dressing tables beside their perfumes and cosmetics, ready for instant administration. During the pontificate of Alexander VII there existed an association among ladies of quality in Rome, pledged to make away with their husbands by poison. Although proofs existed in plenty, the law did not dare to touch such high and mighty dames as the Princess Vitelleschi, the Duchess of Ceri and many others. By and by this system of poisoning extended even to the lower orders, and five women were hanged for having prepared bottles of distilled water containing arsenic by means of which many persons had poisoned their husbands and parents. Several of these were punished by being walled up alive in the dungeons of the Inquisition, and others were publicly beheaded. On the day of the execution a vast crowd gathered in the Campo di Fiori to see the horrible sight. One of the women, a certain Cecilla Bossi Verzellini, who had incited her daughter to poison her husband, was accompanied to the scaffold by a prince Barberini as a member of the confraternity of St. Giovanni Decollato, which confraternity had the sad privilege of attending the condemned in their last moments and of carrying out their last wishes. The prince, pitying the woman, urged the executioner to make haste, whereupon the man replied insolently that perhaps the prince could discharge the task better than he. The execution was left to an assistant, and the hangman was arrested immediately by order of the governor of Rome, whipped round the city and sent to the galleys. The severe measures used finally effected the suppression of this atrocious crime, if not its abolishment.
CHAPTER III
THE GREAT SIEGE OF ST. ANGELO
Leo X—The Castle witnesses many foul deeds—It is beautified and state apartments added—Clement VII improves and embellishes it—The Castle attacked by Charles of Bourbon on behalf of the emperor Charles V—Stands a long siege—Benvenuto Cellini does good service—Remarkable character of that eminent goldsmith—His story as told in his Memoirs—Clement VII takes refuge in the castle—Cellini commands a battery and does great execution upon the enemy—Helps the pope to conceal his jewels.
The pontificate of Leo X was the golden age of the arts, though crimes of every character were still unchecked in Rome. The pope, one of the Medici of Florence, who had reason to suspect Cardinal Alfonso Petrucci of being privy to a plot to murder him, dissimulated his anger and affectionately invited the cardinal to visit Rome. Petrucci was promised a safe conduct and the pope gave his word to the Spanish ambassador that the cardinal should come to no harm. He arrived accompanied by a friend, also a cardinal, and both were immediately arrested and imprisoned in St. Angelo. An extensive conspiracy was supposed to be on foot, and many other victims found their way to the dungeons of the castle. The exact fate that overtook them was never made known, but it is certain that Petrucci and his friend were put to the torture, and after trial and conviction the first-named was strangled in his cell, and the second was only released after the payment of an exorbitant fine; even then he had purchased freedom with death hanging over him from slow poison which had been administered to him before his release. Leo X also made away with Gian Paolo Baglioni, ruler of Perugia, whom he suspected of a secret understanding with his enemies. Baglioni was distrustful and hesitated to answer a summons to Rome, but went at last, relying upon the fair promises that he should come to no harm. Leo received him at St. Angelo, which he was visiting temporarily, and there was no hope for Baglioni, who was seized and subjected at once to torture, under which he confessed to many crimes. He was then cast into a dungeon, where he lingered for a couple of months, and was eventually decapitated.
Leo X had a strong liking for the castle and constantly resided there in the apartments, most of which are still on view, and which he greatly beautified. By his order Michael Angelo designed the marble front for the chapel of the Angel already erected in the topmost part. This upper story was the scene of a theatrical representation when Ariosto’s comedy “I Suppositi” was performed under the direction of Cardinal Bibbiena, the stage decorations being the work of Raphael. To facilitate the pope’s ascent to the upper story, the governor of the castle constructed a lift or elevator communicating from the ground floor to the top of the castle, one of the earliest instances of the domestic use of hydraulics. The remains of this elevator may still be seen in the guiding beams inserted in the well or shaft for the movement of the cage or platform.
Another Medicis, Giulio, who became pope in 1553, with the title of Clement VII, was strenuous in his efforts to embellish the castle, being more eager to decorate and improve it than to strengthen it, although it was destined to receive some severe shocks during his reign. One of his works was to replace the angel destroyed by the gunpowder explosion, and a marble statue was provided by Raphael, son of Baccio da Monte-Lupo, who also added some fine decoration in stone work and scagliola in many of the principal rooms. Clement VII was often at issue with other European potentates and especially with the emperor Charles V, who declared war against him and invaded his dominions. Clement at first hoped that the people of Rome would support him in his resistance to the enemy, but was disappointed, and lingering too long in the Vatican, only escaped capture at the last moment by a hurried flight along the covered passage into his stronghold of St. Angelo. The Leonine city forthwith became the prey of the German troops, who overran the whole Borgo, sacking the houses of the cardinals and courtiers, pillaging the Vatican and robbing St. Peter’s of everything of value. They were checked only by the guns of St. Angelo, and withdrew at nightfall carrying off their booty. The next day the emperor made overtures and terms were arranged at a conference between them. It was only a truce of brief duration, for Clement soon became embroiled with the emperor Charles V and sided with the French against him. This brought on him a fresh and more serious attack from Duke Charles of Bourbon, who, although a cousin of the French king and constable of France, had transferred his services to Charles V.
The following episode in the chequered fortunes of St. Angelo is especially interesting, for it brings upon the scene that strange but remarkable character, Benvenuto Cellini, who was to a great extent the hero of the siege. We have fortunately an ample and graphic record of his adventurous life, by his own hand, in the autobiographical memoirs which Horace Walpole thought “more amusing than any novel” and which are indeed, as they have been styled, “the most entertaining and delightful work in the whole compass of Italian literature.” The learned historian Roscoe, who edited these memoirs, ably summarises the advantages enjoyed by the author. Benvenuto Cellini belonged to a golden age of the arts, essentially that of the Old Masters; he was intimately associated with Michael Angelo, Titian and the most eminent sculptors and painters of the time; he was on friendly terms with popes and monarchs, great princes, powerful statesmen, distinguished commanders, lordly ecclesiastics, and braving displeasure, held his head high, speaking his mind freely to all. We are admitted behind the scenes and see these historic personages in their private and domestic life, betraying themselves unconsciously at their worst, exposing their small vices, their meanness, pettiness, ingratitude, and yielding to their greater passions which often impelled them to cruelty, injustice, rank oppression and violent crime. Cellini’s presentment of people and things in his epoch is extraordinarily vivid and forcible; he was a prominent actor in many of the eventful episodes of that stormy period; he had the gift of language and the power to describe with vigour and precision the moving scenes of which he was an eye-witness and frequently participated in. He is conceited, self-sufficient, bombastic; he blows his own trumpet continually and is always full of vain-glorious satisfaction at the supreme excellence of his work and his triumph over all competitors. Of mercurial disposition he is quick to quarrel with any one, to resent offence, not always intended, but ever ready to justify his ebullitions of ill temper, sword in hand to face his enemies and fight all comers. Withal he was a genius of the first water; his productions, as fully proved by the work that survives, were fine specimens of his versatile artistic power, and we need only refer to his principal achievement, the great bronze statue of Perseus, which all the world admires to-day in the Galeria dei Lanzi of Florence. Cellini was a Florentine, a subject of the Medicis, born in the days of Lorenzo the Magnificent, and his father, an admirable artist in ivory, an engineer and a notable musician, was much favoured by that liberal patron of the arts. In his youth Benvenuto bound himself to a goldsmith, and according to Vasari, had “no equal in that branch for many years, nor in making fine figures of alto and basso relievo.... He set jewels and adorned them with admirable collets and diminutive figures so exquisitely formed and some of them so curious and fanciful that nothing finer can be conceived.” His father would have preferred that he should apply himself to music, but Benvenuto stuck to his trade and, as he tells us, “so great was my inclination to improve that in a few months I rivalled the most skilful journeyman in the business.... I continued however to play sometimes through complacence, either upon the flute or the horn, and I constantly drew tears and deep sighs from him when he heard me. From a feeling of filial piety I often gave him that satisfaction, endeavouring to persuade him that it also gave me particular pleasure.” Benvenuto being concerned with his brother in a serious affray, was banished from Florence and wandered through some of the northern cities following his trade, but returned and was invited to England in the employment of King Henry VII. He would not leave his native city, however, where he became the victim of envious rivals “who robbed and calumniated him, doing him the greatest injustice.” He says: “They declared loudly they would make me repent, but I, being a stranger to fear, little regarded their menaces.” A fierce quarrel soon followed, Benvenuto was injured and retaliated by striking one of his assailants to the ground where he lay motionless and insensible. Drawing a knife he cried: “Some one run for a confessor as there will be no necessity for a surgeon.” Benvenuto was arrested and carried before the council of eight, who would have sent him to prison, but through the good offices of friends only a penalty of a fine was imposed. His passionate temper would not suffer him to sink his differences, and running to his workshop, he took up a dagger, meaning to make short work of his adversaries. Single handed he attacked the whole family of the man who had been the originator of the quarrel. They were a dozen in number, all armed with cudgels, hammers and scraps of iron. “Rushing amongst them like a mad bull,” he says, “I threw down four or five and fell to the ground along with them, now aiming my dagger at one, now at another.” No fatal consequences ensued, however, for Benvenuto adds, “Upon looking about for the wounded and slain, it appeared that none of them had sustained any injury.” After this disturbance, Benvenuto knew that he must fly, for the authorities vowed vengeance. The magistrates assembled, decreed his immediate arrest, and threatened the severest penalties against any one who dared to grant him an asylum or be privy to his concealment. Cellini’s father pleaded for mercy and begged hard that his youthful but hot-headed son might be spared, but was peremptorily bidden to take himself off. There could be no safety for Benvenuto, who forthwith left the city, disguised as a friar accompanied by a lay brother. Outside the walls horses were provided, and the fugitive galloped away to Sienna on the road to Rome. At Sienna he encountered a messenger bringing the news that Cardinal Giulio Medicis had been elected pope and had taken the title of Clement VII.
Fortune smiled on Benvenuto Cellini when he reached the Holy City. He found plenty of work and many kindly patrons; he was permitted to sit at the feet of Michael Angelo, who was then engaged in the adornment of the Sistine Chapel, and was welcomed at the house of Agostino Chigi, who possessed many fine paintings of Raphael, which he was allowed to copy for use in his own designs. Work was plentiful. He received a commission to set some fine diamonds for a beautiful Roman lady and produced a perfect piece, which won him great fame and a substantial reward. Another order came from the bishop of Salamanca for a large silver vase to contain water. But in the midst of this congenial and profitable employment the claims of music once more interposed. By way of pleasing his aged father, he agreed to join the pope’s private band for a special chamber concert, and acquitted himself so well that Clement asked his name. Finding Benvenuto was the son of Giovanni Cellini of Florence, the pope proposed to take him into his service as a musician, but learning that he was an expert goldsmith and jeweller, promised him constant employment in that direction also. Meanwhile the commission for the bishop of Salamanca was being executed, but that proud and overbearing prelate offended Cellini by constantly demanding that the vase should be sent to him, that he might judge for himself what progress was being made. Cellini, quick-tempered as usual, refused to part with it without some payment on account, and the bishop essayed to take the vase by force. A crowd of Spaniards came down upon Cellini’s shop, but were faced by Benvenuto with a loaded fowling piece. “Miscreants! traitors! cut-throats!” he cried, “are the houses and shops of citizens to be assaulted in this manner? If any thief amongst you offers to approach this door, I will shoot him dead.” The disturbance brought out the neighbours to support Cellini, and he was assured that if he killed the Spanish dogs they would stand by him. Whereupon the Spaniards ran off in a terrible panic and reported the matter to their bishop. The prelate severely reprimanded them for attempting such an act of violence, but he was furiously angry with Benvenuto, and sent a message to him that if he did not bring the piece of plate directly, he would leave no part of his body entire but his ears. “The proud prelate’s menaces did not in the least terrify me,” writes Cellini, “and I sent him back word that I should immediately lay the whole affair before the pope.”
Having reached this climax, the matter settled down; the bishop’s anger subsided, and Benvenuto was assured that he would come to no harm if he acceded to the bishop’s request, but would be paid his price on delivery of the piece of plate. Accordingly he clothed himself in a coat of mail, armed himself with a dagger and, followed by a servant carrying the silver vase, proceeded to the bishop’s house where he was received in state; the servants were all drawn up around the bishop, who was himself seated in grim displeasure. Benvenuto was not in the least overawed and we may quote his words as he describes the end of the incident: “All this time I never once looked at him, or so much as answered a single word; at which his lordship seemed to discover more resentment than ever and having ordered pen, ink and paper, desired me to write him a receipt. I then looked him full in the face and told him that I would readily do so after I had received my money. The haughty bishop was then more exasperated than ever; but in tine, after a great deal of scolding and hectoring, I was paid and afterwards, having written an acquittance, left the place in high spirits.” The pope was highly delighted with this story when it reached him, and entirely approved of Cellini’s conduct, so that the bishop of Salamanca regretted and heartily repented what he had done. To make amends he sent word to Cellini, promising him more work, but the irrepressible goldsmith replied that he would undertake no further commissions unless he was paid in advance; an answer at which the pope laughed heartily when it was reported to him. Other patrons came forward; two cardinals, Cibo and Cornaro, ordered plate, and he designed a gold medal for a hat ornament which was esteemed a masterpiece of art. Under the advice of his friends he opened a shop and did an extensive business on his own account, adding to the other occupation that of seal engraver, a branch of art much in demand; for every cardinal had his own seal as large as the palm of a child ten years old, a costly affair and difficult in execution. Cellini applied himself with great assiduity to the work and mastered it. He also acquired the art of enamelling, a very delicate operation on account of the final use of fire which sometimes ruins and destroys the whole production. “I attached myself to it with the greatest ardour, and such was the pleasure I took in learning it that its greatest difficulties appeared delightful to me,” he says naïvely, and goes on to give us an amusing insight into his transparently conceited character. “This was through the peculiar indulgence of the Author of nature, who had gifted me with a genius so happy that I could with the utmost ease learn anything I gave my mind to. These several branches are very different from each other; insomuch that the man who excels in one seldom or never attains to an equal degree of perfection in any of the rest; whereas I, having exerted myself with the utmost assiduity to be eminent in all these different arts, at last compassed my end.” To learn the art of “damascening” or inlaying the blades of daggers with steel or silver was yet another occupation of Cellini’s busy hours, which were indeed always full. Yet he still found time to quarrel with a comrade who insulted the Florentines, to slap his face and draw his sword and fight him. He took the plague and recovered from it. He pursued game upon the Campagna and opened up relations with the peasantry, who while working in the vineyards constantly dug up valuable curiosities, ancient medals, cameos and precious stones, which Cellini bought for a few baiocchi and sold to art loving cardinals. Some of these gems were remarkable; such as the emerald as large as a bean, cut into a dolphin’s head, and the topaz of the size of a large nut carved into the head of Minerva, and a cameo engraved with a figure of Hercules binding a triple headed Cerberus, of such admirable workmanship that Michael Angelo counted it the most beautiful specimen he had ever seen.