WHEN I had thus spoken, Firenzuola, who was a man of hot spirit and
brave, turned to Giannotto, and said to him: “You vile rascal, aren’t
you ashamed to treat a man who has been so intimate a comrade with you
in this way?” And with the same movement of quick feeling, he faced
round and said to me: “Welcome to my workshop; and do as you have
promised; let your hands declare what man you are.”
He gave me a very fine piece of silver plate to work on for a cardinal.
It was a little oblong box, copied from the porphyry sarcophagus before
the door of the Rotonda. Beside what I copied, I enriched it with so
many elegant masks of my invention, that my master went about showing it
through the art, and boasting that so good a piece of work had been
turned out from his shop. [1] It was about half a cubit in size, and was
so constructed as to serve for a salt-cellar at table. This was the
first earning that I touched at Rome, and part of it I sent to assist my
good father; the rest I kept for my own use, living upon it while I went
about studying the antiquities of Rome, until my money failed, and I had
to return to the shop for work. Battista del Tasso, my comrade, did not
stay long in Rome, but went back to Florence.
After undertaking some new commissions, I took it into my head, as soon
as I had finished them, to change my master; I had indeed been worried
into doing so by a certain Milanese, called Pagolo Arsago. [2] My first
master, Firenzuola, had a great quarrel about this with Arsago, and
abused him in my presence; whereupon I took up speech in defence of my
new master. I said that I was born free, and free I meant to live, and
that there was no reason to complain of him, far less of me, since some
few crowns of wages were still due to me; also that I chose to go, like
a free journeyman, where it pleased me, knowing I did wrong to no man.
My new master then put in with his excuses, saying that he had not asked
me to come, and that I should gratify him by returning with Firenzuola.
To this I replied that I was not aware of wronging the latter in any
way, and as I had completed his commissions, I chose to be my own master
and not the man of others, and that he who wanted me must beg me of
myself. Firenzuola cried: “I don’t intend to beg you of yourself; I have
done with you; don’t show yourself again upon my premises.” I reminded
him of the money he owed me. He laughed me in the face; on which I said
that if I knew how to use my tools in handicraft as well as he had seen,
I could be quite as clever with my sword in claiming the just payment of
my labour. While we were exchanging these words, an old man happened to
come up, called Maestro Antonio, of San Marino. He was the chief among
the Roman goldsmiths, and had been Firenzuola’s master. Hearing what I
had to say, which I took good care that he should understand, he
immediately espoused my cause, and bade Firenzuola pay me. The dispute
waxed warm, because Firenzuola was an admirable swordsman, far better
than he was a goldsmith. Yet reason made itself heard; and I backed my
cause with the same spirit, till I got myself paid. In course of time
Firenzuola and I became friends, and at his request I stood godfather to
one of his children.
Note 1. Cellini’s use of the word 'arte' for the 'art' or 'trade' of
goldsmiths corresponds to “the art” as used by English writers early in
this century. See Haydon’s Autobiography, 'passim.'
Note 2. The Italian is 'sobbillato,' which might be also translated
'inveigled' or 'instigated.' But Varchi, the contemporary of Cellini,
gives this verb the force of using pressure and boring on until somebody
is driven to do something.