go out in such weather; always excepting Benvenuto Cellini, who had
selected that very night for his escape, in a spirit of contrariety
doubtless.
And so, as soon as he heard the clock strike ten, and the footsteps
indicating that the sentinel had been relieved, he fell on his knees and
offered a fervent prayer, after which he set to work.
In the first place he removed the heads of the four nails, which alone
held the iron plates in place. The last yielded to his efforts just at
midnight.
He heard the steps of the sentinel going up to the platform; he stood
with his ear glued to the door, without breathing, until the relieved
sentinel came down, the steps died away in the distance, and silence
reigned once more.
The rain fell with redoubled force, and Benvenuto's heart leaped for joy
as he heard it heating against the window.
He at once tried to remove the iron plates; as there was nothing to hold
them, they yielded to his efforts, and he placed them, one by one,
against the wall.
He then lay flat upon the floor, and attacked the bottom of the door
with his modelling tool, sharpened like a dagger, and fitted to a wooden
handle. The oak was entirely changed to carbon, and gave way at the
first touch.
In an instant Benvenuto had made, an aperture at the bottom of the door
sufficiently large to allow him to crawl through it. He reopened the
belly of his statue, took out the strips of linen, coiled them around
his waist like a girdle, armed himself with his modelling tool, of which
he had, as we have said, made a dagger, and fell on his knees once more
and prayed.
Then he passed his head through the hole, then his shoulders, then the
rest of his body, and found himself in the corridor.
He stood erect; but his legs trembled so that he was compelled to lean
against the wall for support. His heart was beating as if it would
burst, and his head was on fire. A drop of perspiration trembled at the
end of each hair, and he clutched the handle of his dagger in his hand,
as if some one were trying to tear it away from him.
However, as everything was quiet, as nothing was stirring and not a
sound was to be heard, Benvenuto soon recovered himself, and felt his
way along the wall of the corridor with his hand, until the wall came to
an end. Then he put out his foot and felt the first step of the
staircase, or, more properly speaking, the ladder, which led to the
platform.
He mounted the rungs, one by one, shivering as the wood creaked under
his feet, until he felt a breath of air; then the rain beat against his
faee as his head rose above the level of the platform, and as he had
been in most intense darkness for a quarter of an hour, he was able to
judge at once what reason he had to fear or hope.
The balance seemed to incline toward hope.
The sentinel had taken refuge from the storm in his sentry-box. How, as
the sentinels who mounted guard upon the castle of San Angelo were
stationed there, not to inspect the platform, but to look down into the
moat and survey the surrounding country, the closed side of the
sentry-box faced the top of the ladder by which Benvenuto ascended.
The artist crept cautiously on his hands and knees toward that part of
the platform which was farthest removed from the sentry-box. There he
securely fastened one end of his improvised rope to a jutting projection
some six inches in length, and then knelt for the third time.
"O Lord!" he muttered, "O Lord! do Thou help me, since I am seeking to
help myself."
With that prayer upon his lips, he let himself down by his hands,
heedless of the bruises upon his knees and his forehead, which, from
time to time, rubbed against the face of the wall, and at last reached
the solid earth.
When he felt the ground beneath his feet, his breast swelled with an
infinitude of joy and pride. He contemplated the immense height from
which he had descended, and could not avoid saying in an undertone,
"Free at last!" But his joy was short-lived.
As he turned away from the tower, his knees trembled under him; directly
in front of him rose a wall recently built, and of which he knew
nothing; he was lost.
Everything seemed to give way within him, and in his despair he fell to
the ground; but as he fell, his foot struck against something hard,--it
was a long beam; he gave a slight exclamation of surprise and delight;
he was saved.
Ah! no one knows what heart-rending alternations of joy and hope one
short minute of life can contain.
Benvenuto seized the beam as a shipwrecked sailor seizes the spar which
may save him from drowning. Under ordinary circumstances two strong men
would have found difficulty in lifting it; he dragged it to the wall,
and stood it on end against it. Then he climbed to the top of the wall,
clinging to the beam with his hands and knees, but when he arrived there
his strength was insufficient to raise the beam and lower it on the
other side.
For a moment his head swam; he closed his eyes, and it seemed as if he
were struggling in a lake of flames.
Suddenly he remembered his strips of linen, by means of which he had
descended from the platform.
He slid down the beam to the ground once more, and ran to the spot where
he had left them hanging; but he had fastened them so securely at the
opposite end, that he could not detach them. In his desperation he
raised himself from the ground by hanging to them, pulling with all his
strength, and hoping to break them. Fortunately one of the knots slipped
at last, and Benvenuto fell to the ground, grasping a fragment some
twelve feet long.
This was all that he needed; he rose with a bound, and, filled with
fresh vigor, climbed up to the top of the wall once more, fastened the
cord to the end of the beam, and slid down on the other side.
When he reached the end of the cord he felt in vain for the ground with
his feet, and, upon looking over his shoulder, saw that it was still
some six feet away. He let go the cord, and dropped.
He lay still for an instant; he was completely exhausted, and there was
no skin left upon his legs and hands. For some moments he gazed stupidly
at his bleeding flesh; but five o'clock struck, and he saw that the
stars were beginning to pale.
He rose; but as he rose, a sentinel whom he had not noticed, but who had
undoubtedly witnessed his performance, walked toward him. Benvenuto saw
that he was lost, and that he must either kill or be killed. He drew his
modelling tool from his belt, and marched straight toward the guard,
with such a determined expression that worthy doubtless realized
that he had not only a powerful man, but a deathly despair, to contend
with. Benvenuto was determined not to give ground, but suddenly the
soldier turned his back upon him as if he had not seen him. The prisoner
understood what that meant.
He ran to the last rampart, and found himself some twelve or fifteen
feet above the moat. Such a trifle was not likely to stop a man like
Benvenuto Cellini, in his present predicament, when he had left part of
his cord hanging from the top of the tower, and the other part attached
to the beam, so that he had nothing left with which to lower himself,
and there was no time to lose. He hung by his hands from a ring in the
masonry, and, with a mental prayer, let himself drop.
This time he fainted outright.
An hour passed before he came to himself; but the coolness which is
always noticeable in the air as dawn approaches, revived him. He lay for
an instant with his mind in confusion, then passed his hand over his
forehead and remembered everything.
He felt a sharp pain in his head, and saw blood upon the stones where he
lay, which had trickled down from his face. He put his hand to his
forehead a second time, not to collect his thoughts, but to investigate
his wounds, which he found were but skin deep. He smiled and tried to
stand up, but fell heavily back; his right leg was broken three inches
above the ankle. The leg was so benumbed that at first he felt no pain.
He at once removed his shirt and tore it into strips, then put the ends
of the bone together as well as he could, and applied the bandage,
binding it with all his strength, and passing it under the sole of his
foot now and then, in order to keep the bones in place.
Then he dragged himself on all fours toward one of the city gates which
was within five hundred yards. After half an hour of atrocious
suffering, he reached the gate only to find that it was closed. But he
noticed a large stone under the gate, which yielded to his first attempt
to remove it, and he passed through the hole left by it.
He had not taken twenty steps beyond the gate when he was attacked by a
pack of famished dogs, who were attracted by the odor of blood. He drew
his modelling tool, and despatched the largest and most savage with a
blow in the side. The others immediately threw themselves upon their
defunct comrade and devoured him.
Benvenuto dragged himself along to the church of La Transpontina, where
he fell in with a water-carrier who had just filled his jars and loaded
his donkey. He called him.
"Look you." he said; "I was with my mistress; circumstances compelled
me, although I went in at the door, to come out through the window. I
leaped from the first floor, and broke my leg; carry me to the steps of
Saint Peter's, and I will give you a golden crown."
The water-carrier, without a word, took the wounded man on his shoulder,
and carried him to the designated spot. Having received his pay, he went
his way without so much as looking behind.
Thereupon Benvenuto, still on all fours, made his way to the palace of
Monseigneur de Montluc, the French Ambassador, who lived only a few
steps away.
Monseigneur de Montluc exerted himself so zealously in his behalf, that
at the end of a month Benvenuto was cured, at the end of two months he
was pardoned, and at the end of four months he started for France with
Ascanio and Pagolo.
The poor governor, who had gone mad, lived and died a madman, constantly
imagining that he was a bat, and making the most violent efforts to fly.
IV
SCOZZONE
When Benvenuto Cellini arrived in France, François I. was at the
château of Fontainebleau with his whole court. The artist stopped in
the town, sending word of his arrival to the Cardinal of Ferrara. The
cardinal, who knew that the king was impatiently awaiting his coming, at
once transmitted the intelligence to his Majesty. Benvenuto was received
by the king the same day.
"Benvenuto," he said, addressing him in that mellifluous and expressive
tongue in which the artist wrote so well, "for a few days, while you are
recovering from your fatigue and vexation, repose, enjoy yourself, make
merry, and meanwhile we will reflect and determine upon some noble work
for you to execute."
Thereupon he ordered apartments in the château to be made ready for the
artist, and that he should want for nothing.
Thus Benvenuto found himself at the outset installed in the very centre
of French civilization, at that time behind that of Italy, with which it
was already struggling for supremacy, and which it was soon to surpass.
As he looked around, he could easily believe that he had never left the
Tuscan capital, for he found himself in the midst of the arts and
artists he had known at Florence; Primaticcio had succeeded Leonardo da
Vinci and Rosso.
It was for Benvenuto, therefore, to show himself not unworthy of these
illustrious predecessors, and to carry the art of statuary as high in
the eyes of the most gallant court of Europe as those three great
masters had carried the art of painting. And so Benvenuto determined to
anticipate the king's wishes by not waiting for him to command the noble
work promised, and to execute it himself, of his own motion, and with
his own resources. He had readily discovered the king's affection for
the royal residence where he had met him, and determined to flatter his
preference by executing a statue to be called the "Nymph of
Fontainebleau."
A lovely work to undertake was this statue, crowned at once with oak and
wheat-ears and vines; for Fontainebleau is partly field, partly forest,
and partly vineyard. The nymph of whom Benvenuto dreamed must therefore
be reminiscent of Ceres and Diana and Erigone,--three types of
marvellous beauty melted into one, and which, while retaining their
distinctive characteristics, should still form but a single whole. Then
there should be represented upon the pedestal the attributes of those
three goddesses; and they who have seen the fascinating figures about
the statue of Perseus know the Florentine master's method of executing
those marvellous details.
But it was his misfortune that, although he had in his own mind his
ideal of beauty, he was sadly in need of a human model for the material
part of his work. Where was he to find this model, in whose single
person could be found the threefold beauty of three goddesses?
Certain it is, that if, as in the olden days, the days of Apelles and
Phidias, the beauties of the day, those queens of loveliness, had come
of their own accord to pose for Benvenuto, he would have found what he
sought within the precincts of the court; for there was a whole Olympus
in the flower of youth and beauty. There were Catherine de Medicis, then
but one and twenty; Marguerite de Valois, Queen of Navarre, who was
called the Fourth Grace and the Tenth Muse; and lastly, Madame la
Duchesse d'Etampes, whom we shall meet frequently in the course of this
narrative, and who was known as the loveliest of blue-stockings and the
most learned of beauties. In this galaxy the artist could have found
more than he needed; but the days of Apelles and Phidias had long gone
by, and he must look elsewhere.
It was with great pleasure, therefore, that he learned that the court
was about to set out for Paris. Unfortunately, as Benvenuto himself
says, the court in those days travelled like a funeral procession.
Preceded by twelve to fifteen thousand horse, halting for the night in
some place where there were no more than two or three houses, wasting
four hours every evening in pitching the tents, and four hours every
morning in striking them,--in this way, although the distance was but
sixteen leagues, five days were spent in the journey from Fontainebleau
to Paris.
Twenty times on the way Benvenuto was tempted to push forward, but as
often the Cardinal of Ferrara dissuaded him, saying that, if the king
was compelled to pass a single day without seeing him, he would
certainly ask what had become of him, and when he learned that he had
left the procession would look upon his unceremonious departure as a
failure of respect toward himself. So Benvenuto chafed at his bit, and
tried to kill time during the long halt by sketching his nymph of
Fontainebleau.
At last he arrived at Paris. His first visit was to Primaticcio, who was
commissioned to continue the work of Leonardo da Vinci and Rosso at
Fontainebleau. Primaticcio, who had lived long at Paris, should be able
at once to put him upon the path he was seeking, and to tell him where
to look for models.
A word, in passing, as to Primaticcio.
Il Signor Francesco Primaticcio, who was commonly called at this time Le
Bologna, from his birthplace, had studied under Jules Romain for six
years, and had lived eight years in France, whither François I. had
summoned him upon the advice of the Marquis of Mantua, his great
purveyor of artists. He was, as any one may see at Fontainebleau, a man
of prodigious fecundity, with a broad, florid manner, and irreproachable
regularity of outline. For a long time Primaticcio, with his
encyclopedic brain, his vast store of knowledge, and his boundless
talent, which embraced all varieties of painting,--for a long time, we
say, he was despised, but in our day he has been avenged for three
centuries of injustice. Under the inspiration of religious ardor, he
painted the pictures in the chapel of Beauregard; in moral subjects he
personified the principal Christian virtues at the Hôtel Montmorency;
and the immensity of Fontainebleau was filled to overflowing with his
works. At the Golden Gate and in the Salle du Bal he treated the most
graceful subjects of mythology and allegory; in the Gallery of Ulysses
and the Chamber of Saint Louis he was an epic poet with Homer, and
translated with his brush the Odyssey and a portion of the Iliad. Then
he passed from the Age of Fable to heroic times, and historical subjects
became his study. The principal incidents in the life of Alexander and
Romulus, and the surrender of Havre, were reproduced in the painting
with which he decorated the Grand Gallery and the apartment adjoining
the Salle du Bal. He turned his attention to the beauties of nature in
the great landscapes of the Cabinet of Curiosities. In short, if we care
to take the measurement of his eminent talent, to consider the various
forms in which it found expression, and to reckon up its work, we shall
find that in ninety-eight large pictures and a hundred and thirty
smaller ones he has treated, one after another, landscapes, marine
views, historical, allegorical, and religious subjects, portraits, and
the themes of epic poetry.
He was, as may be seen, a man likely to appreciate Benvenuto; and so, as
soon as Benvenuto arrived at Paris, he ran to Primaticcio with open
arms, and was welcomed by him in the same temper.
After the first serious conversation between the two friends meeting
thus in a foreign land, Benvenuto opened his portfolio, imparted all his
ideas to Primaticcio, showed him all his sketches, and asked him if
there was any one of the models he was accustomed to use who fulfilled
the necessary conditions.
Primaticcio shook his head, smiling sadly. In truth, they were no longer
in Italy, the daughter of Greece and rival of her mother. France was in
those days, as it is to-day, the land of grace, and prettiness, and
coquetry; but in vain would one have sought in the domain of the Valois
that imperious loveliness which inspired the genius of Michel-Angelo and
Raphael, of John of Bologna and Andrea del Sarto, on the banks of the
Tiber and the Arno. To be sure, if the painter or sculptor had been at
liberty to choose a model at will among the aristocracy, he would soon
have found the types he sought; but like those shades which are detained
on this side of the Styx, he was perforce content to see those noble,
lovely forms, the constant objects of his artistic aspirations, pass
over into the Elysian Fields which he was forbidden to enter.
It turned out as Primaticcio anticipated: Benvenuto passed in review his
whole army of models, and saw not one who seemed to combine all the
qualities essential for the work of which he was dreaming.
Thereupon he caused all the Venuses at a crown the sitting whose names
were furnished him to be summoned to the Cardinal of Ferrara's palace,
where he was installed, but none of them fulfilled his expectations.
Benvenuto was almost at his wit's end when, one evening, as he was
returning home alone along Rue des Petits-Champs, after supping with
three compatriots whom he had met at Paris,--namely, Pietro Strozzi, the
Count of Anguillara, his brother-in-law, and Galeotto Pico, nephew of
the famous Pico della Mirandole,--he noticed a graceful, lovely girl
walking in front of him. Benvenuto fairly leaped for joy: the girl was,
of all whom he had thus far seen, by far the best qualified to give
shape to his dream. He followed her, therefore. She walked along by the
church of Saint-Honoré, and turned into Rue du Pelican; there she
looked around to see if she was still followed, and, seeing Benvenuto
within a few steps, hastily opened a door and disappeared. Benvenuto
went to the same door and opened it in time to see the skirt of the
young woman's dress disappear at a bend in the stairway, which was
lighted by a smoking lamp.
He went up to the first floor: a chamber door stood ajar, and in the
chamber he discovered the girl he had followed.
Without explaining the artistic motive of his intrusion, indeed, without
saying a word, Benvenuto, desirous to ascertain whether the outlines of
her body corresponded with those of her face, walked around and around
the poor, bewildered girl, as he might have done had she been a statue,
taking her arms and raising them above her head in the attitude which he
proposed that his Nymph of Fontainebleau should assume; and she obeyed
his gestures mechanically.
There was little of Ceres in the model now before his eyes, and still
less of Diana, but very much of Erigone. The master thereupon made up
his mind, in view of the manifest impossibility of finding the three
types united in one person, to be satisfied with the Bacchante. But for
the Bacchante he had certainly found all that he desired,--sparkling
eyes, coral lips, teeth like pearls, graceful neck, well rounded
shoulders, and broad hips; and in the slender wrists and ankles, and the
long nails, there was a suggestion of aristocratic blood, which removed
the artist's last hesitation.
"What is your name, mademoiselle?" Benvenuto, with his foreign accent,
at last asked the poor girl, whose wonder momentarily increased.
"Catherine, monsieur, at your service," she replied.
"Very good! Here is a golden crown, Mademoiselle Catherine, for the
trouble I have caused you. Come to me to-morrow at the Cardinal of
Ferrara's hotel on Rue Saint-Martin, and I will give you as much more
for the same service."
The girl hesitated an instant, thinking that he was making sport of her.
But the gold crown seemed to prove that he was speaking seriously, and
after a very brief pause, she said,--
"At what time?"
"Ten o'clock in the morning: does that suit your convenience?"
"Perfectly."
"So that I may rely upon you?"
"I will come."
Benvenuto saluted her as he would have saluted a duchess, and returned
home with a glad heart. He at once burned all his idealistic sketches,
and set to work upon one based upon flesh and blood. Having completed
the drawing, he placed a quantity of wax upon a pedestal, and beneath
his dexterous touch it instantly assumed the shape of the nymph of whom
he had dreamed; so that when Catherine appeared at the door of his
studio the next morning, a part of his task was already done.
As we have said, Catherine utterly failed to understand Benvenuto's
motives. She was vastly astonished, therefore, when, having closed the
door behind her, he showed her the statue already begun, and explained
why he had asked her to come.
Catherine was a light-hearted, joyous creature, and laughed heartily at
her mistake; her bosom swelled with pride at the thought of posing as a
model for a goddess to be presented to a king, so she removed her
clothing, and of her own motion assumed the pose indicated by the
statue,--so gracefully, and withal so exactly, that the artist, when he
turned and saw her posed so naturally and well, exclaimed in delight.
Benvenuto at once set to work: his was, as we have said, one of those
noble, vigorous, artistic natures in which inspiration is aroused by the
work beneath their hands, and which seem to become illumined as their
work proceeds. He had thrown aside his doublet, and as he went back and
forth from the model to the copy, from nature to art, he seemed, with
his bare neck and arms, like Jupiter, ready to kindle everything that he
touched into flame. Catherine, accustomed to the commonplace or worn out
organization of the young men of the lower classes with whom she had
associated, or the young noblemen whose plaything she had been, gazed at
this man with the inspired glance, quickened respiration, and swelling
breast, with an unfamiliar sensation of wonder. She seemed herself to
rise to the master's level; her eyes shone, and the artist's inspiration
was communicated to the model.
The sitting lasted two hours; at the end of that time Benvenuto gave
Catherine her gold crown, and took leave of her as ceremoniously as
before, making an appointment for the following day at the same hour.
Catherine returned to her own room, and did not go out during the day.
The next morning she was at the studio ten minutes before the appointed
time.