ABANDONED thus to my own resources, I took new courage, and banished the
sad thoughts which kept recurring to my mind, making me often weep
bitter tears of repentance for having left France; for though I did so
only to revisit Florence, my sweet birthplace, in order that I might
charitably succour my six nieces, this good action, as I well perceived,
had been the beginning of my great misfortune. Nevertheless, I felt
convinced that when my Perseus was accomplished, all these trials would
be turned to high felicity and glorious well-being.
Accordingly I strengthened my heart, and with all the forces of my body
and my purse, employing what little money still remained to me, I set to
work. First I provided myself with several loads of pinewood from the
forests of Serristori, in the neighbourhood of Montelupo. While these
were on their way, I clothed my Perseus with the clay which I had
prepared many months beforehand, in order that it might be duly
seasoned. After making its clay tunic (for that is the term used in this
art) and properly arming it and fencing it with iron girders, I began to
draw the wax out by means of a slow fire. This melted and issued through
numerous air-vents I had made; for the more there are of these, the
better will the mould fill. When I had finished drawing off the wax, I
constructed a funnel-shaped furnace all round the model of my Perseus.
[1] It was built of bricks, so interlaced, the one above the other, that
numerous apertures were left for the fire to exhale at. Then I began to
lay on wood by degrees, and kept it burning two whole days and nights.
At length, when all the wax was gone, and the mould was well baked, I
set to work at digging the pit in which to sink it. This I performed
with scrupulous regard to all the rules of art. When I had finished that
part of my work, I raised the mould by windlasses and stout ropes to a
perpendicular position, and suspending it with the greatest care one
cubit above the level of the furnace, so that it hung exactly above the
middle of the pit, I next lowered it gently down into the very bottom of
the furnace, and had it firmly placed with every possible precaution for
its safety. When this delicate operation was accomplished, I began to
bank it up with the earth I had excavated; and, ever as the earth grew
higher, I introduced its proper air-vents, which were little tubes of
earthenware, such as folk use for drains and such-like purposes. [2] At
length, I felt sure that it was admirably fixed, and that the filling-in
of the pit and the placing of the air-vents had been properly performed.
I also could see that my work people understood my method, which
differed very considerably from that of all the other masters in the
trade. Feeling confident, then, that I could rely upon them, I next
turned to my furnace, which I had filled with numerous pigs of copper
and other bronze stuff. The pieces were piled according to the laws of
art, that is to say, so resting one upon the other that the flames could
play freely through them, in order that the metal might heat and liquefy
the sooner. At last I called out heartily to set the furnace going. The
logs of pine were heaped in, and, what with the unctuous resin of the
wood and the good draught I had given, my furnace worked so well that I
was obliged to rush from side to side to keep it going. The labour was
more than I could stand; yet I forced myself to strain every nerve and
muscle. To increase my anxieties, the workshop took fire, and we were
afraid lest the roof should fall upon our heads; while, from the garden,
such a storm of wind and rain kept blowing in, that it perceptibly
cooled the furnace.
Battling thus with all these untoward circumstances for several hours,
and exerting myself beyond even the measure of my powerful constitution,
I could at last bear up no longer, and a sudden fever, [3] of the utmost
possible intensity, attacked me. I felt absolutely obliged to go and
fling myself upon my bed. Sorely against my will having to drag myself
away from the spot, I turned to my assistants, about ten or more in all,
what with master-founders, hand-workers, country-fellows, and my own
special journeymen, among whom was Bernardino Mannellini of Mugello, my
apprentice through several years. To him in particular I spoke: “Look,
my dear Bernardino, that you observe the rules which I have taught you;
do your best with all despatch, for the metal will soon be fused. You
cannot go wrong; these honest men will get the channels ready; you will
easily be able to drive back the two plugs with this pair of iron
crooks; and I am sure that my mould will fill miraculously. I feel more
ill than I ever did in all my life, and verily believe that it will kill
me before a few hours are over. [4] Thus, with despair at heart, I left
them, and betook myself to bed.
Note 1. This furnace, called 'manica,' was like a grain-hopper, so that
the mould could stand upright in it as in a cup. The word 'manica' is
the same as our 'manuch,' an antique form of sleeve.
Note 2. These air-vents, or 'sfiatatoi,' were introduced into the outer
mould, which Cellini calls the 'tonaca,' or clay tunic laid upon the
original model of baked clay and wax. They served the double purpose of
drawing off the wax, whereby a space was left for the molten bronze to
enter, and also of facilitating the penetration of this molten metal by
allowing a free escape of air and gas from the outer mould.