whereupon the Spaniards ran off in
a terrible panic and reported the matter to their bishop. The prelate
severely reprimanded them for attempting such an act of violence, but he
was furiously angry with Benvenuto, and sent a message to him that if
he did not bring the piece of plate directly, he would leave no part of
his body entire but his ears. “The proud prelate’s menaces did not in
the least terrify me,” writes Cellini, “and I sent him back word that I
should immediately lay the whole affair before the pope.”
Having reached this climax, the matter settled down; the bishop’s anger
subsided, and Benvenuto was assured that he would come to no harm if he
acceded to the bishop’s request, but would be paid his price on delivery
of the piece of plate. Accordingly he clothed himself in a coat of mail,
armed himself with a dagger and, followed by a servant carrying the
silver vase, proceeded to the bishop’s house where he was received in
state; the servants were all drawn up around the bishop, who was himself
seated in grim displeasure. Benvenuto was not in the least overawed and
we may quote his words as he describes the end of the incident: “All
this time I never once looked at him, or so much as answered a single
word; at which his lordship seemed to discover more resentment than ever
and having ordered pen, ink and paper, desired me to write him a
receipt. I then looked him full in the face and told him that I would
readily do so after I had received my money. The haughty bishop was then
more exasperated than ever; but in tine, after a great deal of scolding
and hectoring, I was paid and afterwards, having written an acquittance,
left the place in high spirits.” The pope was highly delighted with
this story when it reached him, and entirely approved of Cellini’s
conduct, so that the bishop of Salamanca regretted and heartily repented
what he had done. To make amends he sent word to Cellini, promising him
more work, but the irrepressible goldsmith replied that he would
undertake no further commissions unless he was paid in advance; an
answer at which the pope laughed heartily when it was reported to him.
Other patrons came forward; two cardinals, Cibo and Cornaro, ordered
plate, and he designed a gold medal for a hat ornament which was
esteemed a masterpiece of art. Under the advice of his friends he opened
a shop and did an extensive business on his own account, adding to the
other occupation that of seal engraver, a branch of art much in demand;
for every cardinal had his own seal as large as the palm of a child ten
years old, a costly affair and difficult in execution. Cellini applied
himself with great assiduity to the work and mastered it. He also
acquired the art of enamelling, a very delicate operation on account of
the final use of fire which sometimes ruins and destroys the whole
production. “I attached myself to it with the greatest ardour, and such
was the pleasure I took in learning it that its greatest difficulties
appeared delightful to me,” he says naïvely, and goes on to give us an
amusing insight into his transparently conceited character. “This was
through the peculiar indulgence of the Author of nature, who had gifted
me with a genius so happy that I could with the utmost ease learn
anything I gave my mind to. These several branches are very different
from each other; insomuch that the man who excels in one seldom or never
attains to an equal degree of perfection in any of the rest; whereas I,
having exerted myself with the utmost assiduity to be eminent in all
these different arts, at last compassed my end.” To learn the art of
“damascening” or inlaying the blades of daggers with steel or silver was
yet another occupation of Cellini’s busy hours, which were indeed always
full. Yet he still found time to quarrel with a comrade who insulted the
Florentines, to slap his face and draw his sword and fight him. He took
the plague and recovered from it. He pursued game upon the Campagna and
opened up relations with the peasantry, who while working in the
vineyards constantly dug up valuable curiosities, ancient medals, cameos
and precious stones, which Cellini bought for a few baiocchi and sold to
art loving cardinals. Some of these gems were remarkable; such as the
emerald as large as a bean, cut into a dolphin’s head, and the topaz of
the size of a large nut carved into the head of Minerva, and a cameo
engraved with a figure of Hercules binding a triple headed Cerberus, of
such admirable workmanship that Michael Angelo counted it the most
beautiful specimen he had ever seen.
More serious business was at hand for Cellini. He was to be actively and
usefully engaged in the defence of the castle of St. Angelo against the
attack of Charles of Bourbon. The constable on behalf of Charles V,
learned that Rome was without adequate garrison and suddenly advanced
upon it in 1527. Cellini had already given proof of his military
qualities and in the time of the rising of the Colonnas had been
employed to protect a house in the city with a company he had himself
raised. He was again entrusted with a detachment and posted on the city
walls. It was his fortune to assist in repelling the assault made by the
constable’s troops and to perform a remarkable service. Seeing a great
gathering of the enemy at one point he discharged his arquebus at the
crowd. “I discharged it,” he says, “with a deliberate aim at a person
who seemed to be lifted above the rest, but the mist prevented me from
distinguishing whether he was on horseback or on foot.” This chance shot
of Cellini’s caused extraordinary confusion in the ranks of the
assailants as it was proved to have slain the Duke of Bourbon, a fact
borne out by other historians, who state that he was killed by a musket
shot quite early in the siege.
The attack prospered notwithstanding, for the death of their leader,
instead of disheartening his soldiers, roused them to increased effort.
A thick fog prevailed and under cover of this the constable’s troops
crossed the entrenchments and swarmed the ramparts with so much
determination that the Romans threw down their arms, and, panic
stricken, sought safety in headlong flight. Meanwhile Pope Clement, who
had been at his prayers in the chapel of the Vatican, was roused from
his knees by the terrible news that the city was practically captured.
Without a moment’s pause he ran to the covered passage or corridor
communicating with St. Angelo to take refuge in his castle. As he
hurried along in frantic haste, he feared that his white robes might
betray him to some marksman, so he drew his skirts over his head and in
this garb safely reached the wicket gate. A number of cardinals and
bishops went with him, eager to seek safety in this welcome retreat.
They were safe enough inside, but without the city was given over to
pillage and devastation by the savage and bloodthirsty troops. Men were
massacred wholesale, women violated, and the air was rent with their
shrieks mingled with the groans of the dying. The soldiers, Spaniards
and Germans, maddened and infuriated, overran the streets, destroying
the palaces, robbing the churches of their furniture and the altars of
their relics and sacred ornaments. The horrors of that night of storm
and sack are indescribable; the castle alone held out and afforded
shelter to the pope and his cardinals, but it was ill-provisioned and
could hardly hope to beat off the attack when the brutal soldiery, sated
with spoil and slowly recovering from their wild orgies, began a regular
siege.
Now Cellini came to the front and distinguished himself greatly. He had
entered the castle with the other fugitives, and eager for active
employment, joined a battery of guns under a Florentine named Giuliano.
This man was in despair. From the battlements he could see his own house
being pillaged, his wife and children in danger, and he did not dare to
open fire but, “throwing his match upon the ground made piteous
lamentations, tearing his hair and uttering the most doleful cries.” The
energetic goldsmith promptly interposed, and calling upon others to
assist, directed the guns where their fire would be the most effective
and killed a considerable number of the enemy. After this Cellini
continued to fire, which, he says, “made some cardinals and gentlemen
bless me and extol my activity to the skies. Emboldened by this I used
my utmost exertions; let it suffice that it was I that preserved the
castle that morning.”
The pope, appreciating Cellini’s value, now permanently appointed him to
an important post,--the command of “five great guns in the highest part
of the castle, called ‘Dall Angiolo,’ which goes quite round the
fortress and looks both towards the meadows and towards Rome.” He was in
great heart and says: “I who was at times more inclined to arms than to
my own profession, obeyed my orders with such alacrity that I had better
success than if I had been following my own business.” Placed on this
point of vantage, he could watch all that went on and constantly harass
the enemy now in full possession of the city. His life was one of
constant excitement and danger. He was knocked over by a ricocheting
shot and as he lay prostrate but conscious, he heard the grieved
bystanders cry aloud, “Alas! we have lost our best support.” Prompt help
was given him. A friend who was near at hand, a musician, “having a
better turn to physic than music,” made a slate red hot, sprinkled it
with Greek wine and a handful of wormwood and applied it to Cellini’s
heart. “Such was the efficacy of the wormwood that it immediately
restored my vigour,” he writes, and continues: “I made an attempt to
speak but found myself unable to articulate because some foolish
soldiers had filled my mouth with earth thinking they had thereby given
me the last sacrament ... but the earth did me a great deal more harm
than the contusion.”
The Holy Father had already shown him especial favour on the occasion
above mentioned, when he had done so much execution with his guns.
Cellini, who always made the most of his opportunities, had taken
advantage of Clement’s kindliness to ask a great favour. He says:
“Falling upon my knees I intreated his Holiness to absolve me from the
guilt of homicide, as likewise from other crimes which I had committed
in that castle in the service of the Church. The pope, lifting up his
hands, and making the sign of the cross over me, said that he blessed me
and gave me his absolution for all the homicides that I had ever
committed, or ever should commit, in the service of the Apostolic
Church.” Cellini was much trusted by the pope, who conceived a great
liking for him seeing that he always acquitted himself with prudence and
sagacity. He was much pestered by officious people, especially the
cardinals who hung about the battery in robes and scarlet hats and drew
on them the enemy’s fire, and he states: “I often warned them not to
come to me, but persuasion having no effect, I at last got them
confined, by which I incurred their enmity and ill will.” Altercations
nearly brought on a collision, and finally Cardinal Farnese sent his
servants to seize Cellini, who turned his guns upon them and promised to
open fire on any who dared to ascend the steps leading up to the
battery. “Villains,” he cried, “if you do not instantly quit the place,
or if any of you attempt to mount these stairs, I have two falconets
ready charged with which I will blow you to dust!” Having vindicated his
authority, Cellini resumed his proper business. He relates: “I now gave
my whole attention to firing my guns, by which means I did signal
execution, so that I had in a high degree acquired the favour and good
graces of His Holiness. There passed not a day that I did not kill some
of the army without the castle.” One day under the pope’s own eye he cut
a swaggering Spanish colonel in half by a cleverly aimed long range
shot. Again, after much thought, he devised a plan for annoying the
enemy when they relieved the evening guard and passed in great strength
through the gate of S. Spirito. The passage having become dangerous,
cover had been devised by a traverse of a hundred barrels raised on the
side of the castle, whereupon Cellini brought his whole battery to bear
upon the barrels and threw them down, inflicting great loss of life. He
repeated this several times and so disheartened the besiegers that they
were disposed to mutiny and march off. Great execution was also done by
making use of certain antique missiles he found in the armoury.
A lucky shot aimed at some unknown person in authority gained Cellini
great credit. It proved to be the Prince of Orange, who had sacrificed
his fortune and princely position to throw in his lot with the Emperor
Charles V, and was now assisting the siege. As numbers of officers of
high rank called at the inn to which the wounded prince had been
conveyed, the pope “being a person of great sagacity” ordered his chief
engineer to concentrate the whole artillery fire upon this inn, thinking
that if he could sweep away all these leaders, the army on finding
itself without guidance would probably disperse. But Cardinal Orsini,
who had been a soldier in his early youth, violently objected to this
scheme and came to high words with the pope about it, declaring that if
the chiefs were killed, the soldiers being without leadership or control
would surely storm the castle, carry it and put every one to the sword.
Clement VII yielded helplessly to the peremptory advice of the
masterful cardinal. But the impetuous Cellini by no means agreed; he did
not await the order to spare the inn, but of his own motion opened fire
with one gun which hit the house and caused great havoc amongst the
crowd collected there, so that they were on the point of leaving the
place. Cardinal Orsini was greatly incensed at Cellini’s insubordinate
action, and clamoured to have him hanged or in some way put to death
upon the spot. The pope, however, sided with the valiant goldsmith and
defended him with great spirit and resolution.
Cellini was useful to the pope in another way and in his own particular
line. Feeling himself in the toils and threatened with the loss of his
most valuable possessions if not of his life, he sought Cellini’s aid in
saving his jewels, both his own property and those of the papal regalia.
Cellini was called into a very private apartment where the pope sat with
his master of the horse and displayed before him the entire collection
of these jewels,--a vast quantity of inestimable value. The pope desired
him to remove all the stones from their settings, to put all the gold
together and secrete the jewels by sewing them into the skirts of the
pope’s robes. The gold, a hundred pounds’ weight, Cellini was to carry
to his own chamber in a retired part of the topmost story, close by the
battery he commanded, and there melt it down unseen. This feat he
accomplished by constructing a small brick furnace, under which he
fixed a little pot or dish to receive the gold as it was melted and run
through after being thrown upon the live coals above. This was the
origin of the grave accusation made against Cellini at a later date of
having misappropriated a quantity of the state jewels, a false and
mendacious charge, as he easily showed when arrested, but which was used
unfairly to subject him to lengthened imprisonment in St. Angelo. This
episode occurred during the reign of another pope, Paul III, who was no
friend to Benvenuto Cellini.
The siege of St. Angelo by the Imperialists lasted for just one month
and was combined with the most brutal ravages in Rome. The invaders were
guilty of the most terrible excesses; rapine and slaughter constantly
vexed the city, which soon sank into a state of deplorable ruin. For a
time the pope entertained strong hopes of relief from the army of the
league commanded by the Duke of Urbino, and beacon fires were constantly
kept burning on the castle to indicate that it still held out. At one
time succour seemed near at hand and the banners of Guido Rangoni were
seen in the distance on Monte Mario, but they soon fell back and with
them disappeared all hope of rescue. Clement now became the victim of
abject and consuming fear; he was ready to accept any terms, however
humiliating, provided his life was spared. With abundant tears he cried
out that since fortune had brought him to such a pass he would make no
further resistance, but would surrender himself and all his cardinals
into the emperor’s hands. When such was the state of affairs, defence
was vain, and on the 5th of June a capitulation was concluded on the
hardest of terms. The pope agreed, first, to pay 100,000 ducats down,
50,000 more in twenty days, and a final 250,000 in two months; second,
to give up the castle of St. Angelo with those of Civita Castellana and
Civita Vecchia to the emperor; third, to remain a prisoner until the
entire sum was liquidated; and fourth, to hand over the cities of Parma
and Modena. Clement was, however, penniless and unable to meet a tithe
of these onerous conditions. The cities and fortresses rejected the
terms of capitulation and refused to open their gates. Vainly the church
plate was melted and cardinals’ hats were sold to raise money. The sum
required still fell short of the agreed ransom, and he was forced to
remain in the castle as prisoner, guarded by Don Fernando de Alarcon
with three Spanish and three German companies.
At length, in the beginning of October, the terms were modified and an
arrangement finally concluded for the liberation of the pope. Clement
was to deliver up all the fortresses in his possession, to raise what he
could by the sale of twenty-seven cardinals’ hats and in other ways, and
pay over this sum. On the evening of the 8th October, weary of the whole
proceeding and even then doubting the good faith of his enemies, he
disguised himself as a pedlar, threw a sack over his back, shrouded
himself in a great cloak, pulled down his hat upon his brows and slipped
out of the castle. Those who met him feigned not to recognise him. He
went on foot through the city gates, and at a garden gate beyond he
found a Spanish mule which had been sent by the Cardinal Colonna; on
this he mounted and rode alone to Orvieto.
Benvenuto Cellini left the castle of St. Angelo at the end of the siege,
and paid a visit to his native city, Florence, in which the plague had
made terrible ravages and which had also passed through a revolution.
The pope’s power and that of the Medicis family had been set aside for a
republic. But Clement VII had no sooner made peace with the emperor and
felt himself secure, than he vindicated his authority over Florence,
which again became a hereditary principality. Benvenuto at first sided
with his own people, but presently yielded to the overtures made him by
the pope through a certain Jacobo della Barca, who was in high favour
with Clement and who strongly advised him not to join a pack of
senseless rebels who were acting against His Holiness.