letter into her hand; "for Benvenuto and for him alone!"
"What's that?" exclaimed the governor, walking hastily toward them;
"what's the matter!"
"Nothing; I was telling Gervaise how I love her."
"As she will not, in all probability, have time to ascertain the
contrary, protestations are thrown away; go to the altar and make
haste."
Aubry and Gervaise went forward in silence to the waiting priest. When
they were in front of him they fell upon their knees and the mass began.
Jacques would have been very glad of an opportunity to exchange a few
words with Gervaise, who, for her part, was burning up with the desire
to express her gratitude to Aubry; but two guards stood beside them
listening to every word and watching every movement. It was very
fortunate that a momentary feeling of sympathy led the governor to allow
them to exchange the embrace under cover of which the letter passed from
Jacques's hands to Gervaise's. That opportunity lost, the close
surveillance to which they were subjected would have rendered Jacques's
devotion of no avail.
The priest had received his instructions, doubtless, for he cut his
discourse very short. It may be, too, that he thought it would be
trouble thrown away to enjoin due regard to his duties as a husband and
father upon a man who was to be hanged within two or three days.
The discourse at an end, the benediction given, the mass said, Aubry and
Gervaise thought they would be allowed to speak together privately for a
moment, but not so. Despite the tears of Gervaise, who was literally
dissolved in them, the guards forced them to part.
They had time, however, to exchange a glance. Aubry's said, "Remember my
commission." Gervaise's replied, "Never fear; it shall be done to-night,
or to-morrow at latest."
Then they were led away in opposite directions. Gervaise was politely
escorted to the street door, and Jacques was politely taken back to his
cell.
As the door closed upon him, he heaved a deeper sigh than any of those
he had perpetrated since he entered the prison: he was married.
Thus it was that Aubry, like another Curtius, plunged headlong, through
devotion, into the hymeneal gulf.
XVIII
THE CASTING
Now, with our readers' permission, we will leave the Châtelet for a
moment, and return to the Hôtel de Nesle.
The workmen responded quickly to Benvenuto's cries, and followed him to
the foundry.
They all knew him as he appeared when at work; but never had they seen
such an expression upon his face, never such a flame in his eyes.
Whoever could have cast him in a mould at that moment, as he was on the
point of casting his Jupiter, would have endowed the world with the
noblest statue ever created by the genius of an artist.
Everything was ready: the wax model in its envelope of clay, girt round
with iron bands, was awaiting in the furnace which surrounded it the
hour of its life. The wood was all arranged: Benvenuto set fire to it in
four different places, and as it was spruce, which the artist had been
long collecting that it might be thoroughly dry, the fire quickly
attacked every part of the furnace, and the mould was soon the centre of
an immense blaze. The wax thereupon began to run out through the
air-holes while the mould was baking: at the same time the workmen were
digging a long ditch beside the furnace, into which the metal was to be
poured in a state of fusion, for Benvenuto was anxious not to lose a
moment, and to proceed to the casting as soon as the mould was
thoroughly baked.
For a day and a half the wax trickled from the mould; for a day and a
half, while the workmen divided into watches and took turn and turn
about like the sailors on a man-of-war, Benvenuto was constantly on
hand, hovering about the furnace, feeding the fire, encouraging the
workmen. At last he found that the wax had all run out, and that the
mould was thoroughly baked; this completed the second part of his work;
the last part was the melting of the bronze and the casting of the
statue. When that stage was reached the workmen, who were utterly unable
to comprehend such superhuman strength and such an intensity of passion,
endeavored to induce Benvenuto to take a few hours' rest; but that would
mean so many hours added to Ascanio's captivity and the persecution of
Colombe. Benvenuto refused. He seemed to be made of the same bronze of
which he was about to make a god.
When the ditch was dug, he wound stout ropes about the mould, and with
the aid of windlasses prepared for that purpose, he raised it with every
possible precaution, swung it out over the ditch, and let it down slowly
until it was on a level with the furnace. He fixed it firmly in place
there by piling around it the dirt taken from the ditch, treading it
down, and putting in place, as the dirt rose about the mould, the pieces
of earthen pipe which were to serve as air-holes. All these preparations
took the rest of the day. Night came. For forty-eight hours Benvenuto
had not slept nor lain down, nor even sat down. The workmen implored,
Scozzone scolded, but Benvenuto would hear none of it: he seemed to be
sustained by some more than human power, and made no other reply to the
entreaties and scolding than to assign to each workman his task, in the
short, stern tone of an officer manœuvring his troops.
Benvenuto was determined to begin the casting at once: the energetic
artist, who was accustomed to see all obstacles yield before him,
exerted his imperious power upon himself; he ordered his body to act,
and it obeyed, while his companions were obliged to withdraw, one after
another, as in battle wounded soldiers leave the field and seek the
hospital.
The casting furnace was ready: it was filled with round ingots of brass
and copper, symmetrically piled one upon another, so that the heat could
pass between them, and the fusion be effected more quickly and more
completely. He set fire to the wood around it as in the case of the
other furnace, and as it was mostly spruce, the resin which exuded from
it, in conjunction with the combustible nature of the wood, soon made
such a fierce flame that it rose higher than was anticipated, and lapped
the roof of the foundry, which took fire at once, being of wood. At the
sight of this conflagration, and more especially at the heat which it
gave forth, all the artist's comrades, save Hermann, drew back; but
Hermann and Benvenuto were a host in themselves. Each of them seized an
axe and cut away at the wooden pillars which upheld the roof, and in an
instant it fell in. Thereupon Hermann and Benvenuto with poles pushed
the burning fragments into the furnace, and with the increased heat the
metal began to melt.
But Benvenuto had at last reached the limit of his strength. For nearly
sixty hours he had not slept, for twenty-four he had not eaten, and
during the whole of that time he was the soul of the whole performance,
the axis upon which the whole operation turned. A terrible fever took
possession of him: a deathly pallor succeeded to his usual high color.
In an atmosphere so intensely hot that no one could live beside him, he
felt his limbs tremble and his teeth chatter as if he were amid the
snows of Lapland. His companions remarked his condition and drew near to
him. He tried to resist, to deny that he was beaten, for in his eyes it
was a disgrace to yield even before the impossible; but at last he was
fain to confess that his strength was failing him. Fortunately, the
fusion was nearly accomplished: the most difficult part of the operation
was past, and what remained to be done was mere mechanical work. He
called Pagolo; Pagolo did not reply. But the workmen shouted his name in
chorus and he at last appeared; he said that he had been praying for the
successful issue of the casting.
"This is no time to pray!" cried Benvenuto, "and the Lord said, 'He who
works prays.' This is the time for work, Pagolo. Hark ye: I feel that I
am dying; but whether I die or not, my Jupiter must live. Pagolo, my
friend, to thee I intrust the management of the casting, sure that thou
canst do it as well as I, if thou wilt. Understand, Pagolo, the metal
will soon be ready; thou canst not mistake the proper degree of heat.
When it is red thou wilt give a sledge hammer to Hermann, and one to
Simon-le-Gaucher.--My God! what was I saying? Ah, yes!--Then they must
knock out the two plugs of the furnace; the metal will flow out, and if
I am dead you will tell the king that he promised me a boon, and that
you claim it in my name, and that it--is--O my God! I no longer
remember. What was I to ask the king? Ah, yes!--Ascanio--Seigneur de
Nesle--Colombe, the provost's daughter--D'Orbec--Madame d'Etampes--Ah! I
am going mad!"
Benvenuto staggered and fell into Hermann's arms, who carried him off
like a child to his room, while Pagolo, intrusted with the
superintendence of the work, gave orders for it to go on.
Benvenuto was right: he was going mad, or rather a terrible delirium had
taken possession of him. Scozzone, who doubtless had been praying as
Pagolo had, hurried to his side; but Benvenuto continued to cry, "I am
dying! I am dying! Ascanio! Ascanio! what will become of Ascanio?"
A thousand delirious visions were crowding in upon his brain: Ascanio,
Colombe, Stefana, all appeared and disappeared like ghosts. In the
throng which passed before his eyes was Pompeo the goldsmith, whom he
slew with his dagger; and the keeper of the post-house at Sienna, whom
he slew with his arquebus. Past and present were confounded in his
brain. How it was Clement VII. who detained Ascanio in prison; again it
was Cosmo I. who sought to force Colombe to marry D'Orbec. Then he would
appeal to Queen Eleanora, thinking he was addressing Madame d'Etampes,
and would implore and threaten her by turns. Then he would make sport of
poor weeping Scozzone, and bid her beware lest Pagolo should break his
neck clambering around on the cornices like a cat. Intervals of complete
prostration would succeed these paroxysms, and it would seem as if he
were at the point of death.
This agonizing state of affairs endured three hours. Benvenuto was in
one of his periods of torpor when Pagolo suddenly rushed into the room,
pale and agitated, crying:--
"May Jesus and the Virgin help us, master! for all is lost now, and we
can look nowhere but to Heaven for help."
Worn out, half conscious, dying as he was, these words, like a sharp
stiletto, reached the very bottom of his heart. The veil which clouded
his intellect was torn away, and, like Lazarus rising at the voice of
the Lord, he rose upon his bed, crying:--
"Who dares to say that all is lost when Benvenuto still lives?"
"Alas! I, master," said Pagolo.
"Double traitor!" cried Benvenuto, "is it written that thou shalt
forever prove false to me? But never fear! Jesus and the Virgin whom you
invoked just now are at hand, to bear aid to men of good will, and
punish traitors!"
At that moment he heard the workmen lamenting and crying:--
"Benvenuto! Benvenuto!"
"He is here! he is here!" cried the artist, rushing from his room, pale
of face, but with renewed strength and clearness of vision. "Here he is!
and woe to them who have not done their duty!"
In two hounds Benvenuto was at the foundry; he found all the workmen,
whom he had left so full of vigor and enthusiasm, in a state of utter
stupefaction and dejection. Even Hermann the colossus seemed to be dying
of fatigue; he was tottering on his legs and was compelled to lean
against one of the supports of the roof which remained standing.
"Now listen to what I say," cried Benvenuto in an awful voice, falling
into their midst like a thunderbolt. "I don't as yet know what has
happened, but I swear to you beforehand that it can be remedied,
whatever it may he,--upon my soul it can! Now that I am present, obey me
on your lives! but obey passively, without a word, without a gesture,
for the first man who hesitates I will kill.
"So much for the ill disposed.
"I have but one word to say to those who are disposed to do their duty:
the liberty and happiness of Ascanio, your companion of whom you are all
so fond, will follow the successful issue of this task. To work!"
With that Cellini approached the furnace to form his own opinion of what
had taken place. The supply of wood had given out, and the metal had
cooled, so that it had turned to cake, as the professional phrase goes.
Benvenuto at once determined that the disaster could be repaired.
Pagolo's watchfulness had relaxed in all likelihood, and he had allowed
the heat of the fire to abate: the thing to be done was to make the fire
as hot as ever, and to reduce the metal to a liquid state once more.
"Wood!" cried Benvenuto, "wood! Go look for wood wherever it can
possibly be found; go to the bakers, and buy it by the pound if
necessary; bring every stick of wood that there is in the house to the
smallest chip. Break in the doors of the Petit-Nesle, Hermann, if Dame
Perrine doesn't choose to open them; everything in that direction is
lawful prize, for it's an enemy's country. Wood! wood!"
To set the example Benvenuto seized an axe and attacked the two posts
which were still standing: they soon fell with the last remnants of the
roof, and Benvenuto at once pushed the whole mass into the fire: at the
same time his comrades returned from all directions laden with wood.
"Ah!" cried Benvenuto, "now are you ready to obey me?"
"Yes! yes!" cried every voice, "yes! we will do whatever you bid us do,
so long as we have a breath of life in our bodies."
"Select the oak then, and throw on nothing but oak at first: that burns
more quickly, and consequently will repair the damage sooner."
Immediately oak began to rain down upon the fire, and Benvenuto was
obliged to cry enough.
His energy infected all his comrades; his orders, even his gestures,
were understood and executed on the instant. Pagolo alone muttered from
time to time between his teeth:--
"You are trying to perform impossibilities, master: it is tempting
Providence."
To which Cellini's only reply was a look which seemed to say, "Never
fear; we have an account to settle hereafter."
Meanwhile, notwithstanding Pagolo's sinister predictions, the metal
began to fuse anew, and to hasten the fusion Benvenuto at intervals
threw a quantity of lead into the furnace, stirring up the lead and
copper and brass with a long bar of iron, so that, to borrow his
expression, the metal corpse began to come to life again. At sight of
the progress that was making, Benvenuto was so elate that he was
unconscious of fever or weakness; he too came to life once more.
At last the metal began to boil and seethe. Benvenuto at once opened the
orifice of the mould and ordered the plugs of the furnace to be knocked
out, which was done on the instant; but, as if this immense work was to
be a veritable combat of Titans to the end, Benvenuto perceived, as soon
as the plugs were removed, not only that the metal did not run freely
enough, but that there was some question as to whether there was enough
of it. Thereupon, with one of those heaven-sent inspirations which come
to none but artists, he cried:--
"Let half of you remain here to feed the fire, and the rest follow me!"
With that he rushed into the house, followed by five of his men, and an
instant later they all reappeared, laden with silver plate, pewter,
bullion, and pieces of work half completed. Benvenuto himself set the
example, and each one cast his precious burden into the furnace, which
instantly devoured everything, bronze, lead, silver, rough pig-metal,
and beautiful works of art, with the same indifference with which it
would have devoured the artist himself if he had thrown himself in.
Thanks to this reinforcement of fusible matter, the metal became
thoroughly liquefied, and, as if it repented of its momentary
hesitation, began to flow freely. There ensued a period of breathless
suspense, which became something very like terror when Benvenuto
perceived that all of the bronze did not reach the orifice of the mould:
he sounded with a long rod and found that the mould was entirely filled
without exhausting the supply of metal.
Thereupon he fell upon his knees and thanked God: the work was finished
which was to save Ascanio and Colombe: now would God permit that the
result should fulfil his hopes?
It was impossible to know until the following day.
The night that followed was, as can readily be imagined, a night of
agony, and, worn out as Benvenuto was, he slept for a very few moments
only, and his sleep even for those few moments was far from being
restful. His eyes were hardly closed before real objects gave place to
imaginary ones. He saw his Jupiter, the king of the gods in beauty as
well as power, as shapeless and deformed as his son Vulcan. In his dream
he was unable to understand this catastrophe. Was it the fault of the
mould! Was it the fault of the casting? Had he made a miscalculation? or
was destiny making sport of him? At the sight his temples throbbed
furiously, and he awoke with his heart jumping, and bathed in
perspiration. For some time his mind was so confused that he could not
separate fact from vision. At last, however, he remembered that his
Jupiter was still hidden in the mould, like a child in its mother's
womb. He recalled all the precautions he had taken. He implored God not
only to make his work successful, but to do a merciful deed. Thereupon
he became somewhat calmer, and fell asleep again--under the weight of
the never-ending weariness which seemed to have laid hold on him
forever--only to fall into a second dream as absurd and as terrifying as
the first.
Day broke at last, and with its coming Benvenuto shook himself clear of
all symptoms of drowsiness: in an instant he was on his feet and fully
dressed, and hastened at once to the foundry.
The bronze was evidently still too hot to be exposed to the air, but
Benvenuto was in such haste to ascertain what he had still to fear, or
what he might hope, that he could not contain himself, and began to
uncover the head. When he put his hand to the mould he was so pale that
one would have thought him at the point of death.
"Are you still sick, master?" inquired a voice, which he recognized as
Hermann's; "you vould do much petter to stay in your ped."
"You are wrong, Hermann, my boy," said Benvenuto, amazed to find him
astir so early, "for I should die in my bed. But how happens it that you
are out of bed at this hour?"
"I vas taking a valk," said Hermann, blushing to the whites of his eyes;
"I like much to valk. Shall I help you, master?"
"No, no!" cried Benvenuto; "no one but myself is to touch the mould!
Wait, wait!"
And he began gently to uncover the head. By a miraculous chance there
was just the necessary amount of metal. If it had not occurred to him to
throw all his silver plate and other objects into the furnace, the head
would have been missing and the casting a failure.
Fortunately the head was not missing, and was wonderfully beautiful.
[Illustration 07]
The sight of it encouraged Benvenuto to expose the other portions of the
body one after another. Little by little the mould fell away like bark,
and at last Jupiter, freed from head to foot from his trammels, appeared
in all the majesty befitting the sovereign of Olympus. In no part of the
work had the bronze betrayed the artist, and when the last morsel of
clay fell away, all the workmen joined in a shout of admiration; for
they had come out one by one and gathered about Cellini, who did not
even notice their presence, so absorbed was he by the thoughts to which
this complete success gave rise.
But at the shout, which made him too a god, he raised his head, and said
with a proud smile:--
"We shall see if the King of France will refuse the first boon asked by
the man who has made such a statue!"
The next instant, as if he repented his first impulse of pride, which
was entirely characteristic of him, he fell upon his knees, and with
clasped hands rendered thanks to the Lord aloud.
As he was finishing his prayer Scozzone ran out to say that _Madame_
Jacques Aubry desired to speak to him in private, having a letter from
her husband, which she could hand to none but Benvenuto.
Benvenuto made Scozzone repeat the name twice, for he had no idea that
the student was in the hands of a lawful wife.
He obeyed the summons none the less, leaving his companions swollen with
pride in their master's renown. Pagolo meanwhile, on scrutinizing the
statue more closely, observed that there was an imperfection in the
heel, some accident having prevented the metal from filling every part
of the mould.
XIX
JUPITER AND OLYMPUS
On the same day that Benvenuto removed his statue from the mould, he
sent word to François I. that his Jupiter was cast, and asked him on
what day it was his pleasure that the King of Olympus should appear
before the King of France.
François replied that his cousin, the Emperor, and he were to hunt in
the forest of Fontainebleau on the following Thursday, and that he need
do nothing more than have his statue transported to the grand gallery of
the château on that day.
The reply was very short; it was evident that Madame d'Etampes had
strongly prejudiced the king against his favorite artist. But
Benvenuto--was it through pride or confidence in God?--said simply, with
a smile,--
"It is well."
It was Monday. Benvenuto caused the Jupiter to be loaded upon a wagon,
and rode beside it, not leaving it for an instant, lest some mishap
might befall it. On Thursday, at ten o'clock, statue and artist were at
Fontainebleau.
To any one who saw Benvenuto, though it were only to see him ride by, it
was evident that pride and radiant hope were triumphant in his heart.
His conscience as an artist told him that he had executed a
_chef-d'œuvre_, and his honest heart that he was about to perform a
meritorious action. He was doubly joyous, therefore, and carried his
head high, like a man who, having no hatred in his heart, was equally
without fear. The king was to see his Jupiter, and could not fail to be
pleased with it; Montmorency and Poyet would remind him of his promise;
the Emperor and the whole court would be present, and François could
not do otherwise than as he had given his word to do.
Madame d'Etampes, with less innocent delight, but with quite as much
ardent passion, was maturing her plans. She had triumphed over Benvenuto
at the time of his first attempt to confound her by presenting himself
at her own hôtel and at the Louvre. The first danger was safely past,
but she felt that the king's promise to Benvenuto was a second equally
great danger, and it was her purpose, at any cost, to induce his Majesty
to disregard it. She therefore repaired to Fontainebleau one day in
advance of Cellini, and laid her wires with the profound feminine craft
which in her case almost amounted to genius.
Cellini was destined very soon to feel its effects.
He had no sooner crossed the threshold of the gallery where his Jupiter
was to be exhibited, than he felt the blow, recognized the hand that had
dealt it, and stood for a moment overwhelmed.
This gallery, ordinarily resplendent with paintings by Rosso, which were
in themselves enough to distract the attention from almost any
masterpiece, had been embellished during the last three days by statues
sent from Rome by Primaticcio,--that is to say, the marvels of antique
sculpture, the types sanctified by the admiration of twenty centuries,
were there before him, challenging comparison, crushing all rivalry.
Ariadne, Venus, Hercules, Apollo, even Jupiter himself, the great
Olympian Jove,--ideal figures, dreams of genius, eternities in
bronze,--formed, as it were, a supernatural assemblage which it was
impious to approach, a sublime tribunal whose judgment every artist
should dread.
There was something like profanation and blasphemy in the thought of
another Jupiter insinuating himself into that Olympus, of Benvenuto
throwing down the gauntlet to Phidias, and, notwithstanding his trust in
his own merit, the devout artist recoiled.
Furthermore, the immortal statues had taken possession of all the best
places, as it was their right to do, and there was no place left for
Cellini's poor Jupiter but some dark corner which could only be reached
by passing under the stately and imposing glances of the ancient gods.