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for a little rest, and obtained leave from his princely patron to make a short pilgrimage to Vallambrosa, Camaldoli, the baths of Santa Maria, and back again. At the baths he met with an old man, a physician, who was, besides, a student in alchemy. This old man conceived a great friendship for Cellini, and told him that there were mines both of gold and silver in the neighborhood; and furthermore, gave him a piece of practical information, to the effect that there was a pass, near Camaldoli, so open that an enemy could not only easily invade the Florentine territory by its means, but also could surprise the castle of Poppi without difficulty. Being furnished by his old friend | with a sketch-map he immediately returned to Florence, and lost no time in presenting himself before the duke, and acquainting him with the reason of his speedy return.
The duke was well pleased with this service, and promised, of course, great things; but the favor of princes is proverbially fickle, and when, in the course of a day or two, he sought an interview for the purpose of being rewarded for his Perseus, he was met by a message from the duke, through his secretary, desiring him to name his own price. This roused Cellini's ire, and he refused to put a price upon his work, until, stung by repeated reiterations of the demand, he said that ten thousand crowns was less than it was worth.
Cosmo was evidently a good hand at a bargain, and was quite angry at being asked such a sum, saying that cities, or royal palaces, could be built for such a sum; to which the artist retorted, with his usual modesty, that any number of men could be found capable of building cities and palaces, but not another, in all the world, who could make such a statue of Perseus. His rival, Bandinelli, was called in to appraise it, and, whether he took its real value, or had some doubts of the consequences of the fire-eating Cellini's wrath in the event of his depreciating it, he assessed it at sixteen thousand crowns. This was more than the duke could stand; and, after much haggling, it was settled that the artist should be rewarded with a sum of three thousand five hundred gold crowns, to be paid in monthly sums of one hundred gold crowns. This soon fell to fifty, then to twenty-five, and sometimes was never paid at all, so that Benvenuto, writing in 1566, says there were still five hundred crowns due to him on that account.
Still Cosmo was anxious to keep Cel. lini at work. He could thoroughly appre ciate the artist's efforts, but he objected to pay the bill. Numerous plans for work were raised, and models made; but they fell through, either through the artist refusing to adorn another's work, or through the prince choosing the worst models. The court, too, was full of intrigues, as the story of a block of marble will show. A fine block, intended for a statue of Neptune, had arrived, and the duchess contrived that Bandinelli should have the promise of it. Of course Cellini could not stand this, so he pleaded his cause with the duke, with the result that it was arranged that he and his rival should send in models, and that the victor in the competition should execute the statue. Benvenuto says he produced the best; but, knowing the court well, he waited on the duchess with a present of some jewellery, and promised, if she would only be neutral in the contest, to make for her the finest work of his life, a life-sized crucified Christ of the whitest marble, on a cross of pure black. Cellini says Bandinelli died of sheer chagrin; and the duchess declared that as he, if he had lived, should have had the stone, at any rate by his death his rival should not have it, so the marble was given to Bartolommeo Ammanati, who finished the statue in 1563.
The feud between Bandinelli and Cellini rose to such a height as even to interfere with their sepulchral arrangements. The latter in disgust with the duchess had promised his Christ to the Church of Santa Maria Novella, provided the monks would give him the ground under it, on which to erect his tomb. They said they had no power to grant his request, so, in a pet, he offered it on the same terms to the Church of the Santissima Annunziata, and it was eagerly accepted. But Bandinelli had nearly finished a "Pietà," our Lord supported by Nicodemus a portrait of himself and he went straight to the duchess and begged the chapel for his own tomb. By her influence, with some difficulty, he obtained his wish, and there he erected an altar-tomb, which is still in existence; and having, when it was finished, removed thither his father's remains, he was taken suddenly ill, as aforesaid, and died within eight days.
The next noteworthy incident in Cel lini's chequered career was that he bought a farm near Vicchio, about seven miles from Florence, for the term of his natural life (in other words, an annuity), of one Piermaria Sbietta. He paid his property
and that Daniello Ricciarelli da Volterra, who had the work in hand, was too old to execute it properly, so that there was an excellent opportunity for Cellini to return to France, and once more take possession of his Tour de Nesle.
He asked Baccio to mention this to the duke, as, personally, he was willing to go, but the duke would not listen to Benvenuto going away, and selfishly kept him, without giving him employment — at least as far as we know, for here Cellini's autobiography ends, in the year 1562.
a visit, and was received with every demonstration of affection by Sbietta, his wife, and his brother Filippo, a profligate priest. Several persons warned him of impending danger from one or other of them, but their kindness seems to have disarmed his suspicions, and he stayed to supper, intending to sleep at Trespiano that night. When he resumed his journey, however, he was taken violently ill with burning pains in the region of his stomach, and next morning felt as if on fire. Then he concluded that he had been poisoned, and, after passing in review the things of which he had partaken at supper, he felt convinced that corrosive sublimate had been administered to him in some very highly seasoned but palatable sauce, which he had so much rel-" Possessing the house and its appurteished that he had been helped to two spoonfuls. At Cellini's age- he was then sixty-this proved nearly fatal, especially as the physicians of that day were profoundly ignorant. He hovered between life and death for six months, and did not thoroughly recover and attend once more to his business for a whole year.
His illness was productive of another event in his life, for, whilst lying sick, he made a vow, should he recover, to marry a woman who had nursed him with great care. He fulfiled his vow, and by his wife, Madonna Piera, he had five children.
When able again to work, he sought the duke, who was at Leghorn, was kindly received, told to return to Florence, and Occupation should be found for him. But this does not seem to be the case, so he completely finished the marble crucifix, which he intended for his tomb, and showed it to the duke and duchess, both of whom were highly delighted with it. Cosmo hankered after it, and ultimately obtained it, in 1565, for fifteen hundred crowns, when he had it removed and placed in the Palazzo Pitti. In 1577 it was sent as a present to Philip the Second of Spain, who had it carried on men's shoulders from Barcelona, and deposited in the Coro Alto of the Escorial, where it may now be seen, inscribed " Benventus Zelinus, Civis Florent: faciebat 1562."
Not being fully employed he got fidgety, and a friend of his, Signor Baccio del Bene, having arrived in Florence on a mission from Catherine de' Medici, they had a conversation, in which it was mentioned that the queen dowager wanted to finish the sepulchral monument of her deceased husband, Henry the Second,
In 1561, however, Cosmo presented him with a house near San Croce, in the Via Rosajo, for him and his legitimate heirs male forever, and in the grant, which is very flattering, is the following:
nances, with a garden for his own use, we expect the return for the favors shown him will appear in those masterpieces of art, both of casts and sculpture, which may entitle him to our further regard."
Very little is further known about him, but we know that on the 16th of March, 1563, he was deputed, together with Bartolommeo Ammanati, to attend the funeral of his old friend and master, Michael Angelo Buonarotti.
On the 15th of February, 1570, Cellini himself died, and was buried with great pomp in the chapter-house of the Santissima Annunziata, in the presence of the whole academy.
Vasari painted his portrait, in which he is represented with his back towards the spectator, whom he regards, with his beard on his shoulder. It is the face of a man of middle age, with features of no remarkable cast, short, curling hair, and crisp beard, the moustache slightly upturned, bushy eyebrows, and two warts on the right side of his nose.
From The Contemporary Review. THE ANALOGIES OF SAILING. IT may be a convenient introduction to the subject of this paper if I ask the reader to suppose the case (which is not imaginary) of a river flowing with a very slight current, and accompanied in its wanderings by the great humanly contrived conveniences of a railway and a good ordinary road. Next, let him suppose that three travellers are going in the same direction, and that they are persons of very different idiosyncrasy. them, whom we will call A, is a practical,
to him as variety in most other things, and if he cares to be going fast he has always the satisfaction of reflecting that the earth, with all its waters, is flying along incessantly at a prodigious speed in space.
energetic person, whose notion of travel ling is that the object of it is to arrive at one's destination. If you asked such a person which of the three means of communication he voted for he would stare in astonishment at such a superfluous question. He would take the rail, of course, Sailing is a game in which the mental and look in his time-table for the quickest power and the bodily activity of the captrain. He would not listen to any other tain and his crew are pitted against the proposal, even if he were at leisure, but forces of wind and water. These forces would get himself whirled to the next are sometimes altogether favorable, in town on his itinerary, even though he did which case the sailor's business is to not know what to do with himself when he make the most of them, but more fregot there. Another of the three travel- quently they are only intermittently and lers, B, might wish to see the country slightly favorable, or else directly hostile, more at leisure, and take a carriage for and then the sailor has to exercise great the road, or he might even prefer to do the ingenuity and incessant vigilance so as to distance on horseback, if a saddle-horse make niggardly help do much for him, and were procurable. The third, C, suppos- even to make hostile forces serve his own ing him to have the boating instinct, private ends. Now, if you compare this would say, "Let us hire a boat, a sailing-game with any other game, you will find, I boat, as there is not much current, and do believe, an essential difference, which is the whole distance on the river!" The this. All other games represent either a objections to such a proceeding on the contest of rivalry between the players in part of his companions may be readily an- some particular speciality of skill, such as ticipated. The lover of express trains throwing a quoit, striking a ball, directing would say that nobody could have any an arrow to a target, or else a mimic batidea of the time a sailing-boat would take. tle, as in chess, when each player has a The equestrian would answer that the small army under his command and can mind is much more at leisure to see and only hope to win by dint of superior genenjoy a fine tract of country when one is eralship. But life itself is not always on horseback than when he has to be con- either a rivalry or a combat, it is more stantly thinking about ropes and sails and frequently the exercise of man's ingea rudder, and studying every little varia- nuity and courage in dealing with natural tion in the wind. It is useless to argue circumstances and surrounding forces about matters of taste, but if C were im- over which he has no control, yet which pelled to speak in self-defence he would will either help or hinder him according probably reply that the very objections so to the art and craft applied by him to readily urged against a sailing voyage every successive situation. What I claim constituted its peculiar charm. The un- for sailing is that it does not represent certainty of it makes it interesting, and simply a rivalry in special skill like bilthe fact that skill and attention are re-liards, nor a battle like chess, but that it quired almost at every instant, gives the represents with wonderful accuracy the sailor an amount of satisfaction in the ex- great contest of the human race with naercise of his faculties which can hardly be ture, a contest in which man does not equalled, and can never be surpassed, in really conquer the natural forces but only the practice of any other amusement. avails himself of them. And I am fully Those who have no taste for sailing lose convinced that the real reason why sailing their tempers when the boat does not is so attractive to many minds is because maintain at least that equality of speed the analogy is so close that even a short which may be expected from a pair of voyage represents in miniature the action horses, and if they had their will they of the human race in the universe, so that would desire a sailing-boat to go as regu- the deepest instincts of humanity are larly and as fast as if she had a boiler in gratified by doing on a small scale what her cabin and a screw churning the water the race has done on a large one. The at her stern. For such persons the proper analogy is still more perfect when the amaplace is a bed in a sleeping-carriage or a teur sailor is also an amateur boat-builder berth in a transatlantic; but a true sailor (as many are), and has himself superinno more desires the monotony of, going tended the construction of his vessel, or, always twenty knots an hour than the still better, made it with his own hands. other monotony of remaining continually I have said that in sailing we becalmed. Variety in speed is as pleasing really conquer the forces of nature, we
only exercise an ingenuity in using them | the world we shall find in religion a sure for our own purposes, and in this we haven of rest. They describe a vessel exactly represent the action of humanity with a fair wind and rippling sea as the in its grand movement of advancing civil- type of prosperity, in which men are apt ization, as humanity cannot really achieve to forget the possibility of those tempests anything against nature, and only ad- which they will probably have to encounvances by the most ingenious, the most ter. They exhort us to vigilance by the delicately observant conformity. It is example of the man on the look-out, who this which gives that intellectual interest strains his eyes to discern whatever danto sailing which, to those who practise it ger may be dimly perceived in the darkintelligently, is one of the keenest and ness of the night. The clerical similes, it most delicate of mental pleasures, but as may be observed, have generally reference sailing also requires great bodily activity to storm and calm, or to rocks and darkit completes the representation of man's ness, and beacons shining over the deep, action in the universe which is physical as or to shipwrecks or safe havens. Men of well as mental. In this respect sailing has business, on the other hand, have a strong a great advantage over all sedentary predilection for similes taken either from games of skill, for although sailing per- the depth of water or the floating power mits us to enjoy times of comparative of the ship. They have two ways of deal. rest, they are seldom of long duration, ing with the subject. Very frequently and the sort of vigilance that sailing re- water represents, in their minds, the quires implies bodily readiness quite as black depths of poverty into which a man much as mental quickness and prompti- will assuredly sink, unless he has either tude. the good ship of a substantial private forThis, then, is the grand analogy of sail-tune to sustain him, or else the strong ing, that it so closely represents, on a small scale, the manner in which humanity makes progress by conformity to the forces of nature; but it is likely that if there were no other analogy than this, the charm of sailing would not be so commonly felt, as the only people who understand the conditions of progress by conformity are those who have some tincture of scientific education. Sailing has anal ogies which are much more generally understood. Not only does it represent the grand advance of humanity by means of ingenious conformity, but it also represents, on a small scale, the passage of the individual human being through the favorable and the unfavorable circum stances of existence. Thousands of metaphors and similes in many literatures bear witness to the general consciousness of this analogy, and even the ordinary conversation of people who are not poetical or imaginative in any way, and who despise poetry in their hearts, connects sailing with such practical matters as prosperity and adversity in business. Some clergymen are excellent sailors and have been accomplished oarsmen, but many other clergymen know hardly anything about the subject, yet I wonder if there is a preacher in all Christendom who has not adorned his sermons with nautical similes, precisely because the variety of experiences through which the sailor passes in managing his vessel is so apt a representation of human life. They tell us that after being tossed on the rough ocean of
arms and skill of a swimmer, by which
Neither clergymen nor men of business say much about beating against the wind, and here they seem to miss an excellent opportunity, for of all analogies between sailing and human life there is not one so encouraging and inspiriting as this. A clergyman might say: "When Providence tries you with what appears to be the
irresistible opposition of the powers of this world arrayed against you, do not give way to despondency, but remember that your courage and your intelligence were given to you in order that you might turn even apparently hostile forces to your advantage. These forces, which seem so terrible, may be friendly, for they may so discipline your minds in patience and skill that they themselves may be the appointed means by which you shall prevail against them." A man of business might say, in his own language: "Beating against the wind is an essential part of the education of a man of business. If the winds in his sails were continually favorable he would lose the skill which is necessary to make way against difficulties. If all speculations were necessarily profitable there would be no room for the exercise of talent in business, and therefore neither interest nor pleasure. It is in difficult times that a real genius for business has an opportunity, and then he takes the helm of his vessel in his own hand and beats against the wind, feeling a deeper inward satisfaction in a compara. tively small result attained by his own skill when everything seems against him, than in large profits when trade is easy and everybody may make a fortune." It seems as if clergymen and men of business might expatiate very effectively in this way, and perhaps they do occasionally, but I never heard them. The plain truth is that very few people who are not sailors, either professionally or as amateurs, are aware that it is possible to sail against the wind at all. The present writer has lived both in England and France - two nations with a vast extent of coast, and possessing the most powerful navies in the world and he is firmly convinced that the great majority of landsmen (not to mention the more charming but generally less nautical sex) do not know, or at least do not believe and realize in their own consciousness, the great central truth about sailing, that every properly constructed vessel can sail against the wind. They do not even know that a boat can sail with a side wind. Their notion is that the art of sailing consists in spreading a certain area of canvas when the wind is perfectly fair, and going along swimmingly so long as it blows in the line of the vessel's motion, but they fancy that when the wind changes a little the captain has nothing to do but cast anchor. If you ask them what he is to do with a lee-shore, an iron bound coast, and no anchorage, they don't
know what you mean. They will tell you, with that air of conscious superiority which is often the accompaniment of the profoundest ignorance, that sailing is very well when the wind is fair, but of no use in any other circumstances. I remember a very respectable-looking gentleman, who asked me some questions about my sailing excursions in the following manner :
2. With sails you can go when the wind is in the direction you intend to follow, but when it blows on one side, what can you do?
2. (with a very incredulous air). And when it blows dead against you? A. Sail.
2. (with an air of much increased incredulity and a laugh). How so? A. By beating to windward. 2. What?
A. If you will take the trouble to study the laws of lateral resistance (for the keel in the water), and the decomposition of forces (for the action of the wind on the sails), you will understand it ultimately, but not otherwise.
This gentleman went away perfectly unconvinced, and evidently thinking that beating to windward (which was practised with perfect success in the days of Columbus and earlier) was a creation of my own fancy, the dream of a student, not to be realized on water. I should have thought that in two such countries as France and England it would have been worth while to teach boys in school the first elements of that great art of sailing on which commerce has so long depended.
The best allusion to the moral significance of beating to windward which (for the moment) I am able to remember in literature is Emerson's,
Chambers of the great are jails, And head-winds right for royal sails. There is a fine ring in these lines; but notwithstanding a great love and admiration for Emerson, I have never quite known why he employed the epithet "royal," unless it was for alliteration and the movement of the verse. Sailors call those sails royals which, in a fully rigged ship, are above the top-gallant sails, and the truth is that head-winds are right, not only for those, but for all other sails that can be properly set, and more particularly for the fore-and-aft sails of cutters and schooners which are without royals.
Of all the modes of progression ever invented by man, beating to windward in a sailing vessel is morally the most beau