Benvenuto's inspiration rose to sublime heights; beneath his hand, as
beneath that of Prometheus, the clay seemed to breathe. The Bacchante's
head was already modelled, and seemed a living head set upon a shapeless
trunk. Catherine smiled upon this celestial sister, fashioned in her
image; she had never been so happy, and, strangely enough, she was
unable to explain the sentiment which caused her happiness.
On the following day the master and the model met again at the same
hour; but Catherine was conscious of a sensation, absent on the
preceding days, which caused the blood to rush to her face as soon as
she began to disrobe. The poor child was beginning to love, and love
brought modesty in its train.
On the fourth day it was still worse, and Benvenuto was compelled
several times to remind her that he was not modelling the Venus de
Medicis, but Erigone, drunken with debauchery and wine. Moreover, her
patience would be tried but a little longer; two days more, and the
model's services would be no longer required.
In the afternoon of the second day, Benvenuto, having given the last
touch to his statue, thanked Catherine for her complaisance, and gave
her four gold crowns; but Catherine let them fall to the floor. The poor
child's dream was ended; from that moment she must return to her former
condition, and that condition had become hateful to her since the day
that she entered the master's studio. Benvenuto, who had no suspicion of
what was taking place in the girl's heart, picked up the four crowns,
handed them to her once more, pressing her hand as he did so, and said
to her that, if he ever could be of service to her, she must apply to no
one but him. Then he passed into the apartment where his apprentices
were at work, seeking Ascanio, to whom he wished to exhibit his
completed statue.
Catherine kissed the tools the master had used, one after another, and
went away, weeping.
The next morning Catherine appeared at the studio while Benvenuto was
alone, and when he, astonished to see her again, asked her why she had
come, she knelt at his feet and asked him if he did not need a servant.
Benvenuto had an artist's heart, quick to detect feeling in another. He
divined what was taking place in the poor child's heart, and raised her
from the floor, kissing her upon the forehead as he did so.
From that moment Catherine was a part of the studio, which, as we have
said, she brightened and made cheerful with her childish ways, and
enlivened by her unceasing activity. She had become almost indispensable
to everybody, above all to Benvenuto. She it was who superintended and
managed everything, scolding and caressing Ruperta, who was dismayed at
her first appearance in the household, but ended by loving her as
everybody else did.
The Erigone lost nothing by this arrangement. Having the model always at
hand, Benvenuto had retouched and perfected it with greater care than he
had ever before bestowed upon one of his statues, and had then carried
it to François I., whose admiration knew no bounds, and who ordered him
to execute it in silver. He subsequently conversed for a long time with
the goldsmith, asked him if he was pleased with his studio, where it was
situated, and whether there were beautiful things to be seen there; and
when he dismissed him, he determined in his own mind to take him by
surprise some morning, but said nothing to him of his intention.
Thus did matters stand when this history opens,--Benvenuto working,
Catherine singing, Ascanio dreaming, and Pagolo praying.
On the day following that on which Ascanio returned home so late, thanks
to his excursion in the neighborhood of the Hôtel de Nesle, there was a
loud knocking at the street door. Dame Ruperta at once rose to answer
the summons, but Scozzone (the reader will remember that this was the
name given to Catherine by Benvenuto) was already out of the room.
A moment later they heard her voice, half joyous, half terrified,
crying,--
"O mon Dieu! master! mon Dieu! it is the king! The king in person has
come to see your studio!"
And poor Scozzone, leaving all the doors open behind her, reappeared,
pale and trembling, on the threshold of the workshop, where Benvenuto
was at work, surrounded by his pupils and apprentices.
V
GENIUS AND ROYALTY
In very truth, François I. was entering the courtyard with all his
retinue. He led by the hand the Duchesse d'Etampes. The King of Navarre
followed with the Dauphine, Catherine de Medicis. The Dauphin,
afterwards Henri II., came next, with his aunt, Marguerite de Valois,
Queen of Navarre. Almost all the nobility accompanied them.
Benvenuto went to meet them, without confusion or embarrassment, and
welcomed the king, princes, great lords, and beautiful women as a friend
welcomes friends. And yet there were in the throng the most illustrious
names of France, and the most resplendent beauties in the world.
Marguerite charmed, Madame d'Etampes entranced, Catherine de Medicis
astonished, Diane de Poitiers dazzled. But Benvenuto was familiar with
the purest types of antiquity and of the sixteenth century in Italy,
even as the beloved pupil of Michel-Angelo was accustomed to the society
of kings.
"You must needs permit us, madame, to admire by your side the marvels we
are to behold," said François I. to the Duchesse d'Etampes, who replied
with a smile.
Anne de Pisseleu, Duchesse d'Etampes, who since the king's return from
his captivity in Spain had succeeded the Comtesse de Châteaubriand in
his favor, was at this time in all the splendor of a truly royal
loveliness. Her figure was erect and graceful, and she carried her
charming head with a dignity and feline grace which recalled at once the
cat and panther, which she also resembled in her habit of pouncing upon
one unexpectedly, and in her murderous appetites. With all this the
royal courtesan was very clever at assuming an air of sincerity and
candor which would disarm the most suspicious. Nothing could be more
mobile or more treacherous than the features of this pale-lipped woman,
to-day Hermione, to-morrow Galatea, with her smile, sometimes cajoling,
sometimes terrible,--her glance, at one moment caressing and suggestive,
and the next flaming with wrath. She had a habit of raising her eyelids
so slowly that one could never tell whether they would disclose a
languorous or a threatening expression. Haughty and imperious, she
subjugated François I. by holding his passions enthralled; proud and
jealous, she insisted that he should call upon the Comtesse de
Châteaubriand to return the jewels he had given her; by returning them
in the form of bullion, the lovely and melancholy countess did at least
protest against the profanation. Supple and deceitful, she had closed
her eyes more than once when the king's capricious fancy seemed to
distinguish some charming young woman at court, whom, however, he
invariably abandoned very soon to return to his beautiful enchantress.
"I was in haste to see you, Benvenuto, for two months have now passed
since your coming to our realm, and vexatious affairs of state have
since that time forbade my turning my thoughts to things artistic.
Impute it to my brother and cousin, the Emperor, who gives me not a
moment of repose."
[Illustration 03]
"If it is your will, Sire, I will write to him, and pray that he will
give you time to be a great friend to art, since you have proved to him
ere this that you are a mighty captain."
"Pray, do you know Charles V.?" inquired the King of Navarre.
"Four years since, Sire, I had the honor, being then at Rome, to present
a missal of my making to his sacred Majesty, and make a speech to him
which seemed to touch him nearly."
"What said his sacred Majesty to you?"
"He said that he already knew me from having seen upon the Pope's cope,
three years before, a carved stud, which did me honor."
"Ah! I see that you are spoiled for royal compliments," said François
I.
"Sire, 't is true that I have had the fortune to please many cardinals,
grand dukes, princes, and kings."
"Prithee, show me your beautiful designs, that I may see if I shall not
be a harder judge to please than others."
"Sire, I have had very little time; however, here are a vase and silver
basin which I have commenced, and which are perhaps not too unworthy of
your Majesty's attention."
The king examined the two works of art for five minutes without a word.
It seemed that the handiwork made him forget the workman. At last, as
the ladies gathered curiously about him, he spoke.
"See, mesdames," he cried, "what marvellous workmanship! Observe the
hold and novel shape of this vase! What ingenuity and marvellous
modelling in the bas-reliefs and bosses, mon Dieu! Especially do I
admire the beauty of the lines; and see how true to life and how diverse
are the attitudes of the figures! Look at the one holding her arms over
her head; the fugitive gesture is so naturally seized that one wonders
that she doesn't continue the movement. In very truth, I believe that
the ancients never did anything so fine. I remember the best works of
antiquity, and those of the most eminent artists of Italy; but nothing
ever made so deep an impression upon me as this. O Madame de Navarre, I
pray you look at this pretty child lost among the flowers, and waving
her little foot in the air; how graceful and pretty and instinct with
life it all is!"
"Others have complimented me, great king," cried Benvenuto, "but you
understand me!"
"Have you aught else!" asked the king, greedily.
"Here is a medallion representing Leda and her swan, made for Cardinal
Gabriel Cesarini; and here a seal cut in intaglio, representing Saint
John and Saint Ambrose; this is a reliquary, enamelled by myself--"
"Do you strike medals?" interposed Madame d'Etampes.
"As Cavadone of Milan did, madame."
"And you work in enamel?" said Marguerite.
"Like Amerigo of Florence."
"And you engrave seals?" inquired Catherine.
"Like Lantizco of Perouse. Pray, did you think, madame, that my talent
is confined to the production of tiny golden toys and great silver
pieces? I can do a little of everything, God be praised! I am a passable
military engineer, and I have twice prevented the capture of Rome. I can
turn a sonnet prettily, and your Majesty has but to order me to compose
a poem, provided that it be in praise of yourself, and I will undertake
to execute it neither better nor worse than if my name were Clement
Marot. As to music, which my father taught me with a stick, I found the
method an admirable one, and I am so good a performer on the flute and
cornet that Clement VII. employed me among his musicians at the age of
twenty-four. Furthermore, I discovered the secret of compounding an
excellent powder, and I can also make beautiful carbines and surgical
instruments. If your Majesty is at war, and chooses to employ me as
man-at-arms, you will find that I am not to be despised in that
capacity, and that I know as well how to handle an arquebus as to sight
a culverin. As a hunter I have brought down my twenty-five peacocks in a
day, and as an artillerist I have freed the Emperor from the Prince of
Orange, and your Majesty from the Connétable de Bourbon: traitors seem
not to be fortunate when they encounter me."
"Of which exploit are you the prouder," the young Dauphin interrupted,
"of having killed the constable or the twenty-five peacocks?"
"I am proud of neither, monseigneur. Like all other gifts, address is
God-given, and I simply used my address."
"By my faith, I was ignorant that you had already rendered me so great a
service," said the king,--"a service which, however, my sister
Marguerite will be at great pains to pardon you. Was it indeed you who
slew the Connétable de Bourbon? Prithee, how came it to pass?"
"Mon Dieu! it was the simplest thing in the world. The constable's army
had arrived unexpectedly before Rome, and a vigorous assault upon the
fortifications was in progress. I sallied forth, with a few friends, to
watch the fighting. As I left my house, I instinctively put my arquebus
over my shoulder. When we reached the walls of the city, I saw that
there was nothing to be done; but, I said to myself, it shall not be
said that I came hither to so little purpose. So I aimed my arquebus
toward the point where I saw a numerous and compact group of soldiers,
and singled out one who stood a head taller than his companions. He
fell, and a great uproar at once arose, caused by the shot I had fired.
I had, in truth, slain Bourbon. I learned afterward that it was he who
towered above his companions."
While Benvenuto was relating this incident with a most indifferent air,
the circle of lords and ladies of which he was the centre spread out
somewhat, and they all gazed with respect, and almost with terror, at
this unconscious hero. François I. alone remained at his side.
"And so, my dear fellow," he said, "I see that you loaned me your
gallantry before consecrating your genius to me."
"Sire," Benvenuto rejoined with a smile, "I believe, in good sooth, that
I was born to be your servitor. An incident of my early youth has always
seemed to me to admit of no other interpretation. Your crest is a
salamander, is it not?"
"Yes, with this device: _Nutrisco et extinguo_."
"Very well! When I was about five years old, I was sitting one day with
my father in a small room where they had been scalding the lye, and
where a rousing fire of young oak was still burning. It was very cold.
Happening to glance at the fire, I espied a tiny creature like a lizard
diverting itself in the spot where the heat was most intense. I pointed
it out to my father, and my father--pray pardon me this detail of a
somewhat brutal custom of my country--struck me a violent blow, and said
to me, with great gentleness, 'I do not strike thee because thou hast
done wrong, dear child, but so that thou mayst remember that the little
lizard thou hast seen in the fire is a salamander. No human being has
ever seen that animal save thou.' Was not that a premonition of fate,
Sire? Indeed, I think I was predestined to do as I have done, for at the
age of twenty I was about to set out for England, when the sculptor
Pietro Torregiano, who was to take me thither, told me that in his youth
he one day struck our Michel-Angelo in the face, on the occasion of some
studio quarrel. Ah! I abandoned all thought of the journey then; not for
a prince's title would I have travelled with one who had raised his hand
against my great sculptor. I remained in Italy, and from Italy, instead
of going to England, I came to France."
"France, proud of your choice, Benvenuto, will see to it that you do not
sigh for your fatherland."
"Oh! my fatherland is art, and my prince he who commands the richest cup
at my hands."
"Have you any beautiful work now in contemplation, Cellini?"
"O yes, Sire,--a Christ. Not a Christ upon the Cross, but Christ in His
radiance and glory; and I shall copy as closely as possible the infinite
beauty of the guise in which he revealed himself to me."
"What!" laughed Marguerite, the sceptic; "in addition to all the kings
of earth, have you seen the King of Heaven, too?"
"Yes, madame," replied Benvenuto, with childlike simplicity.
"Oh! pray tell us of that," said the Queen of Navarre.
"Willingly, madame," said Benvenuto, with a confident air, which implied
that it did not occur to him that any one could doubt any part of his
story.
"Some time before," he continued, "I had seen Satan and all his legions,
whom a necromancing friend of mine, a priest, evoked for me at the
Coliseum. Indeed, we had much ado to rid ourselves of them. But the
dread souvenir of those infernal apparitions was forever banished from
my mind when, in answer to my fervent prayer, the blessed Saviour of
mankind appeared to me, in a flood of sunlight, crowned with glory, and
brought sweet consolation to me in the misery of my captivity."
"And are you sure beyond a peradventure," demanded the Queen of Navarre,
"so sure that you have no shadow of doubt, that Christ really appeared
to you?"
"I have no doubt of it, madame."
"In that case, Benvenuto, go on and fashion a Christ for our chapel,"
said François I., with his usual good humor.
"Sire, if your Majesty will so far indulge me, I pray you to order
something different, and allow me to postpone the execution of that
work."
"Why so?"
"Because I promised God to undertake it for no other sovereign than
Him."
"_À la bonne heure!_ Be it so! Benvenuto, I need twelve candlesticks
for my table."
"Ah! that is a different matter; and therein, Sire, you shall be obeyed."
"It is my wish that they should take the form' of twelve silver
statues."
"The effect will be magnificent, Sire."
"They must represent six gods and six goddesses, and be of my own
height."
"Why, your order is for a whole epic poem," said the Duchesse d'Etampes;
"for a work of marvellous, surprising splendor, is it not, Monsieur
Benvenuto?"
"I am never surprised, madame."
"I should be greatly surprised, my self," retorted the duchess, somewhat
piqued, "if other sculptors than those of the olden time could carry
such a task to completion."
"I hope, nevertheless, to execute it as satisfactorily as they could
have done," rejoined Benvenuto, coolly.
"Oho! are you not inclined to boast a little, Monsieur Benvenuto?"
"I never boast, madame."
As he made this reply with perfect calmness, Cellini looked at Madame
d'Etampes, and the haughty duchess lowered her eyes, in spite of
herself, under that firm, assured glance, in which there was no trace of
irritation. Her resentment was aroused by the consciousness of his
superiority, to which she yielded even while resisting it, and without
knowing in what it consisted. She had thought hitherto that beauty was
the greatest power in the world; she had forgotten genius.
"What treasure," said she, with a bitter sneer, "would suffice to
recompense such talent as yours?"
"None that I can command, i' faith," rejoined François I., "and
apropos, Benvenuto, I remember that you have as yet received but five
hundred crowns. Will you be content with the stipend which I allowed my
painter, Leonardo da Vinci, seven hundred gold crowns yearly? I will pay
over and above that for all works which you may execute for me."
"Sire, your offer is worthy such a king as François I., and--I venture
to say it--of such an artist as Cellini. And yet I shall make so bold as
to prefer a request to your Majesty."
"It is granted in advance, Benvenuto."
"Sire, I am but ill and narrowly accommodated in this edifice. One of my
pupils has discovered a location much more favorably situated than this
for the execution of such great works as my king may choose to command.
The property in question belongs to your Majesty; it is the Grand-Nesle.
It is at the disposal of the Provost of Paris, but he does not dwell
therein; he occupies only the Petit-Nesle, which I will gladly leave in
his possession."
"So be it, Benvenuto," said François; "take up your abode at the
Grand-Nesle, and I shall have only to cross the river to talk with you
and admire your masterpieces."
"Consider, Sire," interposed Madame d'Etampes, "that you thereby, for no
motive, deprive a nobleman, and one devoted to my service, of property
appertaining to his office."
Benvenuto glanced at her, and for the second time Anne lowered her eyes
beneath that steady, piercing gaze. Cellini rejoined, with the same
naïve good faith with which he had described the supernatural
apparitions:--
"I, too, am of noble birth, madame; my family descends from a gallant
officer, who held high rank under Julius Cæsar,--one Fiorino, of
Cellino, near Montefiascone,--and who gave his name to Florence; while
your provost and his ancestors, if my memory serves me, have never given
their name to anything. However," continued Benvenuto, turning to
François, and changing his expression and his tone, "it may be that I
have made too hold it may be that I shall incur the hatred of powerful
and influential persons, who, despite your Majesty's protection, may
prove too strong for me at last. The Provost of Paris is said to have
something very like an army at his orders."
"I have been told," the king interrupted, "that on a certain day, at
Rome, one Cellini, a goldsmith, retained, in default of payment
therefor, a silver vase ordered by Monsieur Farnese, then cardinal, and
to-day Pope."
"It is true, Sire."
"Furthermore, that the cardinal's whole household stormed the
goldsmith's studio, sword in hand, with the design of carrying away the
vase by force."
"That, too, is true."
"But this Cellini, in ambush behind the door, armed with his carbine,
did defend himself so valorously that he put Monseigneur le Cardinal's
people to flight; and was paid by the cardinal on the following day."
"All that, Sire, is strictly true."
"Very good! are not you the Cellini in question?"
"Yes, Sire; let your Majesty but continue to bestow your favor upon me
and nothing has any power to terrify me."
"In that case, go straight before you," said the king, smiling in his
beard; "go where you will, since you are of noble blood."
Madame d'Etampes said no more, but she registered a mental vow of deadly
hatred to Cellini from that moment,--the hatred of an offended woman.
"One last favor, Sire," said Cellini. "I cannot present all my workmen
to you; they are ten in number, some French, some German, all worthy,
talented comrades. But here are my two pupils whom I brought from Italy
with me, Pagolo and Ascanio. Come forward, Pagolo, and raise your head
and your eyes a little; not impertinently, but like an honest man who
has no evil action to blush for. This good fellow lacks inventive genius
perhaps, Sire, and is slightly lacking in earnestness, too; but he is a
careful, conscientious artist, who works slowly, but well, who
comprehends my ideas perfectly, and executes them faithfully. And this
is Ascanio, my noble-hearted, amiable pupil, and my beloved child. It is
doubtless true that he has not the vigorous creative faculty which will
represent in a bas-relief the serried ranks of two hostile armies
meeting in deadly encounter, and tearing each other to pieces, or lions
and tigers clinging with claws and teeth to the edge of a vase. Nor has
he the original fancy which invents horrible chimeras and impossible
dragons. No; but his soul, which resembles his body, has the instinct of
a divine ideal, so to speak. Ask him to design an angel, or a group of
nymphs, and no one can equal the exquisite poesy and grace of his work.
With Pagolo I have four arms, with Ascanio I have two souls; and then he
loves me, and I am very happy to have always by my side a pure and
devoted heart like his."
While his master was speaking, Ascanio stood near him, modestly, but
without embarrassment, in an attitude of unstudied grace, and Madame
d'Etampes could not remove her eyes from the fascinating young Italian,
black-eyed and black-haired, who seemed a living copy of Apollino.
"If Ascanio," said she, "understands grace and beauty so well, and if he
cares to come some morning to the Hôtel d'Etampes, I will furnish him
with precious stones and gold, with which he may cause some marvellous
flower to bloom for me."
Ascanio bowed and thanked her with a glance.
"And I," said the king, "grant to him, as well as to Pagolo, a yearly
pension of one hundred crowns."
"I undertake to make them earn their pension, Sire," said Benvenuto.
"But who is the lovely child with the long eyelashes, hiding yonder in
the corner?" said François, spying Scozzone for the first time.
"Oh, pay no attention to her, Sire," replied Benvenuto, with a frown;
"she is the only one of the beautiful things in this studio whom I like
not to have noticed."
"Aha! you are jealous, my Benvenuto."
"Mon Dieu! Sire, I like not that any hand should be laid upon my
property; to compare small things with great, it is as if some other
should dare to think of Madame d'Etampes; you would be furious, Sire.
Scozzone is my duchess."
The duchess, who was gazing at Ascanio, bit her lips at this
unceremonious interruption. Many courtiers smiled in spite of
themselves, and all the ladies giggled. As for the king, he laughed
outright.
"Foi de gentilhomme! your jealousy is within its right, Benvenuto, and
an artist and a king may well understand each other. Adieu, my friend: I
commend my statues to your attention. You will commence with Jupiter,
naturally, and when you have finished the model you will show it to me.
Adieu, and good luck! We will meet at the Hôtel de Nesle."