It is also related of this ambassador, that on his first audience he came highly perfumed; the great Frederick, who was more accustomed to the smell of gunpowder than of musk, could not refrain from very visibly showing his dislike. The ambassador observed it, and felt much embarrassed. The day being stormy, “De quel côté, sa Majesté croit-elle,” said he, “que le vent vient?” The king abruptly replied, “De France, votre Excellence.”
Premature Judgment.
Never judge harshly from appearances, or pertinaciously form a decided opinion, unless there is sufficient demonstration to prevent future regret.
Benvenuto Cellini.
Benvenuto Cellini arrived in France in 1537, but, offended by the cold reception of Il Rosso,[13] he resolved, notwithstanding the gracious welcome of Francis I. to return to Italy almost immediately, where he was imprisoned in the castle of St. Angelo. By the generous intervention of Francis, he was at length released, and returned to France, where he was most royally provided for; nevertheless, his pride, and jealousy of Primatice, kept him in constant agitation, and at length wearied out the king, whose inclination was always obliged to yield to his caprice; and at last he abandoned the greatest advantages which ever were offered to an artist, and quitted France for ever—a step he never ceased to regret. On one occasion, he went to St. Germains with a vase of silver-gilt, destined for the Duchesse d’Etampes, and was so irritated at the loss of time which he was obliged to submit to before he could be admitted to her presence, that he hurried away, and in the height of his indignation offered the vase to the Cardinal de Lorraine as a present.
Another instance of his furious temper is sufficiently remarkable. He tells, in his confessions, that one of his models, a beautiful French girl, named Catherine, who sat to him for thirty sous a day, having offended him, “Giving way entirely to my rage, I seized her by the hair, and dragged her about the room, kicking and beating her till I was quite fatigued. She swore she never would come near me again; but the next morning at day-break, she came, threw herself on my neck, covered me with kisses, and asked if I was still angry with her.”
[13] A Painter of fresques.