The Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini — Part 132

“Who shall, Mattio, yield our pain relief? Who shall forbid the sad expense of tears? Alas! ‘tis true that in his youthful years Our friend hath flown, and left us here to grief.

“He hath gone up to heaven, who was the chief Of men renowned in art’s immortal spheres; Among the mighty dead he had no peers, Nor shall earth see his like, in my belief.

O gentle sprite! if love still sway the blest, Look down on him thou here didst love, and view These tears that mourn my loss, not thy great good.

“There dost thou gaze on His beatitude Who made our universe, and findest true The form of Him thy skill for men expressed.”

Note 1. Francesco Fusconi, physician to Popes Adrian VI., Clement VII., and Paul III.

Note 2. Franzesi was a clever Italian poet. His burlesque Capitoli are printed with those of Berni and others.

Note 3. 'Inferno,' iii., the verses about Charon.

Note 5. This sonnet is so insipid, so untrue to Cellini’s real place in art, so false to the far from saintly character of the man, that I would rather have declined translating it, had I not observed it to be a good example of that technical and conventional insincerity which was invading Italy at this epoch. Varchi was really sorry to hear the news of Cellini’s death; but for his genuine emotion he found spurious vehicles of utterance. Cellini, meanwhile, had a right to prize it, since it revealed to him what friendship was prepared to utter after his decease.

MY sickness had been of such a very serious nature that it seemed impossible for me to fling it off. That worthy man Maestro Francesco da Norcia redoubled his efforts, and brought me every day fresh remedies, trying to restore strength to my miserable unstrung frame. Yet all these endeavours were apparently insufficient to overcome the obstinacy of my malady, so that the physicians were in despair and at their wits’ ends what to do. I was tormented by thirst, but had abstained from drinking for many days according to the doctors’ orders. Felice, who thought he had done wonders in restoring me, never left my side. That old man ceased to give so much annoyance, yet sometimes he appeared to me in dreams.

One day Felice had gone out of doors, leaving me under the care of a young apprentice and a servant-maid called Beatrice. I asked the apprentice what had become of my lad Cencio, and what was the reason why I had never seen him in attendance on me. The boy replied that Cencio had been far more ill than I was, and that he was even at death’s door. Felice had given them orders not to speak to me of this. On hearing the news, I was exceedingly distressed; then I called the maid Beatrice, a Pistojan girl, and asked her to bring me a great crystal water-cooler which stood near, full of clear and fresh water. She ran at once, and brought it to me full; I told her to put it to my lips, adding that if she let me take a draught according to my heart’s content, I would give her a new gown. This maid had stolen from me certain little things of some importance, and in her fear of being detected, she would have been very glad if I had died. Accordingly she allowed me twice to take as much as I could of the water, so that in good earnest I swallowed more than a flask full. [1] I then covered myself, and began to sweat, and fell into a deep sleep. After I had slept about an hour, Felice came home and asked the boy how I was getting on. He answered: “I do not know. Beatrice brought him that cooler full of water, and he has drunk almost the whole of it. I don’t know now whether he is alive or dead.” They say that my poor friend was on the point of falling to the ground, so grieved was he to hear this. Afterwards he took an ugly stick and began to beat the serving-girl with all his might, shouting out: “Ah! traitress, you have killed him for me then?” While Felice was cudgelling and she screaming, I was in a dream; I thought the old man held ropes in his hand, and while he was preparing to bind me, Felice had arrived and struck him with an axe, so that the old man fled exclaiming: “Let me go, and I promise not to return for a long while.” Beatrice in the meantime had run into my bedroom shrieking loudly. This woke me up, and I called out: “Leave her alone; perhaps, when she meant to do me harm, she did me more good than you were able to do with all your efforts. She may indeed have saved my life; so lend me a helping hand, for I have sweated; and be quick about it.” Felice recovered his spirits, dried and made me comfortable; and I, being conscious of a great improvement in my state, began to reckon on recovery.