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Title: The treatises of Benvenuto Cellini on goldsmithing and sculpture

Author: Benvenuto Cellini

Translator: C. R. Ashbee

Release date: February 20, 2024 [eBook #72995]

Language: English

Original publication: London: Edward Arnold

Credits: deaurider, A. Marshall and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TREATISES OF BENVENUTO CELLINI ON GOLDSMITHING AND SCULPTURE ***


  TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

  Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.

  Footnote anchors are denoted by [number], and the footnotes have been
  placed at the end of the chapter.

  Some minor changes to the text are noted at the end of the book.




  THE TREATISES OF BENVENUTO
  CELLINI ON GOLDSMITHING AND
  SCULPTURE.

[Illustration: (Decorative Flower)]




               TO THE METAL
               WORKERS OF
               THE GUILD OF
               HANDICRAFT,
               FOR WHOM I
               HAVE SET MY
               HAND TO THIS
               WORK, AND TO
               WHOM I LOOK
               FOR THE FRUIT
               IT IS TO BEAR.




TABLE OF CONTENTS.


                                                                  PAGE

  AN INTRODUCTORY ACCOUNT OF THE ORIGIN &
      OBJECT OF THE TREATISES AND OF CELLINI’S
      POSITION AS CRAFTSMAN AND AUTHOR, BY
      C. R. ASHBEE                                                  ix


  THE TREATISE ON GOLDSMITHING.

  INTRODUCTION                                                       1

  CHAPTER I. ON THE ART OF NIELLO                                    7

  CHAPTER II. ON FILIGREE WORK                                      10

  CHAPTER III. CONCERNING THE ART OF ENAMELLING                     15

  CHAPTER IV. JEWELLERY                                             22

  CHAPTER V. HOW TO SET A RUBY                                      24

  CHAPTER VI. HOW TO SET AN EMERALD AND A
      SAPPHIRE                                                      25

  CHAPTER VII. HOW TO MAKE FOILS FOR ALL
      SORTS OF TRANSPARENT JEWELS                                   28

  CHAPTER VIII. ON THE CUTTING OF THE DIAMOND                       31

  CHAPTER IX. HOW YOU TINT A DIAMOND                                35

  CHAPTER X. HOW TO GIVE A DIAMOND ITS REFLECTOR                    40

  CHAPTER XI. ABOUT WHITE RUBIES & CARBUNCLES                       42

  CHAPTER XII. MINUTERIE WORK                                       45

  CHAPTER XIII. ON CARDINALS’ SEALS                                 61

  CHAPTER XIV. HOW TO MAKE STEEL DIES FOR
      STAMPING COINS                                                67

  CHAPTER XV. ABOUT MEDALS                                          72

  CHAPTER XVI. HOW THE BEFORE-MENTIONED
      MEDALS ARE STRUCK                                             75

  CHAPTER XVII. ANOTHER WAY OF STRIKING
      MEDALS WITH THE SCREW                                         77

  CHAPTER XVIII. HOW TO WORK IN LARGE WARE,
      IN GOLD AND SILVER AND SUCH LIKE                              79

  CHAPTER XIX. HOW TO BEGIN MAKING A VASE                           80

  CHAPTER XX. ANOTHER AND A BETTER WAY OF
      CASTING                                                       81

  CHAPTER XXI. YET ANOTHER FURNACE. SUCH A
      ONE AS I MADE IN THE CASTLE OF ST. ANGELO
      AT THE TIME OF THE SACK OF ROME                               82

  CHAPTER XXII. HOW TO FASHION VESSELS OF
      GOLD & SILVER, LIKEWISE FIGURES & VASES,
      AND ALL THAT PERTAINS TO THAT BRANCH
      OF THE CRAFT CALLED ‘GROSSERIA’                               83

  CHAPTER XXIII. ANOTHER METHOD FOR GOLD
      AND SILVER IN SUCH THINGS                                     89

  CHAPTER XXIV. A THIRD METHOD FOR SIMILAR
      THINGS                                                        90

  CHAPTER XXV. OF FIGURES MADE IN SILVER AND
      GREATER THAN LIFE SIZE                                        91

  CHAPTER XXVI. HOW TO GILD                                         96

  CHAPTER XXVII. A RECIPE FOR MAKING COLOURS
      AND COLOURING THE GILDED PARTS                                98

  CHAPTER XXVIII. A RECIPE FOR MAKING ANOTHER
      SORT OF GILDING COLOUR                                        99

  CHAPTER XXIX. HOW TO MAKE A THIRD GILDING
      COLOUR FOR VERY THICK GILDING                                100

  CHAPTER XXX. HOW TO MAKE THE WAX FOR
      GILDING                                                      101

  CHAPTER XXXI. HOW TO MAKE YET ANOTHER
      COLOURING                                                    102

  CHAPTER XXXII. THE MANNER OF APPLYING THE
      SAID COLOUR                                                  103

  CHAPTER XXXIII. WHAT YOU DO WHEN YOU WISH TO
      LEAVE BARE THE SILVER IN CERTAIN PLACES                      104

  CHAPTER XXXIV. HOW TO MAKE TWO KINDS OF
      AQUAFORTIS, ONE FOR PARTING, THE OTHER
      FOR ENGRAVING AND ETCHING                                    105

  CHAPTER XXXV. HOW TO MAKE AQUAFORTIS
      FOR PARTING                                                  106

  CHAPTER XXXVI. HOW TO MAKE ROYAL CEMENT                          107


  THE TREATISE ON SCULPTURE.

  CHAPTER I. ON THE ART OF CASTING IN BRONZE                       111

  CHAPTER II. HOW THE ABOVE-MENTIONED CLAY
      IS MADE                                                      113

  CHAPTER III. ANOTHER METHOD OF CASTING
      FIGURES IN BRONZE OF LIFE SIZE OR A LITTLE
      UNDER                                                        114

  CHAPTER IV. HOW TO CONSTRUCT FURNACES
      FOR CASTING BRONZE, WHETHER FOR STATUES,
      ORDNANCE, OR OTHER SUCH-LIKE
      THINGS                                                       127

  CHAPTER V. HOW TO CARVE STATUES OR INTAGLIOS,
      OR OTHER WORKS, SUCH AS DIVERS
      BEASTS, IN MARBLE OR OTHER STONES                            134

  CHAPTER VI. OF CARRARA MARBLES                                   135

  CHAPTER VII. A DISQUISITION ON COLOSSAL STATUES
      WHETHER MODERATELY OR VERY
      GREAT                                                        139

  CHAPTER VIII. THE MYSTERY OF MAKING GREAT
      COLOSSI                                                      141


  A GLOSSARY OF ITALIAN TECHNICAL
  TERMS FOR THE USE OF
  STUDENTS.




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS AND DIAGRAMS.


  ILLUSTRATIONS.

                                                          To face page

  A page of reputed Cellini Jewellery                               22

  Another page of the same                                          24

  King Francis’ Salt, first view                                    58

  King Francis’ Salt, second view                                   60

  Specimens of Cardinals’ Seals                                     66

  Coins and Medals from various collections                         68

  The South Kensington Breviary and another Cellini attribution     32

  A Wax Model for the Perseus                                       54

  The Crucifix in the Escurial                                     134

  The Perseus                                                      114

  The Nymph of Fontainebleau                                       110


  DIAGRAMS.

                                                                  page

  Diagram illustrating the _specchietto_ for the diamond            40

  Diagram illustrating the application of the _cire perdue_
       process to seals                                             64

  Diagram illustrating the _coniare_ process of striking medals     76

  Diagram illustrating the process of striking medals
       with the screw                                               78

  Diagram illustrating the process of casting silver                79

  Diagram illustrating the _rasoio_ for paring metal                83

  Biringoccio’s Furnace from the ‘Pirotechnica’                    133




AN INTRODUCTORY ACCOUNT OF THE ORIGIN AND OBJECT OF THE TREATISES &
OF CELLINI’S POSITION AS CRAFTSMAN AND AUTHOR.


This translation is intended for the workshop; & to bring home to
English craftsmen, & more particularly to my colleagues and pupils
at Essex House, the methods and practice of the Goldsmith of the
Renaissance. It is with this end in view that the work has been
undertaken, and I am in hopes that the knowledge of this may induce
my critics to give it a kindlier reading, aware as I am of its many
shortcomings.

To the translator of the treatises two things are necessary, Italian
scholarship and a thorough knowledge of workshop technicalities;
these two qualities are difficult—perhaps impossible—to combine, and
I am conscious of grave deficiencies in both, but more especially in
the former. My endeavour has been to follow the lead set me by John
Addington Symonds and to make this first English translation of the
treatises serve, if but in some far-off measure, as a continuation
volume to his masterly translation of the Autobiography. I have in
many cases, therefore, adopted his manner of handling the subject,
but inasmuch as the more technical and less directly personal
matter with which the treatises deal, demands a somewhat different
treatment, I have sought to retain what I would call the workshop
vernacular, without at the same time sacrificing the archaism of the
old Italian dialect.

Cellini’s graphic touch, which gives their manifold brilliancy to
the varying passages of that wonderful autobiography, is equally
evident in the treatises. But this very vividness increases the
translator’s difficulty. The book is full of amusing workshop
pictures and anecdotes; but it is always a workshop book. Cellini
sees each process before him as he describes it, we, however, only
hear the description, we do not see the process, hence it is often to
the expert metal worker alone that some of the more complex technical
narrations appeal, while the translator is as frequently in doubt as
to whether he has realised the picture the author sought to draw.
If, in my English rendering of some of these pictures, I have gone
astray, I trust that my errors may be pointed out by those who are
better able to follow the author’s meaning.

Apology is perhaps scarcely necessary for what will often appear to
be loose or ungrammatical English; this may be an offence to the
stylist or the pedant, & it certainly at first sight jars in what
purports to be a scientific text book. It would have been perfectly
easy for me to cut out the improper stories, trim up the phrases
and give precision, accuracy, and even grammar to certain of the
sentences, but this would not have been Cellini. We have him not
writing, but rapidly & with a delightful forgetfulness and confusion,
talking his treatises to a scribe, and then omitting to revise them;
it is the spirit, therefore, of the spoken word, not the careful
writing, that I have sought to render.

Another difficulty hampers the translator: the absence of any living
workshop tradition upon which to fall back when his subject becomes
too technical. In our day of the subdivision of labour the study
of the ‘_Eight branches of the glorious Art of Goldsmithing_’ as
it was in Benvenuto’s time is a thing of the past. Except in a few
instances where workshops are conducted with the enthusiasm of the
artist rather than with the itching fingers of the tradesman, there
is no such thing as an all round grasp of the Art such as Cellini
postulates. To the tradesman, the sculptor’s ghost, the working
jeweller, whether of Birmingham, Bond Street, or Clerkenwell, in
the thousand and one gimcrack shops where they sell ‘merry-thought
brooches,’ & ‘our latest stock of Christmas presents,’ the glorious
Art of Goldsmithing has no meaning, or rather is a thing not of eight
branches but of a hundred subdivisions, fanned into existence by a
hundred callous machines, and workshop tradition has been destroyed
by ‘the Trade.’ For the same reason the circle of readers will be
small. To those of us who in recent years have been seeking to lift
the art of the goldsmith out of the slough of industrial despond,
to show once more what the human hand and fancy can create, and to
relegate, without repudiating it, the machine to its right place in
relation to human endeavour, all this manifold production of rubbishy
trinkets, useless ornaments, and things made for ‘the Market,’ is
stupid and wasteful, and makes for the destruction not the ennobling
or beautifying of life.

But though small, the circle of my readers will be an earnest one. To
such as are setting the standard of modern Art and Craft, to those
who are fighting the trade, and seeking to relate the creations of
their hands to their reasons for existence in life, this book of the
aspirations & traditions of the old Italian will have some value.
Fortunately their number is increasing, not only in England, but in
Europe & in the United States. In the workshops of men like Frampton,
Alfred Gilbert, Simmons, Fisher, Nelson Dawson; among the artists of
Glasgow & Birmingham, or among the keener creative spirits in New
York, whom I have found ready to welcome every genuine inspiration
of the hand, will the real readers be found.

It is perhaps not my province as a translator to criticise the
artistic merit of Cellini’s work, but as my hope in placing his
treatises before English craftsmen is to familiarise them with his
methods, I may perhaps be allowed to give a few words of warning.
We must not take Cellini at his own valuation, and we must remember
that he did not draw that subtle distinction between designer and
executant that we nowadays are wont to do. The fact that every
aesthetic criticism is inevitably biased by the style of its period
must be taken into account by the student, if such criticisms as I
myself, speaking as an artist, should venture to make, are to be
of value to him. To Cellini’s best-known critics this applies in
equal measure. Vasari, Delaborde, Milanesi, Brinckman, Symonds, have
each had their point of view so to speak. To some, like Vasari, it
has been coloured by what the Germans call ‘die Voll-Renaissance,’
of which Cellini in the art of goldsmithing was undoubtedly the
central figure. To others, like Delaborde, it was influenced by
the Romantic Reaction of the early Nineteenth Century, and to them
his work was ‘an exploded myth.’ Criticised from the modern point
of view—the point of view that distinguishes between goldsmith and
sculptor, between craftsman & designer—we cannot rank him among the
highest. There is a want of feeling for proportion in such work as
we have of his, & the whole is marred by the overcrowded detail,
often very exquisite in itself, of the parts; the craftsman indeed
invariably overpowers the artist. Above all there is a want of
spirituality in all his more important work, a want of refinement
of soul, if one might so term it—a vulgarity. There is none of the
εὐηθεια of Donatello, the graciousness of Ghiberti or Duccio, the
mingled strength and sweetness of Verocchio, the simple grandeur of
Pisanello. Michael Angelo’s manner perhaps we can trace, but of his
inspiration and his self-control there is none.

If we take Cellini from the point of view he would himself have
wished us to criticise him, he challenges us first as a sculptor & a
designer of the figure. In this sphere, however, he falls far short
of the standard he calls upon us to judge him by. Affected & uneven
and imperfect in handling is his work when set beside that of earlier
masters. Attenuated as we see in the nymph of Fontainebleau, thick
& exaggerated as in the Perseus at Florence, leaden and stiff as in
the Neptune and Cybele of the salt, there is about his figures always
something _manqué_, they seem indeed to have in them the effort of a
decaying school.

Much the same criticism applies to his work as a medalist. There is
an absence of reserve & the fine feeling for his limitations which
puts him to my mind far beneath Sperandio, Marende, Francia, or other
of the great Cinquecento medalists, and it needs no artist to point
to the superiority of the Greek coins with which with redoubtable
modesty he compares his own.

To estimate his position as a jeweller is all but impossible, as
there is not one jewel remaining that can be authenticated as his.
If, however, we may be allowed to gauge his position as an artist
from such pieces as are attributed to him in the Rothschild, Vienna,
Paris, & Chantilly Collections, and of which I give some specimens
on pages 22 and 24, I should be inclined to place him on an equal
footing with any of the great masters of the early Renaissance or
the Middle Ages in any country. The reasons of this are not far to
seek. Jewellery is, before all others, an art of limitations. An
artist cannot but put less of himself into a gem than into a statue,
he is necessarily more cabined. Further, Cellini made most of his
jewellery as a young man in Florence & Rome, when the traditions
of the Florentine workshop which reared Brunelleschi, Donatello,
Ghiberti, were still fresh upon him, & before he had as yet attempted
the impossible task of translating the _gusto grando_ of Michael
Angelo into minor craftsmanship. Subject to the disproving of the
attributions, I give therefore to Cellini as a jeweller an equal
place with the artists of Greece and Japan, with those of Spain,
England and Germany in the Middle Ages & the Renaissance, whose works
are known to us; but as medalist, goldsmith and sculptor, I would
place him on a much lower footing. My whole criticism might be summed
up briefly thus: he was a very first-rate craftsman, but a very
second-rate artist.

The Autobiography and the Treatises of Cellini must be read together,
they tail into one another, the former gives the life of the man,
the second the methods of the craftsman; both alike bring out the
writer’s strong personality. A few words are needed as to their
bearing upon one another, and the original of the present translation.

Both the ‘Vita’ & the ‘Trattati’ were dictated by Cellini to
amanuenses; &, feeling their stylistic imperfections, he offered
both, after their completion, to literary friends to polish and
refine before publication. The ‘Vita’ he sent to the great historian
Benedetto Varchi, who had the good taste and the wisdom to leave the
MS. as it was, saying that he preferred it in its rough & unpolished
condition; the latter was placed in less tactful hands,[1] & Gherardo
Spini, a literateur[2] of the Florentine Academy, to whom this task
has with good reason been attributed, undertook its recasting, to the
no small detriment of the original. In this polished and emasculated
form the ‘Trattati’ first appeared & for 300 years remained; the
Editio Princeps[3] being published in Florence in the shape of a very
beautiful volume in 1568, three years before Cellini’s death. It was
not till 1857 that Carlo Milanesi, working on the lines of Francesco
Tassi, who had in the Marciana re-discovered the original MS., gave
to the world the work as Cellini had originally dictated it. It is on
the ‘Trattati’ of the Marcian Codex, therefore, & not of the first
edition, that this translation is based.

Cellini is fortunate in having been handled in our own day by four
eminent and scholarly men, and to the work of each of these am I
indebted. Milanesi,[4] 1857, may be placed first, and his admirable
and exhaustive edition of the ‘Trattati’ cannot be too highly
praised. Herr Justus Brinckman[5] followed him, in 1867, with his
excellent translation of the ‘Trattati’ into German, and his very
able comparative treatment of the work of the monk Theophilus[6]
with that of the Cinquecento artist. In 1883 Eugène Plon[7] brought
out his splendid volume on the life and works of Cellini, especially
valuable for its illustrations and the critical investigation of the
authentic and attributed works of the master. The work of our own
John Addington Symonds is familiar to most English readers, and it
is to the study of his masterly translation of the ‘Vita’ that I owe
my first introduction to Cellini. To his memory I would wish here to
express my gratefulness, and perhaps the best expression of this is
in the assurance that through his introduction to Cellini has grown
up the wish to familiarise the methods of the Renaissance workshop
among English metal workers, & particularly among the metal workers
of the Guild of Handicraft for whom this book is written.

My thanks are due to Messrs. Plon & Cie. for their kind permission
to reproduce the blocks originally used in M. Eugène Plon’s volume,
and which illustrate in this book the various examples as Cellini
describes them; and I am indebted to many friends, artists & scholars
for the most part, who have helped me with difficulties both in
the text and in the workshop. To Mr. and Mrs. de Morgan and Captain
Victor Ward for many hours of helpful, and, I fear, sometimes tedious
revision; to Miss Constance Blount for her great assistance with
the enamelling chapter, to Mr. Virtue Tebbs for his advice among
the coins, to Mr. Wenlock Rollins & Mr. T. Stirling Lee in the
complicated passages dealing with casting and the making of furnaces,
and above all to Professor Roberts-Austen and Professor Church, not
only for their invaluable help on all points dealing with metallurgy
& stones, but also for their kind assistance in correcting the proofs
of the whole book. I have likewise to thank for their courtesy in
allowing me to refer to them in one way or another over technical &
literary difficulties Mr. Heywood Sumner, Mr. M. Hewlett, Professor
Giglioli of Naples, and Professor Fergusson of Glasgow.

                                                         C. R. ASHBEE.

Essex House, Bow, E.


FOOTNOTES:

[1] _Plon, 117._

[2] _See Milanesi. ‘I. Trattati,’ &c., novamente messi alle stampe,
&c._

[3] _Pub. Firenze, 1568. Valentini Panizzi e Marco Peri, 8vo._

[4] _Milanesi. ‘Due Trattati,’ &c._

[5] _‘Abhandlungen über die Goldschmiedekunst und die Sculptur v.
Benvenuto Cellini.’ Justus Brinckman. Leipzig, 1867._

[6] _Theophilus lived in the early half of the 11th century. See his
‘Diversarum Artium Schedula.’ Hendrie’s translation. Murray, 1847._

[7] _‘Benvenuto Cellini, orfèvre, medailleur, sculpteur, &c.’ Eugène
Plon. Paris, 1883._




THE TREATISE ON GOLDSMITHING.




INTRODUCTION.


What first prompted me to write, was the knowledge of how fond
people are of hearing anything new. Then in the second place, &
this perhaps had greater weight still, I felt much troubled in mind
because of all sorts of annoying things the which I purpose in the
following treatise, with due modesty, to recount. That they will
move my readers to great pity & no little anger in my behalf I am
quite positive. Forsooth you can often attribute to difficulties
of this kind the most opposite turns, to the greatest of evil the
greatest of good, and had the troubles in question never come upon
me, I for sure should never have set about writing down these most
useful things. Thus it was that I did what no one had done before,[8]
viz., undertook to write about those loveliest secrets and wondrous
methods of the great art of goldsmithing. Things such as neither
your philosopher, no, nor any other kind of man neither, if he be
not of the craft, durst write about. But since they of the craft are
for the most part better at work than at talk, they fall into the
error of silence. This at least I determined to avoid and so set
myself strenuously to the task. Perhaps never before, or at least so
rarely that it has never been recorded, has a man been found who was
a specialist in more than one or at most two of the eight different
branches of this goodly art, but where he is, he knows, as you may
imagine, how to make a good thing of them. Mind you, I don’t intend
to talk about those kinds of muddlers who set themselves busily
dabbling in all the eight branches at once, and who many and many
a time are employed by such as either couldn’t or wouldn’t decide
whether a bit of work was good or whether it was bad. Men of that
ilk methinks may be likened to the sort of small shopkeeper who
hangs out in the slums or suburbs of the town and does a little now
in the bakery line, now in the grocery line, now in the apothecary
line and now in general retail business—in fact, a little bit of
everything and nothing good in anything. These sorts of fellows I
don’t intend to talk about, but only of such as have come to the
front in what they have done; and only of the right workmanlike way
of doing things. Well, then, I mind me to begin with, of our city of
Florence and of how we there were the first to revive all those arts
that are the sisters of this art of mine; of how the earliest light
dawned in the time of that first magnificent Cosimo de Medici; of
how under him flourished Donatello the great sculptor, and Pippo di
Ser Brunelleschi the great architect, and of that wondrous Lorenzo
Ghiberti, in whose time were made the beautiful gates for what was
once the ancient temple of Mars and is now the baptistry of our
patron St. John.

_Lorenzo Ghiberti._ He was a goldsmith indeed! Not only in the
wonderfulness of his own peculiar style, but because of his unwearied
power of marvellous finish, and his exceeding diligence in execution.
This man, who must be counted among the most admirable of goldsmiths,
applied himself to everything, but especially to the casting of
smaller work. And though now and then he set about doing large
pieces, yet one can see that his particular line was the production
of small work, and in this branch we may well call him a master in
the art of casting. Indeed he pursued this with such excellence that
as is still obvious to all, no man can touch him.

_Antonio Pollajuolo, or the poulterer’s son_, as he is always called,
was likewise a goldsmith, and a draughtsman too of such skill, that
not only did all the goldsmiths make use of his excellent designs,
but the sculptors and painters of the first rank also, and gained
honour by them, what was more! This man did little else beside his
admirable drawing, but at this he was always busy.

_Maso Finiguerra_ pursued only the art of engraving niello, in which
craft he had no rival, and he too always made use of the designs of
the aforesaid Antonio.

_Amerigo_ wrought in the art of enamel, & was by far away the first
craftsman in it either before or after his time. He too, great as he
was, made use of the designs of Antonio del Pollajuolo.

_Michaelangelo_, the goldsmith of Pinzidimonte, was a capital
fellow, and worked in a variety of divers things, and especially
in the setting of gems. He wrought and designed well in niello, in
enamel, in hammered work, and though he come not up to the other
distinguished men just named, he deserves much praise. He was the
father of Baccino[9] whom Pope Clement made a Knight of St. John. He
added the surname Bandinelli on his own account, and since he had
neither family nor arms really, he took the sign of his knighthood
for a coat. About this man I shall have more than enough to tell as
we go along.

_Bastiano del Bernardetto Cennini_ was a goldsmith and worked also
in a number of different things. His forefathers and he for many
years made the dies for the coins of Florence, until the time that
Alexander de Medici, the nephew of Pope Clement, became Duke. This
Bastiano in his youth did admirable large metal ware—grosserie[10]
and hammered work,[11] and verily he was a first-rate craftsman. And
though I said above I wasn’t going to talk about bunglers who take up
a number of different things indifferently, one must none the less
distinguish between those who _are_ bunglers & those who are good
craftsmen and worthy of praise.

_Piero_, _Giovanni_, and _Romolo_, were brothers, the sons of one
_Goro Tavolaccino_; they were goldsmiths too, they did good work
and made good designs. Amongst other things they were very good at
setting jewels in pendants, rings and so forth, and this they managed
so tastefully that at that time, 1518, they had no equal. They also
worked in intaglio, in bas-relief, and were not bad at hammered work.

_Stefano Salteregli_ was a goldsmith too, a good man in his day,
working like the others in a number of different things, but he died
young.

_Zanobi_, son of _Meo del Lavacchio_, whose craft he followed, was a
goldsmith also, had a charming way of working and designed admirably;
but he died just when his beard began to bloom, at about the age of
20.

Indeed at that time there were many young fellows, whose equal and
colleague I was, who promised great things to begin with; but the
most of them has death snatched away, and the rest have either not
stuck to the drudgery, or with undeveloped talents have got no
further. As for me, I have heard myself blamed because I have talked
so much about such excellent men in one profession only; but I have
still to tell of work in filigree, an art though the least beautiful
of many beautiful arts, still very beautiful for all that.

_Piero di Nino_ was a goldsmith, who worked only in filigree, an art
which, while it affords great charm, is not without its difficulties.
He, however, knew how to work in it better than anyone else. Inasmuch
as there was great riches in those days within the town, so was it
likewise in the country, especially among the peasant folk of the
plain, who used to get made for their wives a sort of velvet girdle
with buckle and pin, about half a cubit long and covered all over
with little spangles. These buckles and pins were all wrought in
filigree with great delicacy and fashioned in silver of excellent
setting. When later on I shall show how these things are made, I
am sure the reader will find delight in them. I knew this Piero de
Nino when an old man of near 90 years. He died partly from fear of
dying of hunger, and partly from a shock he got one night. As for
the dying of hunger it was this way: An edict had been issued in the
city that no more belts should be worn either by peasants or others;
and the poor old fellow, who knew no other branch of goldsmithing
but this, was always grieving, and cursing from the bottom of his
heart all those who had a hand in making this law. He lived near a
draper’s shop, where was a young rogue of an urchin, the son of one
of them that had made the law. The boy, hearing him thus continually
cursing his father, ‘Oh, Piero,’ said he, ‘if you go on swearing like
that, some fine day the devil will come and carry you off, bones and
all!’ Now one Saturday night, when the old chap had worked right up
to midnight to finish some job he was engaged on that was to go to
Bologna, the urchin took it into his head to play him a practical
joke and give him a fright. So he stood on the watch for the old man
on his way home. The latter, as was his wont, locked up his shop,
took his lantern in his hand, and, with the lappet of his cloak
thrown over his head, trudged along ever so slowly, and as lonely as
a ghost, home to his house, which stood in the via Mozza. Just as he
was turning the corner of the old market the urchin, who was awaiting
in ambush for him, and had tricked himself out with rag-tag, sulphur
lights, blue fire, and such-like horrible devilries, suddenly jumped
out upon him. The poor old thing was so terrified at the fearful
monster thus suddenly coming at him, that he lost his senses; so
much so that the boy, seeing he had played the fool, had to lead the
old man home as well as he could, and consign him to the care of his
grandsons, among whom was one called Meino, a courier, who afterwards
became warden of Arezzo. Suffice it, the fright had been so great,
that soon after the poor old fellow died. This is usually stated as
the actual cause of Piero’s death, and I have myself ofttimes heard
it narrated.

_Antonio di Salvi_ was another of our Florentine goldsmiths, a
capital grosserie worker. He died at a very great age.

_Salvatore Pilli_ likewise was a first-rate man, who also died very
old; but he never worked in a shop of his own, but always in someone
else’s.

_Solvatore Guasconti_ was an all round man, more especially good in
small things. His work in niello and enamel is well worthy of praise.

You must know too that there were ever so many others, all of them
fellow Florentines, who commenced in the goldsmith’s art and took
their inspiration from it for various other arts, such as sculpture,
architecture, and other notable lines of work.

_Donatello_, for instance, the greatest sculptor that ever lived,
about whom I shall have plenty to say later on, stuck to the
goldsmith’s art right along into manhood.

_Pippo di ser Brunellesco_, the first who gave new vigour to the
glory of architecture, he too was a goldsmith for a long time.

_Lorenzo della Golpaia_ also was a goldsmith, and always continued
true to the art. As for him, he was a very prodigy of nature, for he
specialised in clock making, and finding his own peculiar bent in
this line, so wonderfully reproduced the secret of the heavens and
the stars that you really might have thought he lived up in the sky!
Amongst other things he showed his cunning in a clock he made for the
magnificent Lorenzo de Medici. In this clock he put the Medici arms,
making them represent the seven planets; these used to move round
slowly, and revolve just like the planets in the sky do. This clock
is still in its place, but it is not what it used to be because it
has been so badly taken care of.

_Andrea del Verocchio_, the sculptor, remained a goldsmith up to the
time of manhood. He was the master of Lionardo da Vinci, painter,
sculptor, architect, philosopher, musician;—a veritable angel
incarnate of whom I shall have heaps to tell whenever he comes to
mind.

_Desiderio_, too, was a goldsmith in his youth, who took to sculpture
later, and was a great master in the art.

I can’t possibly recount all our Florentines who were adepts in the
great goldsmiths’ art, suffice it that I have mentioned most of those
who became famous therein. But I will say a word or two about some of
the foreigners who seem to me pre-eminent, and I will begin with such
as wrought in niello.

_Martino_[12] was a goldsmith from beyond the Alps, who came from
some German town or other. He was a first-rate fellow in designing,
& in intaglio work in the way they do it there. It was just about
the time when the fame of our Maso Finiguerra spread abroad, who
did those wonderful niello intaglios,—by the way, you may still see
preserved in our lovely Church of St. John of Florence a silver pyx
of his, with a crucifix above it, & the two malefactors, with a lot
of detail of horses and other things. Antonio del Pollajuolo, whom I
mentioned before, did the design, and Maso the niello work.

Well, then, this good German Martino set to with great diligence
and zeal to practise the art of niello, and turned out a number
of excellent things. But because he saw that he could not produce
work that should come up to our Finiguerra’s for beauty and go, yet
being a right-minded man, and wishing to do something that should
be generally useful, he set to cutting his intaglios on copper
plates with the graver (_bulino_) for so is the little steel tool
called with which you engrave. In this wise he engraved a number
of pretty little picture-tales, very well composed, and with great
understanding of light & shade, in fact as far as one can say such a
thing of a piece of German work, they were charming.

_Alberto Duro_ also tried his hand at engraving, and with much
greater success than Martino. He too was not satisfied with the
results of his work in niello, and so determined to do engravings,
and this he did so well that no one can hold a candle to him. He too
was a goldsmith, nor was he satisfied with niello only, he resorted
in addition to his engraving, and did extraordinarily well in that
line.

_Andrea Mantegni_, our great Italian painter, tried it too, but
couldn’t do it, so the less said about it the better.

_Antonio Pollajuolo_, the same happened with him, and because both
these men could make nothing of it, I’ll say naught but that Mantegni
was an excellent painter, and Pollajuolo an excellent draughtsman.

_Antonio da Bologna_[13] & _Marco da Ravenna_ must also be counted
among the goldsmiths. Antonio was the first who began to engrave in
the manner of Alberto Duro. He studied closely the work of the great
painter Raphael of Urbino. He engraved beautifully, could design in
the right good Italian manner, and studied closely the style and
methods of those old Greeks, who always know how to do things better
than other folk. Many others pursued this branch of engraving, but
because none of them came up to the great Alberto Duro, & even also
a long way behind our Italian Antonio of Bologna, I’ll not mention
them; more especially as to do so would be to go beyond the limits of
our inquiry, which is to consider the lovely art of niello and all
its many difficulties.

Now you must know that when I first was a goldsmith’s apprentice in
the 15th year of the century, which was my 15th year too, the art of
engraving in niello had quite fallen into disuse. It was only because
a few old men still living did nothing else but talk of the beauty of
the art and of the great masters who had wrought in it, & above all
of Finiguerra, that I was seized with a mighty desire to learn it; so
I set to diligently to master it, & with the examples of Finiguerra
before me, made many good pieces.

My difficulty, however, was how to find out after I had engraved
the intaglio how the niello that was to fill it ought to be made.
So I went on trying ever so hard until I not only mastered the
difficulties of making the material, but the whole art became a mere
child’s play to me. Here, then, is the way in which niello work is
done.


FOOTNOTES:

[8] _Cellini had of course never heard of Theophilus, the monk of the
11th century, and his great treatise ‘Diversarum Artium Schedula.’_

[9] _Baccio Bandinelli, the sculptor, one of Cellini’s bitterest
enemies._

[10] _Grosseria. Cellini uses this term for all large ware as
distinguished from ‘minuteria’ or small ware._

[11] _Di cesello: what we should call repoussé._

[12] _Martin Schongauer._

[13] _Marcantonio Raimondi._




CHAPTER I. ON THE ART OF NIELLO.


Take an ounce of the finest silver, two ounces of copper well
purified, and three ounces of lead as pure as you can possibly get
it. Then take a little goldsmiths’ crucible sufficiently big to
melt the three in together. You must first take the one ounce of
silver & the two ounces of copper and put the two together in the
crucible, and the crucible in a goldsmiths’ blast-furnace, and when
the silver and the copper are molten & well mixed together, add the
lead to them. Then quickly draw the crucible out, and with a bit of
charcoal held in your tongs, stir it round till it is well mixed. The
lead, according to its wont, will make a little scum, so with your
charcoal try and take this off as much as possible, until the three
metals are fully & cleanly blended. At the same time have ready a
little earthenware flask about as big as your fist, the neck of which
should, however, not be wider than might hold one of your fingers.
Fill this flask about half full with very finely ground sulphur,
& empty into this your molten mass, while quite fluid & hot. Then
quickly stuff it up with moist earth, and holding it in your hand
wrapped up in a stout bit of canvas, say for instance an old sack,
shake it to & fro while it is cooling. As soon as it is cold, break
the flask and take out the stuff, and you will see that by virtue of
the sulphur it will have got the black colour you want. But mind you
take care that the sulphur is the blackest you can get.[14] As for
the flask, you may take one of those which are generally used for
separating gold from silver. Take then your niello, which will now be
in a number of little grains,—for you must know that the object of
all this shaking up and down whilst cooling in the sulphur is to make
it combine,—& put it anew into a crucible, then melt it in a moderate
fire, adding to it a grain of borax. When you have recast it two or
three times, and after each casting broken up your niello, take it
out, for you will see it will now be splendidly broken up,[15] and
that is as it ought to be,—and that will do.

Now I’ll show you how to apply and make up your niello; but first
a word or two about the plate on which your intaglio is to be
engraved, whether in silver or in gold, for niello is used only on
these metals. If you want to get the plate on which you have cut
your work nice and smooth & without holes,[16] you must boil it in a
solution of clean water mixed with a deal of very clean charcoal,
the best for this purpose being charred oak. When your work has
cooked in the pot for about a quarter of an hour or so, transfer it
to a beaker of clean fresh water, and scrub it for a long time with
a clean brush till every particle of dirt be rubbed off it. Then see
that you have ready a bit of iron long enough to hold the work to
the fire: its length should be about three or four palms, more or
less in accordance with what the nature of your work may seem to you
to need. But mind you look out that the iron to which your work is
fixed be neither too thick nor too thin; for it should be of such
sort that when you put both to the fire they should heat equally; for
if either the iron or the plate become heated first, you’ll make a
mess of it, so pay great attention to this. Next take your niello, &
crush it on an anvil, or on a porphyry stone, & do this with a pair
of pliers or a copper rod, and so that it does not spring aside.
Take care, too, that it is crushed to grains and not to a powder, &
these grains should be as equal as possible, and about the size of
a grain of millet or sago, if not less. After this put the niello
grains into some sort of vase or glass bottle, and with fresh clean
water wash it out well till it be quite purified from any dust or
dirt that may have got into it during the pounding. This done, take
a spatula of brass or copper, and spread the niello evenly over your
engraved plate to about the thickness of the back of a table-knife.
Then powder over it a little well-ground borax, but mind it be not
too much. Put a few pieces of wood or charcoal so that you can blow
them into flame with your bellows, and this done, put your work very
slowly to the wood fire & subject it to the heat very dexterously
till you see the niello beginning to melt. But look out that, when
it does begin to melt, you don’t get it too hot, or into a red heat,
for if it gets too hot, it will lose its natural character and become
soft, because, the principal component of niello being lead, this
lead will begin to corrode the silver, or even the gold of which your
work is made; in this way you might have all your pains for nothing.
Have great heed to this, therefore, which is as important as your
good engraving to begin with.

Now before we follow the work through to the end, we will pause and
consider things a bit. I advise you when you are holding your work
over the fire and see the niello begin to disintegrate, to have at
hand a fairly stout iron rod, with a flatted end: this end hold in
the fire, and when the niello begins to run, rapidly put your hot
iron over it, and, treating it as if it were wax, spread it well,
until it has quite filled all the graven part of your intaglio. After
this, when your work has got cold, take a delicate file, and file off
your niello, & after you have removed a certain quantity, not so as
to graze your intaglio, but sufficient to lay it bare, take your work
and put it on the hot ashes or the live charcoal.

When it is a little hotter than the hand can bear, or even a bit
hotter still, but before it gets too hot, take your steel burnisher,
well-tempered, & with a little oil burnish your niello as firmly as
the work would seem to admit of, and with due discretion in every
case. The only object of this burnishing, is to stop up certain
bubble holes[17] that sometimes come during the process. You’ve only
got to have patience enough, and with a little practice you’ll find
this burnishing stops all the holes up beautifully.

After this, take your knife & touch up the intaglio. Then to finish
with take some Tripoli powder and pounded charcoal, & with a reed
peeled down to the pith, scrub your work till it is smooth and
beautiful.

Oh thou discreetest of readers, marvel not that I have given so much
time in writing about all this, but know that I have not even said
half of what is needed in this same art, the which in very truth
would engage a man’s whole energies, and make him practise no other
art at all. In my youth from my 15th to my 18th year I wrought a good
deal at this art of niello, always from my own designs, and was much
praised for my work.


FOOTNOTES:

[14] _This is obscure, as the purest yellow sulphur would answer._

[15] _Perhaps: ‘have a fine fracture.’_

[16] _Bucolini. Perhaps: ‘specks.’_

[17] _Spugnuzze._




CHAPTER II. ON FILIGREE WORK.


Though I don’t work much in filigree myself, I have none the less
done one or two very difficult and very beautiful pieces of work
in this line, and so I’ll say something about it. The art is a
charming one, and when well executed & well understood is as
pleasing to the eye of man as anything done in goldsmithing. Those
who did the best work in filigree were the men who had a good grip
of drawing, especially designing from foliage & pierced spray work,
for everything that you set to work upon requires first of all that
you think it out as a design. And though many have practised the art
without making drawings first because the material in which they
worked was so easily handled and so pliable; still, those who made
their drawings first did the best work. Now give ear to the way the
art is pursued.

Innumerable are the purposes to which you may apply filigree. So
first of all we will begin with some of the ordinary every-day things
& then have a look at such other things as will make a man’s mouth
water. The more ordinary use to which filigree is applied, is for
buckles and pins for belts, such as I told of in the introductory
chapter of my book. Then is it used, too, for making crosses &
earrings, small caskets, buttons, certain kinds of little charms
and divers manner of necklaces; these latter are often worn with
fillings of musk, as is also frequently the case with bracelets; &
so an endless other variety of things. Now it is necessary that for
everything that you want to execute in this line of work, you must
to begin with make a gold or silver plate exactly in the way you
want your work ultimately to be. After this is done, and of course,
after you have made your drawing, have ready all the different kinds
of wire of which you will have need, such for instance as thick and
thin & middling, the usual three sizes, in due sequence, and perhaps
a fourth size likewise. Then have ready some ‘_granaglia_’—granulated
metal—for so the stuff is called; and in order to make this, you take
your gold or silver, melt it, and when it is well melted, pour it
into a pot of powdered charcoal. In this way every kind of granulated
metal is made.[18] Then, too, you must have your solder prepared and
ready to hand, and the right solder to use is the ‘_terzo_’ solder,
so called because you make it with two ounces of silver and one of
copper. Now though many are accustomed to make solder with brass,
be advised that it is much better to make it with copper, and less
risky. Take heed that you file your solder very fine, then put to
every three parts of solder one of well ground borax, and, having
well mixed them, put them in a borax crucible[19] such as a goldsmith
uses. Then have handy some gum tragacanth,[20] a sort of gum which
you can buy at any apothecary’s. Dissolve this gum tragacanth in a
little cup or vase, or whatever is convenient. When you have all
these things in order, you will also need by you two pairs of stout
little pliers, and also a small sharp chisel cut angularly,[21]
like the wood-engravers use; but its handle ought to be short, the
length & size of the handle of a graver. For its object is to cut
the wires in accordance as you may wish to twist them either one way
or the other, as your design requires, or your taste determines.
You will also need a copper plate fairly stout, very smooth, and
about the size of the palm of your hand. When you have twisted your
wire into the shapes you want, you must place it bit by bit on the
copper plate, and so bit by bit with a camel’s-hair brush streak
it over with the solution of gum tragacanth, arranging at the same
time the little gold & silver beads tastily. During the time that
you are piecing together your bits of leaves and other particles,
the tragacanth water will hold them together sufficiently to prevent
their moving. Then every time that you have composed a part of your
spray-work, and before the tragacanth water has got dry, throw a
little soldering powder out of your borax upon it, and put just as
much as may suffice to solder your spray work, & not more. The object
of putting just enough on, is that the work when soldered shall be
graceful and slender, for too much solder makes it look fat.

Hereupon, when it is time for soldering, you will need in readiness
a little stove, such as is used for enamelling, but since there is
a great difference between the melting of enamel & the soldering of
filigree, you will need to heat this furnace with a much smaller
fire. Then attach your work to a little iron plate, but so that the
work stands free above it, and put it little by little to the heat of
the furnace, until the borax shall have fumed away, & done as is its
wont. Now too much heat would move the wires you have woven out of
place, so it is essential to take the greatest possible care,—really
it’s quite impossible to tell it properly in writing: I could explain
it all right enough by word of mouth, or better still show you how
it’s done—still, come along—we’ll try and go on as we started!

When you are ready to begin soldering, and want to make your solder
flow, put your work in the furnace, & place beneath it a few little
pieces of well-dried wood, fanning them up a bit with your bellows.
Then it is not a bad thing, too, after this to throw a few coarse
cinders upon the fire, & this done at the right moment does a deal
of good. But it is practice and experience, together with a man’s
own discretion, that are the only real ways of teaching one how to
bring about good results in this or in anything. When your work is
soldered, that is to say if it be silver-work, you must to begin
with, cook it in tartar[22] mixed with some salt or other, and cook
it so long till all the borax is off it. This ought to last about
a quarter of an hour, by which time it will be quite clean, & free
from borax. If on the other hand it be made of gold, you must put it
in strong vinegar for about 24 hours, until you see a little salt
forming upon it. And so, after this manner can you fashion all sorts
of rosettes that may be needed in your work, such as I have not only
seen, but myself made, and that give much variety to the work, when
you have ordered them each in their place, and in accordance with
your design.

But now I’ll tell you yet something further about the cunning of this
charming art; I’ll tell you of a wonderful and priceless work that
was shown me in France, in Paris, their most beautiful & richest
city—which the French, according to their language, call ‘Paris
simpari,’ that is to say ‘sans peer,’ or without equal. It was in
the service of King Francis in the year 1541. This most royal and
splendid of Kings retained me in Paris, and gave me of his liberality
a castle, standing in the city itself, and called by the name of
the ‘little Nello.’ Here I worked for four years, the which will be
recounted all in its place when I come to tell of the great works
which I made for this most worthy King. Here I will continue my
talk as to the way of working in filigree, and as I promised, tell
of a work most rare—a work such as may perchance never again be
executed—which I saw in this city. One day—a solemn fête day—the King
went at Vespers to his ‘Sainte Chapelle’ in Paris. He sent word to
me that I was to be at Vespers too, as he had something nice to show
me. When Vespers were over the King called me to him through the
Constable, who sometimes represents the King himself. This gentleman
came, took me by the hand, & led me before the King, who with great
kindness and affability began to show me the most beautiful trinkets
and jewels, and briefly asked me my opinion on them. After these he
showed me a variety of ancient camei about as big as the palm of a
large hand, and asked me many things about them, on which I gave him
my opinion. They had stood me in the middle of all of them;—there
was the King, and the King of Navarre his brother-in-law, and the
Queen of Navarre, and all the first flower of the nobility, & of
those that came nearest to the crown; & before all of them his
Majesty showed me many beautiful & priceless things, about which we
talked for a long time to his great delight. Thereupon he showed
me a drinking bowl without a foot & of a middling size, wrought
in filigree with the choicest spray-work, upon which much other
ornamental detail was admirably applied. Now list to my description
of it! In among the spray-work and interstices of filigree were
settings of the most beautiful enamel of various colours; and when
you held it to the light these enamel fillings almost looked as if
they were transparent—indeed it seemed impossible that such a piece
of work should ever have been made. Thus at least thought the King, &
asked me very pleasantly, since I had thus highly praised the bowl,
could I possibly imagine how the work was done. I thereupon answered
his question thus: ‘Sacred Majesty,’ quoth I, ‘I can tell you exactly
how it is done, even so much so that you, being the man of rare
ability that you are, shall know how just as well as the master
himself that made it, knew, but the explanation of the methods that
underlie its making will take rather a long time.’ At these words
of mine all the noble assembly that waited on his Majesty thronged
around me, the King declared he had never seen work of so wondrous a
kind, and since it was so easy of explanation, bade me tell as I had
promised. Then spake I: ‘If you want to make a bowl like this, you
must begin by making one of thin sheet iron, about the thickness of
a knife back larger than the one you want ultimately to produce in
filigree. Then with a brush you paint it inside with a solution of
fine clay, cloth shearings & Tripoli clay[23] finely ground; then you
take finely drawn gold wire of such a thickness as your wise-minded
master may wish that of his bowl to be. This thread should be so
thick that if you beat it out flat with a hammer on your clean little
cup, it bends more readily in the width than otherwise, in such a way
that it may then be flattened out to a ribbon shape, two knife-blades
broad, & as thin as a sheet of paper. You must be careful to stretch
your thread out very evenly, & have it tempered soft, because it
will then be easier to twist with your pliers. Then with your fine
design before you, you commence to compose your stretched thread
inside the iron bowl, first the principal members, according to their
way of arrangement, piece by piece painting them over with solution
of gum tragacanth, so that they adhere to the clay-solution with
which you pasted the inside. Then when your craftsman has set all
his principal members and larger outlines, he must put in the spray
work, each piece in its place, just as the design guides him, setting
it spray by spray, bit by bit in the way I have told you. And then
when all this is in proper order, he must have ready his enamels of
all colours, well ground and well washed. It is true you might do
the soldering first before you put in the enamel, & you would do it
in the way that I explained above when I considered the soldering of
filigree work, but it’s as good one way as the other, soldered or not
soldered. And when all the preliminary work is carefully done, and
all the interstices nicely filled with the coloured enamels, you put
the whole thing in the furnace, in order to make the enamel flow. To
begin with you must only subject it to a slight heat, after which,
when you have filled up any little openings with a second coat of
enamel you may put it in again under a rather bigger fire, & if it
appear after this that there are still crannies to be filled up, you
put it to as strong a fire as the craft allows and as your enamels
will bear. When all this is done you remove it from the iron bowl,
which will be easy by reason of the paste of clay to which the actual
work and the enamels are attached. Then with a particular kind of
stones called “_frasinelle_,” and with fresh water you begin the
process of smoothing it down, and you must go on with this so long
till the enamel is polished down to an equal thickness throughout
and as may seem good to you. And when you have got as far as the
“_frasinelle_” can take you, you may continue your polishing with
still finer stones, and lastly with a piece of reed and tripoli
clay (as I explained it in niello work), then the surface of your
enamel will be very smooth and beautiful.’ When the admirable King
Francis heard all this description of mine, he declared that they
who knew so well how to explain, doubtless knew still better how to
perform, & that I had so well pointed out to him the whole process
of a work that he had erst thought impossible, that now, owing to my
description, he really thought he could do it himself. And therewith
he heaped great favours upon me, such as you can’t possibly imagine.


FOOTNOTES:

[18] _Fine granules of gold are made by cutting gold wire into short
lengths, mixing the cut pieces with charcoal, placing the mixture in
a crucible and then heating the whole up to the melting point of the
metal. Afterwards the charcoal is washed away, and the gold granules
(which have been fused into a round form) sorted according to size by
sifting._

[19] _Borraciere_: _perhaps a borax pan_.

[20] _Dragante._

[21] _Uno scarpelletto augnato._

[22] ‘_Gomma di botte_,’ i.e., _tartrate of potash_.

[23] _Tripolo._




CHAPTER III. CONCERNING THE ART OF ENAMELLING.


Now let us have a talk about the beautiful art of enamelling, and
therewith consider those excellent craftsmen who wrought best
therein; and with the knowledge of their lovely creations before us
see what is beautiful and what is difficult in this art, and get to
understand the difference between what is really good and what is
indifferent. As I said in the first chapter of my book, this art
was well practised in Florence, and I think too that in all those
countries where they used it, and pre-eminently the French and the
Flemings, and certainly those who practised it in the proper manner,
got it originally from us Florentines. And because they knew how
difficult the real way was, & that they would never be able to get to
it, they set about devising another way that was less difficult. In
this they made such progress, that they soon got according to popular
opinion the name of good enamellers. It is certainly true that if a
man only works at a thing long enough, all his practising makes his
hand very sure in his art: & that was the way with the folk who lived
beyond the Alps.

As for the right and proper way about which I intend to talk, it is
done in this wise. First you make a plate either of gold or silver
& of the size and shape that your work is to be. Then you prepare a
composition of ‘_pece greca_,’[24] and brick ground very fine, and
a little wax; according to the season; as for the latter you must
add rather more in cold than in hot weather. This composition you
put upon a board great or small in accordance with the size of your
work, & on this you put your plate when you have heated it. Then
you draw an outline with your compasses in depth rather less than a
knife back, and, this done, ground your plate anywhere within this
outline and with the aid of a four-cornered chisel to the depth which
the enamel is to be, and this you must do very carefully. After this
you can grave in intaglio on your plate anything that your heart
delights in, figure, animals, legend with many figures, or anything
else you like to cut with your graver and your chisels, and with all
the cleanness that you possibly can. A bas-relief has to be made
about the depth of two ordinary sheets of paper, and this bas-relief
has to be sharply cut with finely-pointed steel tools, especially
in the outlines, and if your figures are clothed with drapery, know
that these folds, if sharply drawn and well projecting, will well
express the drapery. It is all a question of how deeply your work
is engraved, and the little folds & flowerets that you figure on the
larger folds may go to represent damask. The more care you put into
this part of your work, the less liable your enamel will be to crack
& peel off hereafter, and the more carefully you execute the intaglio
the more beautiful your work will be in the end. But don’t imagine
that by touching up the surface of your work with punches and hammer,
it will gain anything in the relief, for the enamels will either
not stick at all, or the surface that you are enamelling will still
appear rough. And just as when a man cuts an intaglio he often rubs
it with a little charcoal, such as willow or walnut wood, which he
rubs on with a little saliva or water, the same you may do here when
you cut your intaglio in order to see it stand out better, because
the shine made by the metal tools on the plate will make it difficult
for you to see your work. But, as owing to this the work gets a bit
untidy and greasy, it is necessary, when you have finished it, to
boil it out in a concoction of ashes[25] such as was described above
for niello work.

Now let us say you want to begin enamelling your work, and that it
is in gold. I propose telling you first of how to enamel on gold,
and then how to do it on silver. For both gold and silver the same
cleanness is necessary, and in either case the same method, but
there is a little difference in applying the enamel and also in the
actual enamels applied, for the red enamel cannot be put on silver
because the silver does not take it. The reasons of this I would
explain, were it not too long a business, so I’ll say nothing about
it, especially as to do so would take us beyond the scope of our
inquiry. Furthermore I have no intention of talking about how enamels
are made, because that in itself is a great art, also practised by
the ancients, & discovered by wise men, but as far as we are aware
the ancients did not know of the transparent red enamel, which it is
said, was discovered by an alchemist who was a goldsmith as well. But
all I need tell of it is that this alchemist, while engaged in the
search of how to make gold, had mixed together a certain composition,
and when his work was done, there appeared among the stuff in the
metal rest of his crucible a sediment of the loveliest red glass,
just as we see it to this day. After much time and trouble, & by many
mixings of it with other enamels the goldsmith finally discovered the
process of making it. This enamel is far the most beautiful of all,
and is termed in the goldsmiths’ art ‘_smalto roggio_,’ red enamel,
or in French ‘_rogia chlero_’ (rouge claire) that is to say, and
which means in other words, red and clear or transparent. A further
sort of red enamel we have also, which is not transparent and has not
the splendid colour, and this is used on silver because that metal
will not take the other. And though I have not had much practical
experience of it, I have tried it often enough to be able to talk
about it. As for the other, it lends itself more aptly to gold by
reason of its being produced from the minerals and compositions that
have been used in the search how to make gold. Now let us return to
the process of enamelling.

The method of enamelling is much the same as painting, for you
can have as many colours as come within human ken. And just as in
painting so in enamelling you have them all ranged in order and all
well ground to begin with. We have a proverb in the craft which
says: ‘_Smalto sottilé e niello grosse_.’ ‘Enamel should be fine,
niello should be coarse,’ and that’s just what it is. You put your
enamel in a little round mortar of well-hardened steel, and about
the size of your palm, & then you pound it up with very clean water
and with a little steel pestle specially made for the purpose of
the necessary size. Some, to be sure, have pounded their enamels on
porphyry or serpentine stone, which are very hard, & moreover have
done this dry, but I now think that the steel mortar is much better
because you can pound it so much cleaner. The reasons of this we may
consider later, but because we want here to be as brief as possible
& to avoid any unnecessary difficulties and useless confusion, all
we need know is that the particular mortars in question are made
in Milan. Many excellent men of this craft came from Milan and its
adjacent territory, and I knew one of the best of them. His nick-name
was Master Caradosso,[26] and he never wanted to be called by any
other, and this nick-name was given him once by a Spaniard who was
in a great rage because he was kept waiting by the Master for a
piece of work which he had promised to get finished by a particular
day. When the Spaniard saw that he could not have it in time, he
got so fearfully angry that he looked as if he would like to do him
an injury, at which Caradosso to appease his wrath, began excusing
himself as best he could, and in such a plaintive tone of voice, and
such an uncouth Milanese lingo, that the irate nobleman burst out
laughing, and looking him straight in the face, cried out in his high
& mighty manner: ‘_Hai cara d’osso_,’ that is to say, ‘You bum face.’
The sound of this appellation pleased Caradosso so much that he never
would answer to any other. When later on one fine day he found out
what it really meant, he would gladly have got rid of it, but he
couldn’t, it was too late. I knew him as an old man of 80 in Rome,
where he was never called by any other name than Caradosso. He was a
splendid goldsmith, especially at enamelling, and I shall have more
to say of him later on.

Now let us proceed with the beautiful art of enamelling. As I said
above the best way of pounding the enamels is in a little steel
mortar with water. I found out from personal experience that the best
plan as soon as the enamels are ground is to pour off the water in
which you grind them and put the powder in a little glass, pouring
upon it just so much aqua fortis as may suffice to cover it; & so
let it stand for about one-eighth of an hour. This done, take out
your enamel and wash it well in a glass bottle with very clear, clean
water until no residue of impurity be left. You must know that the
object of the aqua fortis is to clean it of any fatty, just as fresh
water is to clean it of any earthy impurities. When your enamels are
all well washed in this way, you should put each in its little jar
of glass ware or majolica, but take great care that your water is so
contained that it does not dry up, because if you put fresh water
to them your enamels will spoil at once. Now pay great attention to
what I’m next going to tell you. If you want your enamels to come out
properly you must take a nice clean piece of paper, and chew well
between your teeth, that’s to say if you’ve got any,—I couldn’t do it
because I’ve none left,—so should have to soften it and beat it up
with a little hammer of iron or wood, whichever might be best; this
done you must wash out your paper putty, and squeeze it till there is
no water left in it, because you will have to use it as a sponge and
apply it from time to time upon your enamels. The more your colours
dry up during the process the better they will look afterwards. Then,
too, I mustn’t forget to tell you another important thing which
will also affect the good or bad enamelling of your work, and this
necessitates your trying a piece of experimental work first.

To this end you take a plate of gold or silver, whichever material
you elect to cut your intaglio upon, and on this experimental
piece,—let us suppose it is gold,—put all the different colours
with which you intend to work, having made as many little hollows
with your graver as there are enamels. Thus you take a little bit
of each, and the only object of this is to make the necessary
preliminary trial, for by this trial you find out which run easy and
which run hard, because it is very necessary that they should all
run alike; for if some run too slowly and others too fast they would
spoil each other, and you would make a mess of your work. All those
preliminaries done, you may set to work at your enamelling; lay the
nice clean colours over your engraved bas-relief just as if you were
painting, always keeping your colours well covered up, and take no
more out of one bottle than you can conveniently use at a time. It is
usual, too, to fashion an instrument called a ‘_palettiere_’ (palette
holder), this is made out of thin copper plate, & in imitation of
fingers, it should not be bigger than your fingers, and there should
be five or six of them. Then you take a lump of lead in the shape of
a pear, with an iron stem to it, which would correspond to the stalk
of the pear, and then you put all your bits of copper which you have
hollowed out somewhat, one over the other on your pear stem. And this
little finger-shaped palette you stand beside your work, and you put
your enamels upon it, one by one, using due care. How careful you
have to be with this cannot be told in words alone—you’ll have to
learn that by experience!

As I said above, enamelling is similar to painting; though the
mediums in the two sorts of painting in colours are oil & water,
while that of painting in enamels is by dissolving them with heat.
To begin with then, take your enamels with a little copper palette
knife, & spread them out little by little very carefully over your
bas-relief, putting on any colour you like, be it flesh colour, red,
peacock blue, tawny, azure, grey or capucin colour, for that is
what one of the colours is called. I don’t mention yellow, white &
turquoise blue, because those colours are not suitable to gold. But
one colour I forgot, and that was ‘Aqua Marina,’ a most beautiful
colour, which may be used for gold as well as for silver. Then when
you have all your enamels of all colours placed in the best of
orders, you have to be careful in the first coat, as it is called, to
apply them very thin and neatly, and just as if you were painting in
miniature you put each in its place, exactly where it is to be. This
done, have your furnace in order, & well heated with charcoal. Later
on I will tell you further of furnaces and point out which are the
best of the many different ones in use; but now let us assume that
you have in it a fire sufficient for the purpose of the work you have
before you. Then having your furnace as I say, in its place, you must
put your gold work on an iron plate a trifle larger than the work
itself, so that it can be handled with the tongs. And you must so ply
it with the tongs and hold it to the mouth of the furnace, that it
gets warm gradually, then, little by little, put it into the middle
of the furnace, but you must take the greatest possible care that as
soon as the enamel begins to move, you do not let it run, but draw it
away from the fire quickly, so, however, that you do not subject it
to any sudden cooling. Then, when it is quite cool, apply, just as
carefully as before, the second coat of enamel, put it in the furnace
in the same way, this time to a rather stronger fire, and draw it
forth in the same manner as before. After this if you see your work
need further touching up with enamel in any of its corners, as is
often necessary, judgment and care will show you how to do it. For
this I advise you to make a stronger and clearer fire, adding fresh
charcoal, and so put your work in again, subjecting it to as strong a
heat as enamel and gold can stand. Then rapidly take it out, and let
your ’prentice be ready, bellows in hand, to blow upon it as quickly
as possible and so cool it. This you have to do for the sake of the
red enamel, the ‘_smalto roggio_’ of which we spoke above, because
in the last firing it is wont to fuse with the others, and so to
make new colour effects, the red, for instance, going so yellow that
you can scarce distinguish it from gold. This fusing is technically
called ‘_aprire_.’ When it has once more cooled you put it in again,
but this time with a much weaker fire, until you see it little by
little reddening, but take great heed that when it has got the good
colour you want, you draw it rapidly from the fire & cool it with the
bellows, because too much firing will give it so strong a colour as
to make it almost black.

When you have duly carried out all these processes to your
satisfaction, take some of your ‘_frassinelle_’—these were the bits
of stones or sand that I described before when I told you about
King Francis’ filigree bowl—and with them smooth your work over
until you get the proper effect. Then finish by polishing it with
tripoli as I showed you above, also in the filigree bowl. This
method of finishing, which is by far the best and safest, is called
hand-polishing, in contradistinction to a second method by which,
after you have your work smoothed with the ‘_frasinella_’ and then
well washed with fresh water so as to remove from it all dirt, you
put it again on to the iron plate and into a clear fire and thus
slowly heat it. In this method, by which you get the effect of polish
much quicker than with the other, you leave the work in the fire till
it is hot, and the enamels begin to run; but its disadvantage is
that, as the enamels always shrink a bit, and shrink unequally in the
firing, you cannot get so even a surface as by the hand-polishing.
You have to take the same precautions, too, as you took when firing
your ‘_roggio clero_,’ or red enamel. In the event of your not
employing the latter—as would be the case on silver—you must take
great care to observe the same precautions in putting your work in,
but do just the opposite in taking it out of the fire, that is to
say draw it very gradually from the furnace, so that it cools very
slowly instead of very rapidly as was the case with the red enamel.
Of course you may have to enamel a lot of pieces, such for instance
as little pendants, and bits of jewellery, and other such things, where
you are not able to use the ‘_frasinella_’ at all. Things of this
kind, fruit, leaves, little animals, tiny masks and such like, are
applied in the same way with well-ground and washed enamels, but
cannot be similarly polished because of their relief.

And if by reason of the great time and labour and patience you spend
upon the doing of all this your enamels begin to dry up, and thus
fall off in turning your work, this you may remedy in this wise:
take a few quince seeds, which you get by cutting the fruit through
the middle, choose such as are not empty, and let them soak in
a vase with a little water; this you should do over night if you
want to enamel the next morning, and you should be careful to do
it very clean. Then when you want to apply your enamels, having
put a morsel of each colour on your palette (the finger palette I
described to you above fixed on to the stem of your leaden pear) you
mix with every bit of enamel you lay on your work, a tiny drop of
this quince-seed-water, the effect of which is to produce a kind of
gum which holds the enamels together so that they don’t fall, & no
other gum has a like effect. For the rest, all you have to do is to
carefully carry out the methods I have so far explained to you, and
whether your enamel be on gold or silver, except in so far as I have
told, those methods are the same.


FOOTNOTES:

[24] _Probably powdered resin; in Hendrie’s ‘Theophilus’ it is given
as common white pine resin from which the oil has been evaporated
over hot water._

[25] _Bollirlo in una cenerata._

[26] _His real name was Ambrogio Foppa._




CHAPTER IV. JEWELLERY.


Now let us discuss jewellery, and of what pertains to precious
stones. Of such there are four only, and those four are made by the
four elements, the ruby is made by fire, the sapphire most obviously
by the air, the emerald by the earth, and the diamond by water. In
its due place I shall have something to say of the virtue of each.
But what we have before us here is to talk about what pertains to the
setting, in pendants, bracelets, rings, tiaras and crowns. We will
leave diamonds till the last, because they are the most difficult of
all stones to treat, and the reason of this is that while of other
stones set in gold each one has its foil, of which more anon, the
diamond of certain varieties has a tint which has to be specially
prepared at the back of the stone, according to the peculiarities of
each; and in their place will I tell you the loveliest things about
them.

We will begin with rubies, of which there are various sorts. The
first is the oriental ruby, which is found in our side of the Levant
and near home; this part of the Levant, indeed, produces rarer and
more beautiful jewels than any other lands. These Levant rubies have
a mature colour, they are deep and very fiery. The rubies of the West
on the other hand, though still red, lean towards peacock colour
and are somewhat sharp and crude. Northern rubies are sharper and
cruder still, while those of the South are quite different from the
others, but so rare that they are very seldom to be met with, so I
will mention one of their peculiarities only, they have not the same
grand colour as the Levant ruby, but verge somewhat upon that of the
ballas,[27] and though this has not the beautiful suffused colour it
is none the less fiery, and so grand is it that they seem perpetually
to scintillate by day, and by night throw out a gleam akin to that
of a glow-worm, or other little creatures that shine in the dark.
True it is that these southern rubies do not always possess this
wonderful quality, but so delightful are they to the eye, that your
good jeweller easily tells them from the others, the name carbuncle
is, however, only applied to the very rare ones, and those that shine
in the dark. As soon as we have considered, from personal experience,
and from the experience of others, what are the best ways of setting
jewels, we will talk of the qualities of the stones themselves. But
I have a thing or two to say in order not to scandalize a certain
class of men who call themselves jewellers, but may be better likened
to hucksters or linen-drapers, pawn-brokers, and grocers; I have
seen more than enough of wondrous samples in plenty of them in
Rome, and there you may still see them to this day, with a maximum of
credit and a minimum of brains. So what I say is out of respect to
these dunderheads lest they should be shocked at my affirming that
the real stones are of four sorts only, and thus wag their arrogant
tongues at me & cry, ‘How about the chrysoprase or the jacynth, how
about the spinell, how about the aqua marine; nay, more, how about
the garnet, the vermeil, the chrysolite, the plasma, the amethyst,
ain’t these all stones and all different?’ Yes, and why the Devil
won’t you add pearls, too, among the jewels, ain’t they fish bones?
I really don’t think it worth while to try and cope with veritable
empty-headed ignoramuses, but I will say that there are many, very
many, like them, and that your great princes are mainly to blame for
encouraging them, since they quite put themselves in the hands of
such men, and so not only do injury to themselves, but undervalue men
that walk in the right way and do excellent work. But let us pass
from this little digression & consider what is most beautiful and
most rare in jewellery; a digression merely entered into because I
don’t want ignorant men to jeer at me for having said nothing of the
ballas and the topaz. The ballas is a ruby with but little colour, as
if it were a kind of feminine form of the stone, called in the West
the ballas ruby, but it is of the same hardness, and so a gem of the
nature of the ruby, and differing from it only as to cost. The like
holds good with the topaz, in its relationship to the sapphire, it
is of the same hardness as the sapphire, and though of a different
colour must be classified with the sapphire, just as the ballas must
be with the ruby—what better classification do you want? hasn’t the
air got its sun?

[Illustration: A page of reputed Cellini Jewellery]

Of these four sorts of stones, the ruby, the sapphire, the emerald,
and the diamond, you must know that the first is far the most costly.
A ruby, for instance, of five grains of wheat, & of as fine a fire
as you could wish, would be worth about 800 golden scudi, and an
emerald of the same size and beauty would run to about 400, similarly
a diamond would be worth 100, & no more, while a sapphire would
fetch about 10. These few facts I thought might be worth having to
all those many youths always springing up and eager to learn the
beautiful art of the goldsmith. To be sure, they ought to begin
learning as soon as they can toddle, & use that greatest of all
opportunities which is afforded by apprenticeship to some Master of
renown, whether in Rome, in Venice, or in Paris. In all of them did
I sojourn for a long while, and in all of them did I see and handle
many and invaluable pieces of jewellery.


FOOTNOTES:

[27] _Balaschio._




CHAPTER V. HOW TO SET A RUBY.


We will now continue our talk & consider the way of setting a ruby,
and the box of gold in which it has to be fitted. This box, whether
in a pendant, a ring, or what not, is always called the bezel. What
you have first of all to observe in the setting of the stone in this
bezel, is that the former must not be set too deep, so as to deprive
it of its full value, nor too high, so as to isolate it from its
surrounding detail. I mention this because I have seen mistakes made
in both ways, and I am certain that practising jewellers who have a
right knowledge of drawing and design would not go wrong in either
the one direction or the other.

So let us place our fine ruby into its bezel. In order to what is
technically called ‘set’[28] it, we must provide ourselves with four
or five ruby foils[29] of which some should be of so deep a glow
that they seem quite dark, and others differing in intensity till
they have scarce any red in them at all. With all these different
specimens of foils before us, we take hold of the ruby with a piece
of hard black wax well pointed, pressing the wax upon one of the
projections of the stone. Then your good jeweller tries his ruby now
upon this foil, now upon that, till his own good taste determines him
which foil will give most value to his stone. Sometimes the jeweller
will find it may help him to move the stone to and from the foil, but
he has to recollect that the air between the foil & the stone will
always give an effect different to that afterwards given when the
stone is set in the bezel where no air passes behind. Therefore your
capable man places the cut foil in the setting, at one time bringing
it close, at another interposing a space. Thereupon let him set his
jewel with all the care, taste & delicacy of which an able man is
master.


FOOTNOTES:

[28] _Legare._

[29] _Literally leaves that are of themselves red._


[Illustration: Another page of reputed Cellini Jewellery]




CHAPTER VI. HOW TO SET AN EMERALD AND A SAPPHIRE.


Now, as to the emerald and the sapphire, the same skill must be used
with the foils adaptable to them as with those of the ruby. And
because I consider that practice always has come before theory in
every craft, and that the rules of theory, in which your skillful
craftsman is accomplished, are always grafted on to practice
afterwards, I will give you a case in point of what once happened
to me when I was setting a ruby of about 3000 scudi in value. This
ruby had, when it came into my hands, been very well set at different
times by some of the best known jewellers of the day. So I was
incited to work at it with all possible care. Seeing that I could in
no way satisfy myself with the result of my efforts, I locked myself
up somewhere where no one could see me; not so much because I did
not wish my secret to go further, but because I did not want to be
caught trying so mean an experiment upon so goodly and wonderful a
gem. I took a little skein of silk stained with Kermes, and with a
pair of scissors cut it carefully, having previously spread a little
wax in the bezel. Then I took the tiny bit of silk and pressed[30]
it firmly on to the wax with the point of a small punch. Then did I
put my ruby upon it, and so well did it make, and such virtue did it
gain, that all the jeweller folk who had seen it first, suspected me
of having tinted it, a thing forbidden in jewellery except in the
case of diamonds, of which more anon. But for this ruby, some of
the jewellers asked me to say what kind of a foil I had put behind
it, upon which I answered that I had put no foil behind it. At this
reply of mine, a jeweller who was with the gentleman to whom the
ruby belonged, said, ‘If the ruby has no foil, you can’t have done
anything else but tint it in some way or other, and that you know
is forbidden.’ To which I replied again that I had neither given it
a foil, nor done anything forbidden to it. At this the jeweller got
a little nasty and used strong language, at which the gentleman who
owned the ruby said, ‘Benvenuto, I pray you, be so good, provided
I pay you for it, to open your setting and show it to me only, I
promise you I’ll not tell anyone your secret.’ Then said I to him
that I had worked several days on the job, and that I had my living
to earn, but that I would willingly do it if he paid me the price of
the setting, and, moreover, do it in the presence of all of them,
because I should be much honoured in thus being able to teach my
teachers. When I had said this, I opened the bezel and took out the
stone in their presence. They were very much obliged, we parted
very good friends, and I got very well paid. The ruby in question
was a thick one, & so limpid and luminous that all the foils you
put beneath it gave it a sort of uncertain flash, like that which
shimmers from the girasol opal, or the cat’s-eye, two kinds of stones
to which the dunderheads, of whom I told before, would also give the
name of gems.

Now a word about the emerald and the sapphire, in both which gems
one meets with the same peculiarities and difficulties as with the
ruby, so I know of but little to say about them than that they are
stones that are often falsified, which should be a warning to those
who delight in gems or buy them, whether to set or to keep. There
is a kind of Indian ruby with as little colour as you can possibly
imagine, and I once saw a ruby of this nature falsified ever so
cleverly by one of these cheats. He had done it by smearing its base
with dragon’s blood, which is a kind of composition made of a gum
that will melt in the fire, and that you can buy at any apothecary’s
in Florence or Rome. Well, the cheat had smeared the base of the
stone with dragon’s blood, & then set it in such a way that it showed
so well, you would gladly have given 100 golden scudi for it; but
without this colour it wouldn’t have fetched 10, and have been much
more likely to come out of the setting. But the colour looked so
fine, and the stone seemed so cunningly set, that no one unless very
careful, would have spotted it.

It happened one day that I was with three old jewellers to whom I had
expressed my doubts as to the genuineness of the stone, so they made
me unset the ruby and they stood round me greedily watching, ready to
pounce upon it. As soon as I had done it they all three jeered at me
for my wisdom and said another time I should open my eyes better, for
it was obvious that this stone was set by a good man, who wouldn’t do
such a thing, and who knew his business right well enough. At these
words of theirs I held out my hand, and begged them to let me see and
have proof of my mistake, adding that if this time my good eyes had
failed me, it might be because I was less keen-sighted than they,
but I promised it shouldn’t happen again. When I had the ruby in my
hand I soon saw with my sharp eyes what their dullness had missed,
and quickly taking a little steel tool I scraped off the bottom of
the stone. Then might that ruby have been likened to the crow that
tricked itself out in the feathers of the peacock. I returned the
stone to the jewellers and suggested to them that they would do well
to provide themselves with eyes somewhat superior to those they were
at present using. I couldn’t resist saying this because all three
of them wore great big gig-lamps on their noses, whereupon they
all three gaped at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and, with
God’s blessing, made off. You come across similar difficulties and
occurrences with emeralds and sapphires which I will omit, as I have
other things of more importance to tell of.

I mind me also of having seen rubies and emeralds made double,
like red & green crystals, stuck together, the stone being in two
pieces, and their usual name is ‘doppie’ or doublets. These false
stones are made in Milan, set in silver, and are much in vogue among
the peasant folk; the ingenuity of man has devised them to satisfy
the wants of these poor people when they wish to make presents at
weddings, ceremonies, and so forth, to their wives, who of course
don’t know any difference between the real and the sham stone, &
whom the little deceit makes very happy. Certain avaricious men
however, have taken advantage of a form of industry, made partly for
a useful, and partly for a good end, & have very cunningly turned it
to great evil. For instance, they have taken a thin piece of Indian
ruby, and with very cunning setting have twisted and pieced together
beneath it bits of glass which they then fixed in this manner in an
elaborate & beautiful setting for the ring or whatever it was. And
these they have subsequently sold for a good and first-class stone.
And forasmuch as I don’t tell you anything unless I can illustrate
it by some practical example, I’ll just mention that there was in my
time a Milanese jeweller who had so cleverly counterfeited an emerald
in this way that he sold it for a genuine stone and got 9000 golden
scudi for it. And this all happened because the purchaser—who was no
less a person than the King of England—put rather more faith in the
jeweller than he ought to have done. The fraud was not found out till
several years after.

Emeralds and sapphires are also manufactured out of single stones,
and this so cleverly that they are often difficult to tell, but
however wonderfully they are counterfeited in colour they are so
soft, that any good jeweller with the average amount of brains, can
easily spot them. I could tell you ever so much more about all this,
but it must do for the present, because I have to pass on to a lot of
other important and useful things.


FOOTNOTES:

[30] _Calcai_—_possibly: ‘I frayed.’_




CHAPTER VII. HOW TO MAKE FOILS FOR ALL SORTS OF TRANSPARENT JEWELS.


In order to make good foils for jewels it is essential to have steel
tools, and all of the best and of the most finished description.
Then, as you may suppose, for an undertaking of such importance you
need the greatest possible care and patience, together with the
greatest possible neatness. Long ago, when I was a lad of fifteen
and began to learn goldsmithery, I knew a master in the art whose
name was Salvestro del Lavacchio. This man only did stone-setting,
& specialised on the making of his own foils for all sorts of gems.
Though the foils from France and Venice and other places often showed
up more splendidly, experience proved that they were not as lasting
as Lavacchio’s, which were always thicker. For this reason the
setting of the gems upon them was often more difficult than on the
foreign foils, but so strong were they, and so telling to the gems,
that as soon as they became a bit known, he got orders from all over
the world and soon had no time for anything else but foil-making.
Indeed it requires all a man’s energies to do this, so I thought I
would give a few facts about it for the benefit of anyone anxious to
learn. The first foil is called the common foil, it is of a yellow
colour and is used for many jewels and transparent stones. But first
a word as to the weight of a carat, which is a weight of four grains.
The foils may be stated in weights thus:—


COMMON (YELLOW) FOIL.

   9 carats of fine gold.
  18   ”       ”    silver.
  72   ”       ”    copper.


RED FOIL.

  20 carats of fine gold.
  16   ”       ”    silver.
  18   ”       ”    copper.


BLUE FOIL.

  16 carats of fine copper.
   4   ”       ”    gold.
   2   ”       ”    silver.


GREEN FOIL.

  10 carats of fine copper.
   6   ”       ”    silver.
   1   ”       ”    gold.

Melt the copper well first and then put in the two other metals; when
they are well mixed cast them into a fairly long ingot mould, and
don’t make it too thick.[31] When it is cast let it cool, then file
it well, after which beat it very lightly and with the broad end of
a hammer, often heating it again as you go on, but not putting it
in water, nor cooling it with the bellows. And when you have beaten
it down to about the thickness of two knife backs; flatten it with
a strong rounded scraper, and pare off the edges quite smoothly
till no crack remain. Then, when you are spreading it out, see that
both it and your hammer be even, smooth, and burnished, and with
every possible care make it as thin as you can, as, according to
its nature, the metal will rend; the size of it should be about a
couple of fingers, or a little longer, and the square should be of
such dimensions as your metal will afford. Also mind that the size
is such as you propose to make when your work is completed. But as,
in beating, it will rend and crack, see that you watch this, and cut
it accordingly, and to the utmost thinness possible. And all these
pieces you must blanch, clean, and polish with tartar,[32] salt, and
water, which is the blanching liquor ordinarily used for silver. Then
wash in clear water, rub with a clean rag lightly, and then scrub it
on a big copper tube that must be very clean and shining.

See that you scrape it with the sharpest of all possible goldsmiths’
scrapers, and do this with the greatest care in order that you do
not mark it with notches. Then take it with a very clean and white
cloth, and have by you a graver that shall be well sharpened on an
oil stone, and clean off everything in the nature of grease or dirt.
It is needful, when burnishing it, to be in a room where there is
no dirt. Get a black hæmatite stone[33] such as the sword cutlers
use for burnishing gold. When you have polished it very well give
it its colour. This you do over a moderate and clean fire, keeping
your piece of foil near the said fire, and take care that of the two
sides, the unburnished one turns to the fire. Gradually you will see
the colour come according as it takes the heat. It is necessary to
vary the colour as need requires.

Pope Clement gave me the commission to make the button for his
cope.[34] This morse I made about the size of an ordinary plate; but
because of all its wealth of figure work I had better talk of that
later when I treat of embossing and the many difficulties of that
art. For the present I will consider only the jewels with which it
was enriched. In the middle of the morse I set a diamond the facets
of which were cut starwise to a point, for which Pope Julius II.
had given 36,000 ducats of the Camera. I set the stone quite free
(_à jour_) between four claws, in this manner did it seem to me to
make better. I had given this setting a good deal of thought, but
the stone was of such exceptional beauty that it caused me much less
trouble than costly stones of similar character are wont to do. True,
some jewellers were of a mind that it would be better to tint the
whole base of the stone and the back facets,[35] but with my good
results I got them to see that it was much better thus. Together with
the diamond, and around it, were two large ballas rubies and two big
sapphires, splendid stones, and four emeralds of a goodly size. To
all these stones did I apply those same careful methods of which I
have spoken above, thereby satisfying not only the Pope, but also
the practising artists. For, previously, at the beginning of the
work, and before I set to at the diamonds and the other stones—for
they were right difficult to handle—certain old fossils in the art
had, part in envy, part speaking true, sought to scare[36] me away
from the job. ‘Verily,’ said they, ‘we know you to be sure enough
in all that pertains to design & to the embossing of an excellent
piece of work, but when you set to the tinting and arranging of such
costly jewels, why, ’twill make the teeth chatter in your head with
fright.’ Now I’m not the sort of fellow who’s afeard of any mortal
thing, but I must say that this somewhat emphatic way of expressing
their astonishment made me pause a bit. But I minded me of those
gifts from God Himself, & which come to a man without any toil of his
own; comeliness for instance, or strength, or handiness, and to me
methought God had given surety of purpose. So much was this so, that
I could afford to turn laughing away from all their silly prattle.
The tale of Phœbus came to my mind, and how at the outset he had
sought to fright his son Phæton from wishing to guide the chariot of
the sun; but then, you see, when all was done, I was luckier than
Phæton, for I did not break my neck, but came out of it with much
honour and profit to myself.


FOOTNOTES:

[31] _Lo gitta in uno canale un poco largo, e non fare la verga molto
grosso._

[32] _Gomma._

[33] _Amatita nera._

[34] _This great piece, perhaps Cellini’s masterpiece, was melted
down in the present century._

[35] _Pàdiglione_: _or in English, pavilions_.

[36] _Spaventavano._




CHAPTER VIII. ON THE CUTTING OF THE DIAMOND.


As we have now said enough of the three gems, ruby, emerald, and
sapphire, we must perforce consider at greater length the diamond.
Now, though the diamond is said to be kin to water, let no man
suppose that this need imply an absence of colour, perfume, and taste
such as would be the case in good water. Just as water may have both
colour, perfume, and taste, even so the diamond; not that the diamond
actually _has_ perfume or taste, but it has colours as many as nature
herself. I propose here only to mention two, and these diamonds about
as splendid as it is possible to imagine. The first was a stone
I came across in the reign of Pope Clement, a diamond literally
flesh-coloured, most tender, most limpid, it scintillated like a
star, and so delightful was it to behold that all other diamonds
beside it, however pure & colourless, seemed no longer to give any
pleasure and to lose their gratefulness. The second was a stone I saw
in Mantua, it was green, & green such as you might see in a very pale
emerald, but it shone just like any diamond, and as no emerald ever
shone; indeed it seemed the most glorious of all emeralds. Though I
have seen all imaginable colours in diamonds, the mention of these
two may suffice.

Now for just a word about the cutting of the diamond, that is to say
on the changing of the stone from its roughness into those lovely
shapes so familiar to us, the Table, the Facetted, & the Point.[37]
Diamonds you can never cut alone, you must always do two at a time
on account of their exceeding hardness, no other stone can cut them;
it is a case of diamond cut diamond. This you do by means of rubbing
one against the other until a form is obtained such as your skilful
cutter may wish to produce, and with the diamond powder that falls
from them in the process, the final polish is subsequently given.
For this purpose the stones are set in little cups of pewter[38] and
held against a wheel by means of certain little pinchers prepared
on purpose, and they are thus held with their dust mixed with oil.
The steel wheel upon which the diamonds are cut and finished should
be about the thickness of a finger, & the size of an open hand and
of the finest steel excellently tempered. This wheel is fastened to
a hand mill and turned round as fast as it is possible to turn it.
Four to five diamonds, or even six, can be applied to the wheel at
the same time, and by bringing to bear a sufficiently heavy weight
you can increase the pressure of the diamonds upon the wheel and
give greater grip to the dust which wears them away, and so they are
finished. I could tell you a deal more, and all about the ways of
cutting, but because it is not in my own craft, I will not bore you
with it; ’tis sufficient for me to have given a general sketch of the
method in question.

To return however to the subject we have in hand, I will say
something of the tinting of the diamond, of its setting in gold,
and of the variation between one stone & another on account of the
above-mentioned colours. However great the variety of these colours
is, the wondrous hardness of the stone is similar in all cases, or
at least the variation is so slight that the process of cutting is
the same. With the greatest possible care will I show how I set about
making tints for diamonds, and give likewise a number of instances,
on various exceptional occasions, that I have come across in diamonds
of great importance: it is only owing to experiences such as I have
passed through that one is able satisfactorily to show the great
difficulties that stand in the way of those who wish to make them
fine settings. I will begin with one occasion when Pope Paul III.
of the house of Farnese was given a diamond by the Emperor Charles
V.,—’twas when he returned from the capture of Tunis & paid a visit
to the Pope in Rome. The diamond in question was purchased in Venice
by certain servants of the Emperor’s for 12,000 scudi, and it was
set merely in a plain and simple bezel with a little claw.[39] In
this fashion it was given by the Emperor to the Pope, as soon as
he visited him, & I heard tell that he gave it as a sign of his
goodwill and friendliness, the latter receiving it courteously with
the same spirit. Now forasmuch as the Pope, for a month previously,
had ordered a present to be prepared for the Emperor, worthy to pass
between them, he had held much counsel on the matter with many, and
so called for me, and asked me in the presence of his Council, but
quite privately, to give him my opinion on the matter. I straightway
said that, inasmuch as the Pope was the veritable head of the
Christian religion, and the veritable vicar of Christ, the most
fitting gift from the Pope to the Emperor seemed to me to be a fine
Christ of gold set upon a ground of lapis lazuli, an azure stone from
which they make ultramarine; the foot of this crucifix I said should
be of gold & set with jewels, and of such value as should please his
Holiness. And because I had, with great care, already executed three
gold figures that might serve for the base of this cross, & because
they symbolised Faith, Hope, and Charity, and were already completed,
the suggestion pleased the Pope mightily, and he bade me set to &
make a model of what I proposed, for him to see.

[Illustration: The South Kensington Breviary and another Cellini
attribution]

At this model I wrought for a day and a half, and then brought it
to him completed. Pleased as he had been at my suggestion, he was
simply delighted when he saw the model, and determined to give me
the job; we clinched the bargain in no time, I was paid the earnest
money and bidden to bestir myself. I strained every nerve to bring
this beautiful work to being, but so it was, I was hindered from
finishing by certain beasts who had the vantage of the Pope’s ear.
’Tis a thing that often happens, this, with all princes; the worst
men in the whole court are often the best listened to, and these
fellows believe for them what they don’t even believe themselves. One
of these men whispered such evil things into the Pope’s ear, that he
got him to believe that it would be better to make a present to the
Emperor of a breviary of the Virgin in miniature that had been made
for the Cardinal Hippolitus de Medici as a gift to the Lady Julia
Gonzaga, that this little book should be bound in a cover of fine
gold set with what variety of stones might please his Holiness, and
that the Emperor would like this much better, because he could make a
present of it to his wife the Empress. And so it came that the Pope
got so gammoned, that he was dissuaded from the crucifix, and bade me
make the little book, which I accordingly did.[40] When the Emperor
arrived in Rome, I had not yet put the finishing touches on the book
because it took some time before they made up their minds about it;
none the less the cover was visible, as it had all been put together,
and it looked splendid with all its gorgeous jewels set upon it. Then
the Pope sent to let me know that I must have it in order as well as
I possibly could within three or four days, as he wanted to show it,
incomplete as it was, to the Emperor, and that he would excuse me to
the latter for not having completed it, on the plea of illness. As
for that I will speak of it in its place.

After this the Pope with his own hands gave me the diamond he had
received from the Emperor, told me to take the measure of his
forefinger and make him a ring as richly wrought as possible and as
quickly as ever I could. Off I hurried to my workshop, and with the
greatest dispatch and in the space of two days produced as rich a
ring as was ever made. Now Pope Paul had waiting in attendance on him
a number of Milanese who patronised a certain Milanese jeweller, Gaio
by name. This Gaio came before the Pope, and all off his own bat,
without ever having been as much as asked, ‘Holy Father,’ quoth he,
‘your Holiness knows that by profession I am a jeweller, & that I am
better skilled at my craft than any man ever born. Now your Holiness
has given Benvenuto a diamond to set, and the diamond is one of the
most difficult stones in the whole world to set, and this particular
diamond is more difficult than any other diamond, and it is a very
beautiful stone, and a very costly stone & withal a very delicate
stone, & Benvenuto is a very young man, and though he is enthusiastic
enough about his art, & apt enough at his work, the tinting of so
precious a stone is rather too tough a bone for tender gums like
his. In my opinion your Holiness would do well to commission two or
three old and tried jewellers to go and look Benvenuto up & not let
him tint the diamond without their advice. It was a jeweller called
Miliano Targhetta of Venice, your Holiness, who tinted and set the
stone as your Holiness has it at present. This was an old man, and
never did any one better know how to fix foils and tint stones.’

Weary of this plaguey babbler, the Pope told him he might go and do
what he liked & thought best. So off the fellow went to look for
Raphaello del Moro the Florentine, and Guasparri Romanesco, both of
them men of great cunning in the matter of jewels; with these two he
came to my shop on behalf of the Pope. Then did he begin to babble so
tiresomely that I could scarce contain myself. The other two talked
sense & were decently civil, so I turned to them in my politest
manner, explained to them my views and begged them to let me have a
couple of days to prepare a few tints to try this lovely stone, for
this could only do good. In the first place by trying a few rare
tints for the diamond, I might be able not only to teach myself,
but lure on others who were following the art, & in the next place
the stone might so gain at my cost, that it might delight them, do
the Pope a service, and bring much credit to me. All the time I was
giving them my reasons, that insolent beast of a Gaio kept fidgeting
about with his feet and his head and his hands, ever and anon
interjecting the most irritating words, so that I very nearly lost my
temper altogether. But the others, men of sense they, managed it so
that I got the time I asked for. As soon as they were gone, I set to
like anything to make my tints, and this is how I did it.


FOOTNOTES:

[37] _In tavola, a facette, e in punta._

[38] _Piombo e stagno._

[39] _Gambo._

[40] _The illustration given is probably not of the breviary in
question, but it is a reasonable Cellini attribution._




CHAPTER IX. HOW YOU TINT A DIAMOND.


Take a very clean lamp with its cotton wick as white as possible,
its oil, too, should be old, sweet and clear, then stand it on the
ground, or, if you like, between two bricks. On the top of the two
bricks put a concave copper disc, its upper surface cleanly polished,
and its under surface acted upon by the flame to a third part of
it, but not more. Be careful that only a very little soot collects
on the disc at a time, because if too much soot comes, it may catch
fire and be no use to you. Then, from time to time, while the flame
smokes, take a little smooth paper and brush the smoke soot off the
disc into a clean vessel. You may know that the soot doesn’t catch
fire till it grows to a coat the thickness of two big knife backs, so
you needn’t fear to let it smoke itself to a thickness of one knife
back at a time. Then you take mastic,[41] a sort of gum that every
apothecary sells, not, however, too fresh; you may know the fresh gum
by its being bright and pale; on the other hand it mustn’t be too
old, and the old gum you will know by its being yellow and dry, and
of little substance. When you have chosen the right sort of mastic,
neither too fresh nor too dry, you proceed to select from it the
roundest and cleanest grains, because, you know, when they fall from
the tree they are apt to absorb earth and other impurities. All this
done, as I have told, you put a little pan of live charcoal on the
bench, and heat at it some small pointed steel instrument, with which
you proceed to spike one of the mastic grains, not, however, spiking
it right through the middle. This you then hold nearer and nearer to
the fire till it begins to get hot, when you quickly, with a little
spittle on your fingers, squeeze the hot mastic grain; the result of
this squeezing will be a tear-drop, as limpid and pure as you can
possibly imagine. Then quickly cut it off with a pair of scissors
from the dirty part of the grain, and save it in a clean place. This
process you repeat till you have as many mastic tears as you need.

Then you set to and make your linseed oil, & this is how you do it.
You pick out the cleanest and best grains, grains without insect
holes and perfect, and place a handful at a time on a porphyry stone,
or a very clean copper or iron plate. On this you spread the grains,
and place over them an iron plate about one finger thick and five
fingers square, this plate having been previously heated so that
it would singe paper, but no hotter. To the weight of it you add
the pressure of some great hammer, and then you will soon begin to
see the oil oozing out of the grains, but you must mind that your
iron is neither too hot nor too cold, for if it be too cold the oil
won’t ooze out, and if too hot it will be scorched up and bad, but
if well-tempered the oil will be admirable. Then ever so carefully
you lift up the plate and the grains, and with a clean knife scrape
off the oil. You have also to note that what is first pressed from
the grain is a little water, this you will tell by its running to
the edges of the stone, while the genuine oil remains in the middle.
Then you take the oil and put it into a clean glass vase. Next you
have also to provide a little sweet almond oil; and some folk use
olive oil two years old, not more, and very sweet and clean. Then you
want a spoon about four times the size of an ordinary spoon, and have
in readiness your pan of live charcoal. You put your tear drops of
mastic into the spoon, and, with a very clean silver or copper spoon,
you begin to melt them over the fire. When your mastic is melting you
add a little of the grain oil to it, in proportion about one part of
linseed to six of mastic, and so mix the two liquids together, then
apply the third, be it oil of olive or almond. After they are fused
you add a little purified turpentine, and finally the lampblack you
prepared to begin with, putting just so much & no more, as you need
for your tint.

Divers sorts of diamonds require some a darker, some a lighter
tint; some again need a softer, some a harder tint, and so it is
necessary, whenever you are setting a diamond of great importance,
to try it with the hard and the soft, or with the dark and the light
in accordance with the quality of the stone and the judgment of the
good jeweller. Some have put as little lampblack as possible when
tinting a diamond that seemed too yellow, and have instead mixed with
their tint indigo, a blue colour known to every painter. They have
even let indigo entirely take the place of lampblack, & this did they
do when they tinted a diamond that looked like clear topaz. In these
cases was a dark tint applied with admirable effect, and for this
reason, by mixing the two colours, blue and yellow, they make green,
hence the yellow diamond with the blue tint made an admirable water;
and, if it be well applied, it becomes one colour, neither yellow as
heretofore nor blue owing to the virtue of the tint, but a variation,
in truth, most gracious to the eye. Inasmuch as all stones have,
then, to be treated in accordance with the ability of the master and
the quality of the stone, the cunning with which you treat them will
depend on the amount of your experience in the art applied to each
particular stone, and each several occasion.

Now to return to that big diamond, a notable example of its kind,
that I set for Pope Paul, and which I had only to tint, because
the setting was already made. As I told you, I had asked Rafaello,
Guasparri and Gaio to allow me some two days’ space; during this time
I made a set of experiments in tints, and by great labour produced a
composition which made a much finer effect beneath the diamond than
had been made by the master, Miliano Targhetta. And when I had made
sure that I had beaten so admirable a man, what did I do but set
to work anew with still greater energy to see if I could not beat
even myself. As I told you above, this particular diamond was a most
peculiarly difficult one to manage because of its subtlety,[42] and
the good jeweller is he who produces his effect with the tint alone
without having recourse to the reflector,[43] about which I shall
have occasion to speak in its place.

When I had quite satisfied myself I sent to fetch the three old
jewellers, and when they arrived I had arranged all my tints in order
for them. When the three appeared that presumptuous Gaio marched into
the shop first, and seeing all my apparatus neatly ranged about for
the purpose of tinting the stone in their presence, he straightaway
began wagging his head, pumping about with his hands, and chattering.
‘Benvenuto,’ said he, ‘all this is mere sillyness, mere bagatelle,
you just turn up again that tint of Master Miliano’s, and apply
it, and don’t lose any time about it, because we haven’t any to
waste, owing to all the important commissions we have to execute for
the Pope.’ At this Raphaello seeing that I was just about to fly
into a most terrible passion, interposed; he was a good fellow was
Raphaello, and also the oldest of them, and he began to say soothing
words to me, encouraging things, and such-like, and so just calmed
me in time. The other man also, Master Guasparri Romanesco, in order
to put a damper on that beast of a Gaio, he too began saying things,
funny things which didn’t come off, because I wasn’t in a mood for
funny things. After a bit, perceiving that I was getting to be a
source of quarrel between the three men, I turned to them and spake
thus: ‘God Almighty,’ said I, ‘has, with the gift of speech, granted
to mortals four different ways of expressing themselves, and these
are they: the first is called _to reason_, which means to explain the
reason of things in a sensible way; the second is called _to talk_,
which means to make words, words of good import that is, and which,
if they don’t explain the reason of things, may yet be in the way of
doing so; the third is called _to chatter_, and that means to say
things of little value, funny things that sometimes please, and that
don’t hurt you; the fourth is just to _grasshopper gabble_,[44] and
nothing more, and that’s what people do who hav’n’t got any sense in
their heads at all, and want to show it off as much as they can. So,
my good friends, I will just reason with you, and expound to you my
reasons. Master Raphaello, of a sooth, has talked elegant words,
sound words; Master Guasparri, to cheer us up, has chattered a few
amiable and funny things, none of which have got anything to do with
what we have in hand; Gaio, what has he done? why just drivelled
in the most sickening way, but since his grasshopper gabble hasn’t
done me any special injury I’m not going to lose my temper over him,
and shall just take no notice of him at all. So now I pray you,
gentlemen, just to let me tint the diamond in your presence, & if my
tint does not turn out better than Master Miliano’s, I can still use
his, and I shall have shown you how at least I have tried my best to
improve it.’

Scarce had I finished these words of mine when that beast of a Gaio
called out, ‘So according to this I’m a driveller, am I?’ Whereupon
the good Raphaello began soothing him down with amiable words till
the beast got a bit pacified; I meantime set to work with my tints
upon the diamond. Raphaello and Guasparri were all agog to see me
tint the diamond, and first I tinted it with my own tint, the first
one, and this showed up so well that they were in doubt as to whether
or not I had not surpassed that of Miliano; and they praised me
abundantly. Then Raphaello turned to Gaio and said: ‘You see, Gaio,
that Benvenuto’s tint, even if it has not surpassed Miliano’s, makes
a close second; and so ’tis always right to give encouragement to
a young man like Benvenuto who tries to do well.’ I turned to him,
thanked Raphaello for his pleasant words, and said, ‘Now, my good
friends, we’ll take out my tint, & in your presence put in Master
Miliano’s, and then shall we be better able to judge on which the
diamond makes best.’ I quickly took out mine & put in Miliano’s.
Raphaello and Guasparri said that the stone showed better with mine,
and all three said that I should re-apply my tint as rapidly as I
could before the impression was lost to their eyes. Whereupon I
replaced mine quickly and handed it them. All three were agreed, and
Gaio before all—his ass’s face quite beaming up—and they declared
most amiably that I was a clever fellow, that I had good reasons for
my action, & that I had beaten Master Miliano’s tint by a long way, a
thing they never imagined possible. At this I made a bow, not without
a little pride,[45] but so as not to be noticed, and said to them:
‘Dear masters, since you have vouchsafed me such kind encouragement
to so good an end, I am only too ready on my part to be judged by
you, and since you admit that I have beaten Miliano, will you now
decide whether or not I have beaten myself, only just give me a
quarter of an hour’s grace?’

Therewith I left them and went up to the attic of my house, where
I had all in order that I wanted to do. What I did there I’ll tell
you now, I’ve not told it anyone yet, and it brought me much honour
in this diamond, but it does not necessarily succeed in others, and
cannot be done without much labour and experience. I took a fair
sized grain of mastic, cleared it well of its skin as I told above,
so that it was as pure and bright as possible, & with all imaginable
delicacy, having well cleaned the diamond, spread it over the stone
with the aid of a moderate fire. Then I let it cool, holding it tight
with the tongs used for tinting. When dry and cool I had my black
tint ready, spread the same carefully and before a gentle heat on
the top of the clear coat of mastic. This method suited so well to
the tenderness and peculiar water of the diamond in question, that
it seemed to remove from it any internal imperfections & make of it
a stone of perfect quality. Then down I ran and put it into Master
Raphaello’s hand. He uttered an expression of astonishment like
you do when you see a miracle. The two others, Guasparri and Gaio,
likewise expressed amazement, only more so, and praised me up to the
skies, Gaio even so far let himself down as to begging my pardon.
Then they said to me, all three of them together: ‘12,000 scudi was
the worth of this diamond before, but, of a truth, it is worth 20,000
now.’ We shook hands amicably and parted the best of friends.


FOOTNOTES:

[41] _The varnish resin, commonly called gum mastic._

[42] _Sottile_; i.e., _the refinement of the water_.

[43] _Specchietto._

[44] _Elsewhere, in one of his minor treatises on the arts, Cellini
defines this word ‘Cicalare’ as the chatter of birds, a murmur of
neither concord nor discord._

[45] _Baldanza_: _swelling, brag_.




CHAPTER X. HOW TO GIVE A DIAMOND ITS REFLECTOR.


In order not to leave out any of the few things that I have mastered,
we will now discuss what is termed the reflector[46] of the diamond.
This reflector is put beneath such diamonds as are so delicate as not
to be able to stand a dark tint, such as would turn them black. If it
happen that their delicacy is not great, and their water is good, it
is customary to give them the tint under the step facets alone, and
to combine the reflector with this, and the result is admirable.

The reflector is made in this wise. You take a small piece of crystal
glass, quite clean, and free from cracks or flaws. You cut it into a
square of a size that shall fit into the bezel in which you propose
to set your diamond; and you tint your bezel with the black tint
of which we spoke above. Be careful to put the said reflector, the
glass of which is tinted on the lower side only, in the bottom of
the bezel, low enough to admit of the diamond standing over but
not touching it, because if it does it will not reflect well.[47]
This is how all the tenderest diamonds should be set, and beautiful
they look, too. Beryls and white topazes and white sapphires, white
amethysts, and citrine quartz,[48] are all set in the bezel with a
reflector of this kind, if they are of a sufficiently important size.
It must be borne in mind that no stones but diamonds will stand a
tint at the back, because they turn black, and lose their splendour.
So much for the reflector.

It is an extraordinary thing that the diamond, which is the most
limpid and brilliant of all earthly stones, gains a thousand-fold in
beauty when you, as it were, soil it with a black tint, while all
other light stones, as soon as you touch them with a tint, lose their
splendour, and turn black; forsooth this is owing to some occult
power, some secret of nature in the diamond, which human imagination
cannot penetrate. There are certain sapphires, which the ingenuity
of man can turn white, by putting them in a crucible in which gold is
to be melted,[49] and if not at the first heating, then at the second
or third. Indeed your cunning gem-setter will always pick the palest
sapphires, because, though they have the least colour, they are the
hardest in substance. The same holds good of topazes, which are of
similar hardness to sapphires, & so may be classified with them. I
propose here only to touch on these two stones in so far as they have
kindred qualities to the diamond. There are few, then, however great
their experience, when having before them the two stones could tell
which of the two was the diamond, often being unable to distinguish
them at first sight. The peculiar virtue of the diamond, however,
admits of the trying of a simple experiment, by which you can at once
distinguish one stone from another, and it is this. You take your
tint & rub both stones with it; your true diamond grows in brilliance
& beauty, the other becomes deadened and splendourless. And this test
suffices without trying the test of hardness too, but if you rubbed
the two stones together you would soon find out the diamond. Though
the sapphire is so much harder than the ruby & the emerald, it is a
thousand times less so than the diamond. By the way, I need hardly
mention that it would be absurd to test a polished gem by the above
method. That’s as much as I want to say about the diamond.


FOOTNOTES:

[46] _Specchietto._

[47] _This diagram may be taken to illustrate Cellini’s description_:

[Illustration: Diagram illustrating the _specchietto_ for the diamond
D. _Diamond._
A. _Reflector._
B. _Bezel tinted inside._]

[48] _Citrini._

[49] _Nel quale sia dell’oro che s’abbia a struggere._




CHAPTER XI. ABOUT WHITE RUBIES AND CARBUNCLES.


I promised to tell you something about the finest sort of rubies, but
before doing this, I want you to know something about another sort
of ruby, called the white ruby. This stone is white by nature, not
by any heating process like the other stones mentioned above, & its
whiteness may be likened to the chalcedony, the twin sister of the
cornelian. The latter has a sort of unpleasing livid pallor, & for
this reason is not used much.

I have oft found many such in the bellies of wild fowl, so also the
loveliest turquoises. I used to be very fond of going out shooting. I
made my own powder, and became such a rare fine shot, that I should
be ready to stand any test you like. I always shot with the simple
ball, & as for the powder, well, I’ll talk of that in its right
place, but it was quite different from the powder commonly used. In
this wise did I use to march over the Roman Campagna, at the time
when the birds of passage return, and in their bellies I found stones
of all sorts, turquoises, white & coloured rubies, also emeralds, &
every now and again a pearl. But, as I said, these white rubies are
of very little use; only you know them for rubies because of their
great hardness.

Of carbuncles: according to promise I’ll tell you of these, & first
of what I have seen with my own eyes. In the time of Pope Clement
VII. there turned up a certain Raugeo, who was called Biagio di
Bono. This man had a white carbuncle, similar to the white ruby
mentioned above, but possessing so delightful a brilliance, that
it shone in the dark, not so splendidly perhaps as the coloured
carbuncles, but still so that when you put it into a very dark
place it seemed as a glowing ember, and this did I see with my own
eyes—but I must tell you in this connection an anecdote of a little
old Roman gentleman—old, did I say?—nay, very old, for his grandson
was one of my shop assistants. This man came often to my place, &
always had lots of pretty things to chat about. One fine day we fell
a-talking about gems, and the old gentleman spake thus: ‘Once when
I was a young man, I happed to be in the Piazza Colonna, and I saw
one Jacopo Cola, a distant kinsman of mine, coming along; he was
beaming all over, and he held out his closed fist to some friends
who had been sitting on a bench hard by, and were just getting up.
He spake thus to them: “What d’ye think, my friends? I’ve made a
good day to-day, for I’ve found a little stone so beautiful that it
is worth many scudi, and I found it in my vineyard, and I suppose
it must have belonged to our ancestors, because as you know this
vineyard lies beneath the great ruins familiar to all of you. Well,
when I was coming home from work, & had gone about 200 yards, I was
prompted to make water. As I was doing this and looking towards the
vineyard, I fancied I saw a spark glowing at the foot of one of my
vines; it seemed to me a perfect age before I could finish what I
was about. When I did, I’m blessed if I could find anything, however
hard I tried; so I thought I’d go back again & have another look, and
keep my eyes fixed upon it, so back I went the same way, and then
all of a sudden out burst the spark again. Well, I kept looking &
looking at it, till, see here! I found this,”—so saying he opened his
fist and showed his treasure. While he had been talking, a Venetian
ambassador, who was coming along on his mule with a few servants, had
stopped to listen. After a bit this gentleman came up close, as if he
wanted to hear all about this wonder of a fire being transformed into
a stone; then, very politely accosting my poor kinsman, “Gentlemen,”
said he, “If I am not presuming upon you, or appear to be taking too
great a liberty, might I beg of this gentleman to allow me to look at
the beautiful stone that he says he found in his vineyard.” At these
words Cola opened his fist, which he had kept locked up tight, & said
to the ambassador: “There he is, look at him as much as you like!”
The Venetian gentleman, who was a man of perfect manners, continued
with the politest language: “If I am not appearing too presumptuous,”
he said, “I would make so bold as to ask if you, sir, are disposed
to part with the stone, & if so, at what you esteem its value?” The
poor Roman, whose coat was somewhat frayed & out at elbows—a fact
which had given the Venetian pluck to drive his bargain—said: “Well,
it isn’t exactly that I’ve got to sweat for my daily bread, but if
you’re ready to pay the stone’s value, I don’t mind obliging you.
Look at him well now, and see if you like him. I shall require ten
ducats of the Camera for him.” The Venetian simpered satisfaction for
a bit, & then spake in the fashion of those polished gentlemen, much
more polished than your Roman, who, though they are examples to the
world in glory, are not up to your consummate Venetian in speech—they
can’t _out_ with it fast enough: “One favour only I beg of you; I
never carry much money in my purse, may I entreat you to send the
jewel to me by some trusty servant of yours, & I will give him what
you have asked.” The poor Roman, who knew no trustier friend than
himself, said he would go along with him personally, and winking to
one of his mates, to whom he had told all his adversity, he strode
off with the ambassador, who dismounted & walked beside him. Then
the Venetian, in order to prevent the latter from repenting of his
bargain, began chatting in the most delicious manner, in a manner
such as only your Venetian can, & enough to take any Roman’s breath
away. The one listened, enjoying these exquisite nothings, the other
prattled along as hard as he could, the journey really seeming an
eternity to him. At length he reached his house, and putting his
hand into a purse in which he had a great pile of ducats of the
Camera, he spread them out with open hand before the astonished gaze
of the poor Roman; the latter, who had gone many a long year without
seeing the like of such, feasted his eyes on this delicious looking
gold, & then put the jewel in the ambassador’s hand. One, two, three,
the latter counted out the ten ducats, shouted in haste to his
servants that they should saddle his good horse, & taking out two
more ducats, called out to the Roman, who was just going off: “Here,
I say, these two gold ducats I give you over & above our bargain,
to buy a rope to hang yourself with!” The proud Roman couldn’t make
out why he was thus spoken to; he fired up, & wanted to make for the
ambassador, but our fine gentleman quickly mounted his horse, and
sped away from Rome. Later on it transpired that he had had the jewel
beautifully set, and gone off with it to Constantinople, where a new
prince had ascended the throne. Owing to the rarity of the stone, he
asked and received for it a fabulous sum, with which he afterwards
betook himself again to Venice.’ That is all I ever heard of this
kind of carbuncle.




CHAPTER XII. MINUTERIE WORK.


Minuterie work is all that class of work done with the punch, such
as rings and pendents and bracelets. In my time, too, it was the
custom, among other charming things, to make little medals of gold
which were worn in the hat or the cap; and on these medals portraits
were engraved in low or half relief, and in the round, and they
looked just lovely. The greatest master in this art that I ever knew,
lived in the times of the Popes Leo, Adrian, and Clement, and he was
Caradosso of whom I told you above. Now will I tell you not only of
the method which he adopted in his craft, but that which was employed
by other masters. It was Caradosso’s custom to make a little model
in wax of the form he wished his work to be. When he had carefully
finished the modelling of this and filled in all the undercutting,
he made a cast of it in bronze of the proper thickness; then he beat
out a gold leaf rather thicker, if anything, in the middle, and so
as to admit of its being easily bent, and in surface some two knife
backs bigger than the surface of the model. This he proceeded to
beat out into a slightly curved form, and to soften with heat, and
then laid on to the bronze model, and with punches of the right
sort,—wooden ones to begin with of birch or cornel,[50] the latter by
preference—he very, very carefully followed the shape of his figure
or whatever it was he was working on. Ever so much care is necessary
while doing this to prevent the gold from splitting. And on you work,
now with your wooden, now with your steel punches, sometimes from the
back, sometimes from the front, ever most mindful to keep an equal
thickness throughout, for if it become thicker in one place than in
another, the work would not attain so fine a finish. It was just in
this very getting of the gold so equal all over that I never knew a
man to beat Caradosso. Well, then, when you’ve got your model worked
up to the point of relief at which you want to bring it, you begin
with the greatest cunning to bring the gold together over the legs
and over the arms and round behind the heads of the figures & the
animals, then, if, when all has been well worked together, there is
still a little bit of gold loose at the edges, you carefully cut it
off with a pair of scissors. And the little bits that stick out at
the back of the legs and arms and heads, that is to say those in high
relief, are likewise ever so carefully beaten down. By the way, I
ought to have told you that your gold must be good, gold of at least
twenty-two-and-a-half carats, but not quite twenty-three carat gold,
for you’d find that a bit too soft to work in; and if it were less
than twenty-two-and-a-half it would be too hard, and rather dangerous
to solder.

And now for the soldering, if you’ve brought your work on so far. For
this same hot soldering you take a little verdigris, the best you can
get, from its original cake, nor must it ever have been used before,
& it should be about the size of a young hazel nut without its rind,
with it you put the sixth part of salts of ammonia and as much borax;
when these three substances are well-pounded together you dissolve
them in a glass of clear water. Then with a soft wood shaving you
take the mixture, which will now have the substance of a paint, and
spread wherever there are joint lines on arms, legs, heads, or on the
ground of your work. After this you pepper a little more well-pounded
borax upon them out of your borax castor, and then light a fresh fire
of partly consumed-wood coal and put your work in the fire. See that
your coals are set with their unconsumed sides away from it as they
are apt to smoke. This done, erect a little grating of coal on top
of your work, minding, however, that the charcoal does not touch the
work itself. Be ready at hand when the charcoal is beginning to glow
and your work is growing fire-coloured, to blow wind over it with
your bellows very skillfully and very evenly, so that the flames may
play all round it alike. If you blow too hard the fire will spring up
and burst into flame, and you run the risk of melting and spoiling
your work. Watching with care you will see the outer skin of gold
begin to glow and then to move; as soon as you note this, quickly
take a brush and sprinkle a little water on your work, which will
there and then be beautifully soldered without any need of special
solder being applied to it. And this one might call the first firing.

Indeed, the first soldering ought not to be called soldering at all,
but rather firing in one piece, because there is so much virtue in
the verdigris when combined with the salts of ammonia and the borax,
that it only moves the outer skin of gold, and so fuses[51] it
together that it all grows to one even strength. After this you put
your work into vinegar very strong and clean and mixed with a little
salt, and in this you let it bide overnight. Next morning you find it
bright and free of all borax.

After this you put a little stucco at the back of it so that you can
work on it with your punches; and this stucco you make of Greek pitch
resin with a little yellow beeswax, together with a little brick
dust or well-ground terra cotta; and this is the real right sort of
stucco on which you may lay your medals, or any other similar work
you may have to chase. Then, as to your punches, you must have no
end of these, from the broadest, getting smaller and smaller down to
the very tiniest; and every one of these must have no sort or kind
of cutting edge, because, you see, they are only to be used for the
purpose of beating in and not of taking away; and this beating in you
have to do ever so delicately.

Now of a sooth shall you find that in the doing of this you will have
made lots of little holes and rents, and these same have got to be
soldered up. Not, mark you, in the way you did it before, but by the
making of a special solder, and in this wise: You take six carats
of pure and fine gold & put with it one-and-a-half carats of fine
silver and of fine copper, melting the gold first, and then putting
the others to it, and so you have your solder, and with it you may
make good all your holes and rents. Note further, that at every fresh
soldering you must introduce a fresh alloy of silver and copper[52]
so as to prevent the solder of the time before from running together;
and so on, too, in between each turn, out you take your work, press
it on the stucco, & chase over it with your punches until you have
wrought it to such finish as you may desire. And then you have the
whole fair method of the Master Caradosso of whom I told you before.

Now I’ll tell you of another fine way of working employed by other
able men who ran him pretty close. After the model in wax has been
made and you have decided what it is you want to create, you take a
sheet of gold, as I explained above, thin at the sides and thick in
the centre, and you little by little beat it from the back with your
larger punches until it is bossed up much like your model; by this
means you don’t need to use your bronze,[53] and you bring your work
considerably forward before even in the other method the casting
is done. In the former method, too, you will have had, before each
re-joining, to rub your medal down with glass paper (such stuff as
the glass makers sell) in order to clean from it most carefully
whatever matters the fumes from the bronze may have sullied the gold
withal. But if you follow my second method you won’t need to do this
glass papering, because you won’t be bothered by the nasty stains the
bronze makes on the gold.

Whenever I can, while thus telling of my craft, I purpose giving you
a practical example, which you know is always a much better way of
explaining what a man means, & which will make those of my readers
who are eager to learn and to practise and delight themselves in
these divers methods, much more likely to believe what they read. In
the manner above described I once fashioned a medal for a certain
Girolano Maretta, a Sienese; and on this medal was a Hercules rending
the jaws of the lion. Both Hercules and lion had I wrought in such
high relief that they only just touched the background by means of
the tiniest attachments. The whole work had been done in the second
of the above methods, that is to say without the bronze models; now
working from in front, now from the reverse, and brought to such
a height of delicacy and finish of design that our mighty Michael
Angelo himself came to my very workshop to see it, & when he had
looked at it a minute or so, he, in order to encourage me, said: ‘If
this work were made in great, whether of marble or of bronze, and
fashioned with as exquisite design as this, it would astonish the
world; and even in its present size it seems to me so beautiful that
I do not think ever a goldsmith of the ancient world fashioned aught
to come up to it!’ These words stiffened me up[54] just, and gave me
the greatest longing to work, not only in the smaller things, but to
try larger things also. For, thought I, words such as these, coming
from so great a man, can but have the following meaning: Had the
figures been tried on a large scale I should not have produced them
with near such beauty as on a small; and while, on the one hand, the
great man gave me so much praise, he, on the other, intimated that
one who could do things in little of such merit might yet not be able
to do them in great. But still, not so much because I imagined this
to have been Michael Angelo’s meaning, as that I had heard that he
had expressed it in words to others, these words of his inspired me
with longing to learn yet a thousand times more than I knew already.

This happened about a year after the sack of Rome; I was in Florence
at the time. When I had made the medal, one of our Florentine
gentlemen, by name Federigo Ginori, came & looked me up. He was
a great lover of beautiful things, and especially fond of men of
talent, to whom he was a great patron. In former days he had been
many years in Naples on business, & there he had fallen in love
with a great princess. On his return to Florence he bethought him
of having a medal made, whereon to record this somewhat formidable
attachment of his. So he came and found me out, and spake:
‘Benvenuto, my well-beloved, I have seen a little medal by your hand
made for Girolano Maretta, and albeit I long to tell you that it
is impossible for any medal to cap that one, yet for the love you
bear me, make another for me, will you, if not more then at least
as beautiful as that one; and in this medal I should like to see
an Atlas with the heavens on his back; & I should like it all so
exquisitely done that it shall be recognised at once; & pray don’t
bother about any considerations of cost whatever.’ I set to work
and made a little model with all the diligence I could, fashioning
the Atlas in question out of white wax. Then, having said to the
gentleman that he might leave the working out to me, I determined to
make a medal that should have a field of lapis lazuli, the heavens a
ball of crystal, & engraven upon them the signs of the zodiac. So I
made a plate of gold, and began, bit by bit to work my figure up in
relief with all the patience you can possibly imagine. I took a small
rounded stake,[55] and on this I wrought little by little, working
up the gold from the ground with a small hammer, working right into
arms and legs, & making all alike of equal thickness. In this manner,
& with the greatest diligence and patience I brought the work to
completion. This we call ‘lavorare in tondo,’ working in the round;
that is without putting the figure on pitch, or such a stucco basis
as I described above. It wasn’t till I’d worked it up to a certain
point that I then took my punches and continued it on the stucco
with very great finish. Then little by little did I raise the figure
off its ground,[56] which is a thing very difficult to explain how
to do—still I’ll tell you as best I can. Previously we saw how the
arms & legs of the figure might be worked as one and part of the
gold background, and thus make it possible for the background to be
utilised as a fitting part of the design. Now, however, since the
background is not needed as a part of the design, it may be used up;
therefore with a small hammer on your little stake or anvil, & with
the small end of the hammer you work gently on the gold, and with the
action of the hand push the gold behind, using the punches as well,
so that the figure comes up in high relief from the ground. In the
other method where you left the figures on the ground, you didn’t
want them in high relief, but took care that your fine ground never
got out of line; now, however, since you have no use for it, you can
twist it about at will, care only being taken that sufficient gold
is left for the attachments at the back, and when all the background
is cut away you can proceed to fix your figure on to whatever
independent background you may have devised for it. After this you
give it a last coating of solder to finish up with, but without
however laying your work on the stucco, for the simple reason that
there are now no more open places for the stucco to go in. This is
how I did the Atlas, & when I had finished him, I fixed him in those
places where he was to touch the lapis lazuli background by means of
fastening two little pins or stakes of gold, of sufficient strength,
into holes made in the lapis, and so he was firmly set. Then I got
a lovely crystal ball, of good proportion to my Atlas, engraved the
zodiac thereon, and fixed it upon the nape of his neck, so that he
held it high in his hands. To end all I made a most sumptuous frame
adorned with gold, full of foliage, fruits, and other conceits, and
set the whole of my work within it. Nor ought I to forget a very
pretty sentiment that had to be added in the shape of a Latin motto.
My gallant, inasmuch as he was enamoured of so great a lady, and of
rank so much loftier than himself, wished me to place on the medal
the words ‘_summam tulisse juvat_.’

Some say that this gentleman died shortly after, though still quite
in his youth, by reason of his love for the lady. As he had been
a friend of Messer Luigi Alamanni, also a great lover of art, the
latter at his death came into possession of the medal, & he, while at
a later time on a visit to the King of France, made a present of the
medal to the King. Then began the King to make most earnest inquiry
as to whether he knew the master who had made the medal. Messer Luigi
declared that he did not know him personally, albeit he was all along
my very dear friend. King Francis thereupon began to have a great
longing that I should come & enter his service, the which in the
end I did. But of that I’ll tell later on, all in its proper place,
because that didn’t happen till many years after.

I promised to speak in good time of a clasp that I made for Pope
Clement to fasten his cope with. Now since I can’t do your fine
elegant manner of writing I’ll tell about my craft as clearly as
I can, and as well as my simple mind will permit it, and best of
all, I’ll give some more examples of things that happened to me—I
shall be much safer if I do that. This clasp was a very big and a
very hard job; for, albeit a small piece of work, there is little
doubt but that these small pieces of work are often harder the
smaller they are. The clasp was about the size of an open palm
and circular in form. Within it was a design of God the Father
giving the benediction. The head and arms of the Father were worked
completely in the round, the rest was raised in good relief out
of the background, and was surrounded by a number of jolly little
angels, & of these some of them were peeping from out of His mantle,
some were scattered about among jewels, of which I’ll tell you first.
These angel babies were some of them done completely in the round,
others in high relief, others again in bas-relief. And I so devised
it that God the Father was seated on the big diamond, which had been
bought it was said for 30,000 scudi. This suggests the reflection as
to how much harder it is for a man to do a piece of work in which
his design is limited by having to use special jewels or aught else
in particular. Still for all that, you can do anything if only you
set to work at it with all the love & the zeal that your noble craft
demands of you, and so did I, and this is how I did it. I flattened
out a sheet of gold about a finger’s width wider than my work was to
be, having first made a very highly finished model of it. Then I
began beating up the middle of the plate with my small hammers upon
the stake; & now working with the narrow end on the front, now on
the back, I gradually bossed up the gold, using the punches in like
manner, till the figure little by little took shape; & so, little by
little, first using one tool, & then another, I gradually mastered
the material, till one fine day God the Father stood forth in the
round, most comely to behold.

Pope Clement had got to hear that I worked in a method different
from Caradosso, for certain envious men had told it to some of his
suite, & by reason of their evil tongues the holy father imagined
that I was an ignoramus and not up to managing so big a job. So he
sent for me to come and show him the method in which I worked, and
how far I had got. Straightway I went to him, bringing with me my
work as far as it had got. God the Father stood out from it already &
showed very well how He was going to look when finished. For my part
I thought that the work in the metal excelled that in the wax, and so
thought his Holiness also; and being the sensible man that he was,
he turned to certain gentlemen of his suite & said: ‘Great is the
virtue of determination,[57] the more she is troubled with envy the
more beautiful doth she become, & grows in despite thereof. I know
but little of the technique of the work, but I am well assured that
it is much more beautiful now than in the model I saw before: only I
can’t for the life of me see how you are going to get that crowd of
angels on to this disc without spoiling what you have done already.’
On this I described to the Pope the way in which I purposed to bring
the angels to the fore, one by one, first those that were to be quite
in the round, then those of less relief, working the gold up thick
into the places where the highest relief was to be, in fact just as
I had worked up God the Father, and employing hammers and punches
alternately, now from in front, now from the back; and I showed him
how the highest part of the relief was the hardest part of the work,
and how the great art was to get the gold of as equal thickness as
possible all over. Of course I know quite well that our good Master
Caradosso worked in a different way, and indeed I learnt many goodly
things from him; and for those who have learnt their craft, ’tis easy
to put two and two together. But I’m of opinion that Caradosso’s
method of working on the bronze model would have been much more
difficult to employ in this instance, would have taken a much longer
time, would have needed ever so many botchings and solderings, &
would have run all the risks of the fire into the bargain. Thus my
experience was that by employing the other method you got rid of all
these difficulties and had your work done much quicker.

At these words of mine the good Pope, who was really an exceedingly
capable man, said: ‘Go, my Benvenuto, work in your own way, finish
it for me quickly, and it shall be well for you; and when, from time
to time, I bid you come, bring your work with you; not that I may
instruct you thereon, but that I may have the joy of beholding such
goodly handiwork as yours.’

The age of a good prince whose delight is in the encouragement of all
beautiful things is the age for men of talent, and such a time came
about in the days of the first Cosimo de Medici, who was their great
patron. It was he who gave Filippo Brunellesco, Donatello, & Lorenzo
Ghiberti their opportunity. Filippo was as fine an architect as
ever was; Donatello sculped in marble and in bronze, & even wrought
wondrously in the difficult art of painting. Lorenzo Ghiberti made
the bronze gates of S. Giovanni that have no equal in the world.
Then came Lorenzo de Medici, under whom was developed Michael Angelo
Buonaroti, most marvellous of men. He had scarce given proof as
yet of his great powers when God willed that he should be called
to Rome by Pope Julius II., who not only took pleasure in all that
was beautiful, but also understood it, and so set Bramante, the
architect, to work. Bramante, who, though a painter of little credit,
had such a bent towards architecture in its grandest manner, that
good Pope Julius, of his bountifulness, gave him lots of work and a
salary of 1000 scudi a year to boot. Seeing how fond Pope Julius was
of all kinds of beautiful work, and how he had a mind to have the
inside of the Sistine Chapel painted, Bramante introduced Michael
Angelo, who was then living in Rome almost unknown & of little
account. The work was entrusted to him, & such goodly encouragement
did he receive in the painting of that wonderful chapel that the
grand manner of painting was as it were revived. Then came Pope Leo
X., and at the same time Francis, King of France; and these twain ran
it hard between them as to which should gather the greatest talent
about him. Then came the luckless Pope Clement, and he helped and
furthered the arts too, ’tis true, but he had so much adversity in
his papacy, and there was so much trouble in the land, that he could
never help as much as his kindly soul longed to do. I know well to
tell of this for I served him during all his papacy, and was quite a
young man at the time.

It was in connection with the work of which I have been telling you
above that the Pope said he wished to see the designs and models of
all those who thought themselves able to undertake the work; and this
was soon after the great sack of Rome, and I had come thither from
Florence, and when I heard the rumour of it, I too made me a model
in white wax of the size the work was to be, & taking it with me
presented myself before the Pope. Many artists were there showing
the sketches they had prepared for this beautiful commission, & when
I joined them the Pope had already seen a goodly number, and they
were set before his Holiness by one Micheletto, a stone-carver, an
able man enough in his own line. In all these divers designs their
authors had so devised it that the big diamond was set in the middle
of the breast of God the Father.[58] The Pope himself had suggested
the motive of the design, but when he saw how everybody alike had
set so great a stone into the breast of so tiny a figure he said:
‘Why can’t that stone be set in some other manner except always in
the breast?’ Whereupon some of them replied that it could not be set
otherwise if right value was to be given to it in the design. The
Pope, who was beginning to weary of so many designs, turned to me and
asked if I had brought nothing to show; while I was still undoing my
box the Pope turned to some of the older masters, and said to them:
‘’Tis always well to look at everybody’s rendering of a thing: albeit
Benvenuto is young, yet have I seen work of his that convinces me
that he is in the right way.’ Then when I had uncovered my model &
put it before him; he had scarce seen it when he turned to me and
cried out: ‘You’ve hit it! that’s how I want it done!’ Then he turned
to the others & said: ‘See you now how this diamond can perfectly
well be applied in another manner. Mark how Benvenuto has made a
stool of it and seated his figure thereon; a better way of rendering
it I can’t conceive.’ Straightway he had me paid 500 golden scudi,
and with most courteous words bade me God speed to my work. And this
was the beginning of such work as I—simple man as I am—have been
enabled to do for the world.

You remember I promised in the beginning of my book to tell the
causes that inspired me to write it, causes which will move men to
great wrath & to great compassion for me. Well, I can’t keep it
locked up in my breast any more, I must out with it! I have just
told how great princes give opportunity to men of genius, & cause to
re-kindle through them the beautiful art of the past. Well, I make
bold to say that Francis, King of France, was the greatest lover
of genius & the most open-handed of any man that ever lived in the
world. I was called to his Majesty when I was in Rome, and I joined
him in the year 1540, being just forty years of age. This king gave
me all sorts of goodly work to do, the which I will describe all in
their place, according as their various methods demand.

During my time with his Majesty I made my first big works in
sculpture and bronze, works of great size; never had I to ask him for
pay or provision, but I just lived on his lordly liberality; for out
of it he made me a stipend of 1000 scudi annually, & gave me into
the bargain a castle that is in Paris called ‘Petit Nello,’ wherein I
served him four entire years. And forasmuch as there was great war in
these parts, I begged grace of his Majesty to let me travel to Italy;
which favour he accorded me, though none too willingly. In the end I
left with his good will, and remained his creditor for 700 ducats of
gold of my salary, & in addition all the stock and material for the
great works I had been engaged on, the which amounted to about 15,000
scudi.

In my castle,[59] which I left under the guard of my two pupils,
Pagolo Romano and Ascanio Napoletano, I left several great and
small vases made of my own silver, not to mention a large vase all
embossed with figures. This one I had made with the King’s silver,
& the others, as I have said, were made from my silver, & therefore
mine. And over and above all this I left behind all the flower of the
studies of my twenty years in Rome, and all the rich furniture of
my house, which was such as to be worthy of hosting any noble lord
or gentleman. The Bishop of Paira, who was a friend of mine, did I
thus entertain, and bring away from the hostel where he was staying,
during a long sojourn in Paris; & to many others too, in like manner,
I gave abundant hospitality. I affirm that I came to Italy for no
other purpose than to keep my six poor nephews, sons of my own
sister; and I gave aid to all of them as soon as I was again among
them. Before departing from Italy I went to seek out my lord the
illustrious Duke Cosimo de Medici in order to pay him my respects,
and ask his permission to return again to France. This amiable
prince gave me as warm a greeting as could possibly be imagined, &
intreated of me to make him a model for a statue of Perseus with the
head of Medusa in his hand, telling me that he wished to erect the
statue under one of the arches in the great loggia of the Piazza.
This raised a mighty zeal for glory within me, & I said to myself:
‘So is a work of yours to stand between one of Michael Angelo & one
of Donatello, both of them men who surpassed the ancients in genius?
What greater treasure could I desire than the honour of being set
between these two mighty men?’ And forasmuch as I knew that my
studies in this art had by no means been slight, I promised myself
that my work should hold its own beside theirs. In lightness of heart
and full of energy I set me to a model of a Perseus about the height
of a cubit, such as his excellency had commissioned; and when I had
done it I took it to him, and he marvelled at it & said: ‘Benvenuto,
if you had the courage to do this thing in great as admirably as you
have done it in little, I trow for a certainty that it would be the
loveliest work in the Piazza.’ These words moved me greatly, and in
part with confidence for what I had already done, in part with great
ambition for what I had still in mind to do, I said to the Duke,
but with due modesty: ‘Most excellent sire, consider well that in
this Piazza are works by Donatello and by Michael Angelo Buonaroti,
perhaps the biggest men that ever were in the world; as for my own
little model, I will undertake to turn out the work at least three
times more beautiful than this model you see here.’

[Illustration: A Wax Model for the Perseus]

At these words of mine the duke shook his head, & I took leave of
him. Two days after he set a room at my disposal, supplied it with
material and all the appliances needful for doing the work, the
which by slow degrees in a few years and after great difficulties
needless here to relate, I completed in the state you now see it.
The noble duke said to me in winning words that I had been better
than my promise, and as I had contented him so well he was minded
similarly to content me in whatever way I might wish. At this so
charming speech from his Excellency I asked leave first before he
accorded me aught for my labours, to be allowed to go on a pilgrimage
to Vallombrosa, Camaldoli, Erma and S. Francesco, in order to give
thanks to God for having helped me through so many difficulties, all
of which I will tell of in their place. At these words his Excellency
was graciously pleased to let me go, and so I went on my way, giving
thanks to God. In about six days I returned, and at once called upon
my lord, who welcomed me again with the greatest favour. Two days
later he seemed a bit grumpy without my having ever given him any
cause for being so. When I asked him for leave of absence, he refused
to grant it, and at the same time he gave me no more commissions, so
that I could serve neither him nor other man. Nor was I able to find
out the reason for the evil plight I was in. So in my despair I felt
sure my bad luck was due to the influence of those heavenly powers
who have dominance over us here below; & in this state set to work to
write my whole life, my origin, and all the deeds I had done in the
world, and I also described the many years in which I had served the
illustrious Duke Cosimo. But on thinking the matter over I was minded
how great princes often take it ill if their subjects complain & tell
the truth about them; so with much heart-burning & not without tears
I tore up what I had written about the part of my life spent in Duke
Cosimo’s service & threw it into the fire, vowing that I would never
write about it again. But for the mere purpose of being of some use
to the world, since I was thus left with nothing to do, and moreover
prevented from doing aught, & wishing to give God some sort of thanks
for having made me the man I was, I set to write what I am now
writing. Well, it’s off my mind now, so let us get back again to good
Pope Clement, who gave me so many opportunities of doing great work,
of all of which I will duly speak.

A little more about the cope clasp, then. Having thus bossed up God
the Father and wrought the whole thing in a manner different from
Caradosso, I set myself afresh to fashion little by little the angels
round about Him, especially those that were of higher relief than
others. Everybody knows that this is one of the most difficult things
to do in our craft, and likewise one of the most pleasing, for just
think, I bossed up in high relief with my punches in the manner I
described above, some fifteen little angels without ever having to
solder the tiniest rent, and all this I was able to do because of my
diligence, my knowledge, my patience, and my mastery over all the
best methods of workmanship. The Pope would scarce let three days
pass without sending for me, and each time would he see first one,
then another angel baby peep forth, and this made him marvel greatly,
and each time he asked me how on earth I managed to do it; & how I
could bring so difficult a piece of work about in so short a time,
and all without a single rent.

‘I have seen,’ said he,—and he was a man who knew a good thing when
he saw it—‘many works of Caradosso which were full of holes and
solder long before they had got as far as this.’ And thus each time
he gave me good encouragement, & I pegged merrily away at my work.
When I had completed all the high relief angels and joined together
the gold behind their heads and arms and legs, and filled up the
openings, I began with great care the soldering, doing it in the way
I described above, but putting with each new soldering a fresh alloy
of the baser metals (_i.e._, the copper & the silver). Now forasmuch
as I did not wish to disfigure so large a work with many solderings,
and also because I wanted later on to enamel it, I put it to the
fire as little as possible, managed to get all the legs and arms and
heads together at one go, & finished the lot in four firings. This
done, I began with great diligence to work over the soldered parts,
especially those on the background, till I had it all of uniform
evenness, whereupon I set it once more on the pitch (_i.e._, the
stucco), & once more wrought it over with the punches. A large number
of angels in bas-relief, & many in mere outline were still to do, so
them I brought out boldly with the punches; upon this I melted the
pitch out again, heated the gold well, & applied it once more to the
pitch, but this time with the under side of the work uppermost, so
that all my figures were buried in the pitch; also this time made the
pitch a bit softer because I was going to emboss from the back the
figures which I had outlined in from the front; & this I did with
great skill, determining which I wanted to boss up most. Then once
again I emptied out the pitch, and placed the work face upwards on
the harder pitch, and most cunningly finished it all over with the
punches as I described above. As there were still the gems to go
upon it I made a base to the work, with an eye attached, so that it
might therewith be applied to the cope on the Pope’s breast. This
base was all worked around with different little snails and masks
and other pleasing trifles, and was firmly fastened with invisible
screws to the boss, and looked just as if it had been soldered on.
As, moreover, the work was enamelled in various places, especially
round the frame work, I set to to burnish it up to a fine finish on
the bare & unwrought parts, and this is how I did that: I took some
four or five hard pointed stones[60] which are sharp at the ends and
thicken upwards in the manner and of the size of punches, and I used
with them some well-powdered pumice stone. The object of using these
stones is to take out the marks of the steel tools, the punches,
chisels, files, and such-like, & to give it a fine uniform surface;
and last, but not least, a brilliancy of colour which would not be so
easy if the marks of the steel tools (and the skin they make) were
not obliterated. To finish the draperies also, I used a very fine
steel tool exquisitely tempered and then broken off, for the broken
end gives the right delicacy of texture;[61] and I tapped it all over
the draperies with a small hammer weighing about two scudi or less, &
this is what we call _camosciare_, tanning the surface.[62] A further
different method yet may be employed for larger drapery, & this is
called _granire_, graining, and is done by a sharp-pointed steel
tool, but not broken like the other one. Then there is yet a further
method by which the ground is sharply accentuated from the figures
by hatching it over with a fine sharp graver[63] in one direction
crosswise, for it does not turn well the other way. When all the
above has been carefully carried out, put your work in a clean glass
vase, & get some little children to make water over it, for their
urine is purer and warmer than men’s. Then prepare to give it its
last finishing touches by colouring. This you do with verdigris &
salts of ammonia; the verdigris must be as pure as possible; and if
you want it firm and richly coloured add a twentieth part of clean
saltpetre, the stuff they make gunpowder with. These must all be well
ground together, but mind you don’t grind them upon iron or bronze,
they must be pounded on stone and with stone; porphyry is the best
stone of all. You then take the powder you have made from the above,
put it in a glass flask, and mixing it with a strong white vinegar,
make a paste of it not too moist nor too dry, and apply this paste
to your work with as fine a hog sable as you can find, putting it on
very evenly and to about the thickness of half a knife’s back. At
the same time you must have ready a wood-coal fire half-burnt out,
spread the coals so that you can lay your work upon them, put it in
the fire & with your pinchers take a few glowing coals and move them
up and down over the paste, especially where it is thickest, so that
it heats equally all over. You must be careful not to do this for
too long, there’s all the difference between heating & scorching
your work, and if you did this it would get a bad colour on the one
hand, & on the other be difficult to clean afterward. When you see
the paste drying equally and about half-dry, put your work on to
a stone, or on a wooden table; and cover it up with a clean basin
till it has got cold. Then put it again into a glass jar, and if you
want it to come out well, let the little ones make water over it
again as before. After this clean it up with small soft hog sables.
This injunction need only be observed in cases where the work is
enamelled, in other cases it will do just to dip it in urine after
the heating of the paste of verdigris. After this the precious gems
are set firmly with screws and clamps, and last of all the base is,
as I told you before, firmly screwed on.

Yet another way there is of working upon gold, particularly in cases
where you want to introduce figures of about half a cubit in size.
Pursuing my method of always making things clear to you by means of
examples, I mind me of many of the cardinals in Rome who used to
have crucifixes in their private cabinets; these crucifixes were
about the height of a palm or a finger more, & were made of gold,
silver and ivory. The first of these gold crucifixes was made by
Master Caradosso, and most admirably designed, and I suppose he got
about 100 scudi apiece for them, or more. First I’ll tell you the
way he made his, then I’ll tell you how I made mine, which differed
considerably from his method, & was much harder, but was sooner
finished, and produced more beautiful results. It was in this wise:
Caradosso would make a little model in wax of the size he wished his
work to be, but he made the legs apart, & not as is customary with
the Crucified, one crossed over the other. Then he cast his model in
bronze; and cutting his gold sheet in triangular form some two or
three large fingers wider all round than would cover his model, he
laid it thereon and hammered it over with rather long wooden hammers
till it looked like a half relief; next he proceeded very carefully
to work it all over front and back with punches & hammers till the
relief stood out to his liking; then, still with the same tools, he
joined the ends of gold together at the figure’s back until they
touched on the round of the head, back, and the legs. After this he
filled the figure with pitch, _i.e._, the aforesaid stucco, and with
punches and hammers brought out[64] all the muscles and limbs. Then
he emptied the pitch out again, joined & soldered the gold together,
using gold of two carats less than the gold of his figure, leaving
one hole still open at the shoulder to admit of the pitch being
again poured in and out; and then wrought it over once more with his
punches; very carefully placed the feet crosswise, and then gave it
its last coating and finish. I don’t employ this bronze method
because I don’t think bronze & gold go well together, the bronze
tending to crack the gold, and the whole thing taking a long time in
the execution. Owing to my experience and my all round knowledge of
the craft, I went straight to the gold with my punches and a number
of small stakes called _caccianfuori_; and so, while Caradosso was
still fiddling away with his bronze casting, I had got several days’
work ahead of him, and was quit of the bother of the bronze firings
into the bargain; and thus, though in other respects I followed
all the methods of this excellent man, also in enamelling and in
colouring, it came about that I did much more and obtained much
better results than he.

[Illustration: King Francis’ Salt, first view]

Now my friend, in order to keep my promise with you as to the real
practical things, and to show you that I’m not one who goes cribbing
other people’s ideas & methods but has worked them out with his own
hands, I’ll tell you of the salt cellar[65] I made for King Francis
I. It was oval in shape and about two-thirds of a cubit round, and
the base of it was about four man’s fingers high, and very richly
ornamented. And I divided it up in such pleasing wise as one’s craft
will allow; one part I made as ocean and the other as earth, and on
the side of ocean I had put a figure of gold about half a cubit high,
completely rounded & made with punches and chisels, in the manner
told above. Ocean was personified by Neptune, God of the Sea, and I
made him in a shell, a kind of nautical triumphal car to which were
yoked four sea-horses—horses’ heads and fishes’ tails. In Neptune’s
right hand I put his trident, while his left was stretched out the
whole length of his arm. Over a most richly wrought bark which was
meant to hold the salt, were graven most minutely and cunningly
battles of marine monsters; on the opposite side to Neptune was a
female figure, of the same size as the male, and I so devised it
that the legs of the male & the female were crossed most gracefully
one with the other, and in each the one leg was bent and the other
extended, thus typifying the mountains & the even places of the
earth. By the side of the female figure I put a little Ionic temple,
most richly wrought, and this was to hold the pepper; in her right
hand was a very elaborate cornucopia of leaves and fruit and flowers,
and on the earth where she sat I indicated a number of beautiful
little beasties, just as on the other side I had fashioned a variety
of exquisite little fish peeping up from the sea. Furthermore, in
the oval body of the salt I had planned out eight niches, in each
one of which figured Spring, Summer, Autumn & Winter, on one side,
and Dawn, Day, Twilight and Night on the other. In the hollow of the
salt’s base was a block of ebony, of which, however, only a tiny
strip showed beneath, and the which, being black, told well against
the gold. This base again rested on four balls of ivory, set half way
into the ebony and so devised that they turned on their pivots, and
you could move the salt cellar about hither and thither on the table,
& roll it where you liked. I must tell you some absurd things that
happened to me when I presented the salt to the most Christian King.
His Majesty had referred me to one of his treasurers, a Monsieur de
Marmagna, a shrewd old fellow, and terribly fierce. Now you know the
French & the Italians are deadly enemies; well, this old gentleman,
about a month before I brought the salt-cellar to the King, had shown
me a little bronze statuette a trifle bigger than my gold ones. This
figure was an Antique, & represented Mercury with his caduceus in his
hand. He told me that it belonged to a poor peasant who would gladly
sell it, whereupon I said that if he did not care to buy it for
himself, I, who knew the figure to be of very charming workmanship,
would willingly give 100 golden scudi for it, and like the frank and
open man I am, I praised the figure greatly, declaring I had never
seen a lovelier. Whereupon that evil old man said he would do his
best to get it for me, and gave me great hopes of getting it, for
that I had set it at a higher value, & offered more than any other
connoisseurs who had seen it. I thought no more about the matter
till the day that I brought my salt-cellar to King Francis. The
good King examined my work very carefully, and expressed himself
most satisfied, when, just as all were expressing their delight,
that wicked old fellow drew forth his statuette & said to the King:
‘Sacred Majesty, this figure is an Antique, as you may readily see;
and ’tis of so excellent workmanship that Benvenuto here has himself
offered 100 golden scudi for it. I had it brought among my baggage
from Languedoc at the time of my treasurership; but courage failed me
to present it to your Majesty until I had satisfied myself that it
was of sufficient excellence to merit your acceptance.’

[Illustration: King Francis’ Salt, second view]

At these words the King turned to me, and, in the old boy’s presence,
asked if what he had said was true. I replied: Most assuredly, and
that the work appeared to me admirable. Whereupon the King said:
‘Then God be praised that here in our own day there be yet men born
who can turn out so much more beautiful things than the ancients.’

Therewith he smiled, and gave old M. de Marmagna back his statuette,
for of course he saw that the intention had been to disparage my work
beside the antique. Hundreds of most graceful & complimentary things
did he continue to say about my work, so much so that I never wished
for any better remuneration for it than I got that day.


FOOTNOTES:

[50] _Cornus sanguinea_, _or dogwood_.

[51] _E con quello stesso lo ammarginano, a tale; che viene a essere
per tutto una equal durezza._

[52] _Or it might be rendered: ‘You must put in the ready-made
solder a little of the alloy,’ which is softer in the fire; each new
soldered piece having to be softer than the last to avoid the running
again of the earlier work: the alloy is presumably half copper and
half silver, though Cellini does not say so; elsewhere he talks of
one copper to two silver, so it might well be one carat of silver and
the half carat of copper._

[53] _Occorre adoperare il bronzo._

[54] _Mi s’appicorno a dosso._

[55] _Tassetino tondo._

[56] _Spiccando dal suo campo._

[57] _E gran cosa la forza che ha la virtù._

[58] _See Cellini’s Autobiography, Symonds’ translation._

[59] _See Cellini’s Autobiography, Symonds’ translation._

[60] _Punte di pietre._

[61] _Una certa grana sotilissima._

[62] _This might be better rendered as ‘matting’ or ‘posting.’_

[63] _Possibly what we should call a ‘scorper.’_

[64] _Ricercando._

[65] _See Autobiography._




CHAPTER XIII. ON CARDINALS’ SEALS.


This sort of work is delightful. In my time in Rome, that was about
1525, there was a certain master from Perugia, called Lautizio, who
practised nothing else but the making of seals for the bulls of
cardinals. These seals are about the size of a ten-year-old child’s
hand, and they are made in the shape of an almond. The cardinal’s
title is engraved on them, and usually in the form of a rebus, or
allegorically. Lautizio used to get at least 100 scudi for each seal
he made. Now always sticking to my method of describing things from
work I have done with my own hands, I’ll tell you of two that I made
in this branch of my art.

The first was for the Cardinal of Mantua, brother of the Duke. On it
was engraved the ascension of our Lady, with the Twelve Apostles,
for so ran the Cardinal’s title. The other seal, much more richly
figured, was for the Cardinal Ippolito of Ferrara, brother of Duke
Hercules. On this one was engraved St. Ambrose on horseback, with a
whip in his hand chastising the Arians. And as two stories had to be
wrought upon it, for the Cardinal had a twofold title, it was divided
down the middle and the legend of St. John the Baptist preaching in
the desert was engraved on the other part, and both subjects were
wrought with figures. For the Mantua seal I got 200 ducats, for the
Ferrara one, 300.

The seals are made in the following manner. You take a smooth and
polished black stone, and draw thereon the design you want to appear
on the seal; and with black wax, a bit hardened, you fashion whatever
relief you wish the seal ultimately to impress. When this is very
delicately accomplished, you take a little volterrano gesso,[66] or
any other gesso, provided it be very fine—boiled gesso it should be—&
after having moistened your wax by painting it over very lightly with
a fine paint brush and a little clean and pure olive oil, you put
the gesso on your wax. You must mind not to get too much oil on your
wax, for it would then hurt the gesso and prevent it from penetrating
into the finer delicacies of the wax. Before pouring on your gesso
in the liquid state, you must make a little wall or embankment of
fresh clean clay, about two fingers high, all round your seal. As
you pour your gesso on, you guide it about very carefully into all
the interstices of the wax by means of a long-haired brush.[67]
After the gesso is well set, remove it from the wax. This, of course,
will be easily done, as there is no undercutting, for since the work
is ultimately to serve the purpose of a seal, no projections are
permissible. Then you clean out the matrix with a knife, removing any
scum or spoiled surface that may have been made by the gesso on the
inside, and polish it all up all round.

Now there are two ways of casting in silver, both of them are good
and both of them will I describe to you. ’Tis true that one is a
little easier than the other, but as I say, both are good and you may
adopt whichever most wins your fancy. Do not, however, fail to try
both, because it is good for you to learn them, & you will find them
very helpful to you in many ways in other branches of the goldsmith’s
art. The first method was the one employed by Lautanzio, and he, as
I said, was the greatest master in this branch of work whom I ever
knew. He used to take what is called earth for founding in boxes,[68]
the same that all the bronze founders use, and from which they cast
the harness of horses & mules, brass studs, and such-like trappings.
And forasmuch as this clay is known all the world over, I shan’t
bother about describing it, but only say that it is a kind of tufa
earth. By the bye, as I write I am minded of a very rare kind of this
tufa which is found in the bed of the Seine in Paris. While there I
used to take what I wanted from hard by the Sainte Chapelle, which
stands on an island in Paris in the middle of the Seine. It is very
soft, and has the property, quite different from other clays used for
moulding purposes, of not needing to be dried, but when you have made
from it the shape you want, you can pour into it while it is still
moist, your gold, silver, brass, or any other metal. This is a very
rare thing, and I have never heard of it occurring anywhere else in
the world.

Before considering the other kinds of clay that may be used for this
sort of work, it will be best for me to tell you carefully how to
make your gesso model for casting your seal from. After it is well
cleaned with the knife in the way above described, powder it with a
little fine charcoal-dust, or smoke it over with the soot from your
lamp or taper; either will do, and I really needn’t describe this,
because everybody knows how to do it. Then press the model into a
caster’s sand-box of sufficient size to hold it conveniently.

This done, dry well that portion of the mould where the figures come
(that is to say if you are using the Italian, not the Paris clay),
then have ready a little dough[69] in the form of a cake similar
in shape & thickness to what your silver or metal seal is finally
to be, and put this over the figures formed by the gesso and which
will appear in relief, having previously smoked over the mould with
a little candle-smoke. This done, take the second box, fill it with
the same moist earth and when dried set it upon the first. Mind in
so doing that you do not disturb the part already dried where the
figures are.[70] This second half you will easily mould. Then open
the mould, and after taking out the dough-cake, make the mouths and
the two vent holes, beginning at the bottom and going up as high as
the mouth or ingress hole. When both parts are dry, smoke them over
with a little candle-smoke and let them cool, have your silver well
molten and then pour it in. Experience shows that it is better to
pour the silver into cold than into hot matrices.

Now, for the second method, differing considerably from the first,
but, as I have employed both, and the second not only for seals but
for casting all sorts of other things too, I’ll describe it to you
also. When you have from your original wax cast a gesso matrix in the
manner above described, take a little of the same gesso, mix with it
a little pith of horn[71] well dried, a further part of tripoli,[72]
& finally another part of well-powdered pumice stone, and pound these
four parts well up together. Then add as much water to them as shall
give them the consistency of a paste—neither too thick nor too fluid.
Then with a fine brush paint the surface of your seal all round over
the wax projections and into the interstices, with a little olive
oil. Waiting till it is well dried in the way we Florentines call
_verdemezzo_, that is to say neither too dry nor too moist,[73] make
a little wall of clay about two fingers high all round it, and pour
the above mixture into the work and paint it well in and around the
whole of your subject. Pile the mixture up at least two fingers high
and make about four fingers more of it at the upper end on account
of the almond form which is the shape your seal will be, for you
need there greater size for the pouring-in mouth of your silver or
whatever metal you may be using. When the gesso is thoroughly dried,
which will not be till some four hours or so, separate the one piece
of gesso from the other, taking very great care that none of your
design is injured. As you may well imagine, it was much easier to
separate the matrix from the wax in the first method than from the
composition in the second, because in the former it had a firmer
consistency. If some of the arms and heads don’t appear to you to
come out quite a success, and remain stuck in the matrix, you can
remedy that in either of the following ways. You can either pick out
the bits remaining in the mould with a small paint brush, & re-apply
them with a little powdered tripoli, and since your design is in
relief you will easily see the impressions made by it in the mould.
Or, for the other way, you can clean out the mould entirely, paint
it round again and fill it up with the composition in the same way
as before; often if the first turn has not come out well, the second
does.

But pay the greatest possible attention to what I am going to tell
you now. Make a waxen form, almond-shaped, and of the exact size your
seal is to be, hollow it out, and lay it over the surface of your
gesso relief. Then make your little ramparts of earth about this wax,
taking heed to make due provision for the channel of the casting,
which should be of ample length; & here I ought to tell you that the
longer your channel is the better chance your work has of turning out
well. There are no end of little details still to be observed, but
if I were to tell you all of them I might as well begin teaching you
your A B C. So I assume that my readers are people who have mastered
the first principles of the Art. I would remind you, too, that both
the ingress mouth & the vents have to be made of wax & applied to
the wax core. These vents are fixed below, & turn up around the seal
towards the ingress mouth; they must not, however, come in contact
with the latter, because they have to do their own work of drawing
out the air.[74]

This done, bind up your seal with well-tempered iron or copper wire,
and let it bide in the sun, or some place where it can get warm &
well dried. Then put it in your little furnace of tiles and iron
hoops and melt out the wax with such heat as may be needful. Of
course your wax must have been free from all impurities or it would
never melt out properly. And when you have melted it out you make
the fire stronger till your mould is regularly burnt, & the more it
is baked the better your work will be. Then let it cool, and because
the silver adapts[75] itself more readily to the cold than to the
hot mould—cold, mark you, but not moist—when it is well molten pour
it in. But ere you do this, in order that it may not burn,[76]
strew a little borax over it and upon that a handful of well ground
tartar,[77] and you will find this help your work wonderfully. Then
dip the mould in water in order better to separate it from the
silver, and so break it open. This done clean the silver off at the
points where the channel & the vent holes come, and give it a subtle
finish with the file. After this, in order to give the seal its final
touches, you place it on the pitch, and, with your first gesso matrix
before you, work the silver with your punches, gravers and chisels,
touching up and completing your subject now here, now there, figures,
swags, arms, bodies, legs, all alike, accentuating[78] them in the
matrix with your steel tools. To see better how you are getting
on, you may occasionally press in a little black wax, or whatever
colour pleases you better, to gauge the projections. Now note this:
my custom was to cut out the heads, hands and feet of my figures on
small steel punches, and thinking the work came clearer and got a
better result, I struck these punches with dexterous strokes upon
the seal with a hammer into their different places. Also you should
make in a similar manner an alphabet of steel punches, likewise many
other conceits according as taste prompts. When I was in Rome, or
elsewhere, working in this line, I ofttimes amused myself by making
new alphabets, each for its occasion, for they wear out soon, and
I got much credit by my inventiveness. Your letters should be well
formed, & shaped as a broadly cut pen might shape them; the strokes
going up or down with the action of the hand, the letters being
neither too fat and stumpy, nor too long and thin, for both these are
unpleasing to behold, the moderately slim ones are the nicest to look
at.

I ought not to omit telling you that the cardinal’s arms, or whatever
they may be, have to be done on the seals; and these are always
richly ornamented with figure work, and I often used to have for
the handle where-with the seal was attached, some fine beasts, or
as often figures, according to the emblem of the gentleman for whom
the seal was made. You should be careful not to omit these little
complimentary touches because they redound to the honour of the
master & please the patron whom he serves. I made, among others, such
a handle in gold for the Duke of Mantua after I had made the one for
his brother the Cardinal; and in addition to all the care I had put
into the seal itself, I added a little Hercules for the handle, & he
was sitting on his lion’s skin, and had his club in hand. For this
tiny figure I made no end of studies, & it brought me much honour
with the sculptors and painters, and among these was Master Giulio
Romano; some of them made use of the design, too, for other purposes,
and I was well paid for it.

Some artists have gone straight to work at their seals with merely
cutting directly into their silver, and without casting at all, but
pluckily doing their design straight on in the reverse with genuine
knowledge of their art, and using the steel dies of which I told you,
and they succeeded in it, too. I also have done this, but I have
found the casting method more practicable; though both are good, and
can lead to excellent results.


FOOTNOTES:

[66] _Gypsum or plaster from Volterra_ (_the 1568 edition has_
‘_gesso cotto Volterranno_.’)

[67] _Un penelletto alquanto grandicello di vaio_—_what I think in
the English workshop would be called a ‘rigger.’_

[68] _Che si chiama terra da formare nelle staffe._ _It is not a
clay, but as he says, a sand tufa_ (‘_areno di tufo_’) _a volcanic
spongey rock like pumice, and they make cement of it_.

[69] _Pasta di pane crudo._

[70] _The 1568 edition gives a clearer version of this process
than the original codex, which is confusing. I have translated it
as literally as possible, but the following might be read as more
descriptive of the process: The gesso matrix has been pressed into
the sand of the first box, and has made the mould of the relief work
of the seal, the dough is to make the shape of the body. It would
be roughly cut away to clear the figures, and carefully placed over
the part moulded. Then the second box would be put on, and the moist
earth tightly packed in. After this the boxes would be separated and
the dough taken out._

[71] _Midollo di corna._ _See Hoepli’s handbook ‘Oreficeria’ for the
modern process._

[72] _Calcined sulphate of iron._

[73] _Or, as we English would perhaps say, ‘tacky.’_

[74] _This, which is the ordinary cire perdue process, is again
described in Chapter XXII., where Cellini deals with a vase he is
making. The accompanying diagram illustrates it in its application to
seals. The mouth or ingress hole, or what will become the mouth, is
rolled in wax and attached to the top, the two vents are rolled and
attached in a similar way below, but so as not to touch the pattern._

[Illustration: Diagram illustrating the application of the _cire
perdue_ process to seals
V VENT. (_Sfiatatoio_)
M MOUTH OR INGRESS HOLE. (_Bocca_)
A ALMOND-SHAPED SEAL.]

[75] _Segli accosta._

[76] _Riarda_: i.e., _oxidise_.

[77] _Gromma di botte_: _tartrate of potash_.

[78] _Risserando._

[Illustration: Specimens of Cardinals’ Seals]




CHAPTER XIV. HOW TO MAKE STEEL DIES FOR STAMPING COINS.


Since the art of the coiner can teach the elements of stamping medals
in methods similar to those of the ancients, we will treat of that
art first. You must bear in mind that the ancients, though they made
their coins for use, undoubtedly made their medals for show; and as
regards the former, we moderns may pride ourselves on being able to
produce them with greater facility, and that, like the printing of
books and many such-like arts, is a discovery of ours, which though
it be out of my scope to speak of them here, I may have occasion to
touch on elsewhere. As to the coins, I shall, according to my usual
custom, speak with actual instances of the methods I have myself
wrought in. The first coins I made were for Pope Clement VII. in
Rome, who summoned me to come to him from Florence some eighteen
months after the great sack of Rome by the Lord of Bourbon. And since
the house of Medici was at that time expelled from Florence, the Pope
sent for me by the hand of Master Jacopo dello Sciorina,[79] the same
that kept the ferry across the Tiber, by the Banchi in Tresteveri
not far from the palace of Messer Agostino Chigi. This Master
Jacopo wrote me twice on the Pope’s account; when I got the second
letter, I made off as fast as I could, for of a truth those terrible
radicals[80] in power then would have hanged me had they found it
on me. Pope Clement, when I came, treated me with the most winning
kindnesses, and ordered me to make the coins for his city and Mint in
Rome. The first coins I made were gold pieces, worth about two ducats
each, on which were stamped figures of divers sort. On the one was
the form of a nude Christ, his hands bound behind him, done with all
the care and study I was capable of; down the sides of the figure
ran the legend ‘_Ecce Homo_,’ and around the circumference the words
‘_Clemens VII., Pont. Max._’, while on the other side was stamped the
head of the Pope.

A new occasion soon offered itself. Though I don’t want to write a
chronicle of events, & though I was not directly affected by them, I
can’t help touching upon them slightly. What the current talk in Rome
was at the time, I don’t need to dwell on; any man with a head on
his shoulders may easily imagine that for himself. The second coin,
a beauty, was likewise of gold, & a two-ducat piece. On one side was
a pope in his pontifical robes, & an emperor also in his regalia;
the two were supporting a cross which was in the act of falling to
the ground. I forget if there was a legend on this side; but on the
other were a St. Paul and a St. Peter in more than half relief, with
this legend around them: ‘_Vnus spiritus, una fides erat in Eis._’
This coin brought me much honour, for I put great labour into it. As
the Pope put more gold into it than its value warranted, it soon was
melted down again.

A third coin of my making was in silver, of the value of two carlins,
on the one side of which was the head of the Pope, and on the other
side a St. Peter, just the moment after he has plunged into the sea
at the call of Christ, and Christ stretches out his hand to him in
most pleasing wise, and the legend to this was ‘_Quare dubitasti?_’

In Florence likewise did I make all the moneys for Duke Alexander the
first of that name; they were 40 soldi pieces. And because the Duke
was curly headed, the people called these coins the Duke’s curls.[81]
On one side was his head, and on the other St. Cosmo and St. Damian.
In like manner did I make the coins called _barile_ and _grossone_.

As I said above, the ancients had not the facilities for stamping
coins we have, & therefore we never see any of the beautiful
sort,[82] for coins should be made, or rather their dies, with the
purpose of striking with the greatest ease. To begin with, two steel
tools are needed, one called the _pila_ the other the _torsello_.
The _pila_ is in the form of a small stake or anvil, upon which the
medal you wish to press is cut in intaglio. The other tool, the
_torsello_, is about five fingers high, its face being the size of
your coin, and it gradually tapers off toward the end. Both _pila_
& _torsello_ are made of carefully chosen iron, with their heads
covered in the finest steel about one finger thick. With his file the
master gives them whatever shape & size his coin may need. Then he
makes a concoction of earth, powdered glass, soot from the chimney,
and bole of Armenia,[83] adds a little horse-dung to this, mixes it
all up into a paste with a man’s urine, & puts it on to the ends of
the _pila_ and the _torsello_ to the thickness of about a finger.
These he then puts into the fire, which should be strong enough to
raise them to bright redness;[84] keeping the fire up for, say, a
good winter’s night, he then lets them cool down by allowing the fire
to go out.[85] The exact size of the coins is now given to the ends
of the dies, barring about half the thickness of a knife’s back
all round the circumference, and the face of each is then ground on a
soft, polished stone until both _pila_ and _torsello_ are absolutely
smooth. Then with the compasses the exact size of the coin is drawn
upon them, & also with another pair of compasses the circumference of
the letters that form the legend round is marked. In order that these
compasses should not shift about, a pair should be specially made of
thick steel wire and of the exact size needed. It is best to have at
least two pairs of each kind, and also one pair that will open and
shut as you please. When this is done, the _pila_ is firmly set in a
big lump of lead of at least 100 lbs. in weight. After this you can
proceed to the engraving[86] of your coin on the die.

[Illustration: Coins and Medals from various collections]

You very carefully cut upon the finest steel your design, _e.g._,
the head of whatever prince you are serving, and in order to do this
nicely you must first have your steel well softened in the fire in
the way I showed you the _pila_ & _torsello_ were; only take heed
that your tool is of the very finest steel. And the tools with which
you work have to be made specially for the purpose. Thus for a head
I should make the tool in two pieces, and for the various figures
on the reverse of a coin I should use a number of different pieces
according to my discretion. Some have worked with very few, but in
so doing have much greater difficulty in sinking the design into the
die. The more such pieces you have, the easier it becomes; but you
must always give great care in the combination of your punches. And
this combining is done while the master is engaged in cutting the
intaglios by taking frequent impressions on a piece of polished tin,
to which you can give the right circumference with your compasses,
until you get the results you wish.

The tools used for this purpose have two names, in some instances
they are called _punzoni_ (punches), and in other cases _madre_
(matrices), and of a truth they are the mothers that may be said to
beget the figures and all the other things you fashion in the die of
your coins.[87] The men who did the best work in coining always did
the whole of the work upon either the punches or the matrices, and
never once touched up the dies with either gravers or chisels, for
that would be a great blunder, as all the various dies necessary for
making many impressions of the same coins, would be a bit different,
and thus cause slight differences in the coins themselves, and that
would be making things easy for forgers, whereas coins well wrought
in the way above described could be less easily copied. But I must
return to you, dear reader, where I left off above, with the _pila_
stuck in the lead.

Take your _madre_ or punches, and since it almost always is a
prince’s head that is cut into the _pila_, set to with the first
piece of your combination, and, fitting each into its place, strike
it a blow with the hammer, and lift hand and tool up as smartly and
rapidly as you brought them down, for if the _madre_ shift, even but
ever so slightly, it will tend to blurr your work. In like manner add
the limbs and the heads of your figures in such wise as your craft
and your experience shall teach you, and so on similarly any other
things, coats of arms, devices, beautiful alphabets, the beading for
the coins’ border, till all are well fashioned in both _pila_ and
_torsello_. And since I should omit nothing for your better guidance,
know that the hammer needful for stamping in the larger _madre_, such
for instance as a head would need, ought to weigh about 4 lbs., while
those requisite for the smaller punches may weigh less; those for the
smallest of all—for the beading for instance—may be very tiny—each
according!

When the sinking by both _pila_ and _torsello_ is completed, set
to and file off the superfluous margin right up to your border of
beading. See that it is strongly blunted[88] where you have filed
it towards the beading, for without this your die would spoil and
quickly perish, but where it is blunted it will not spoil. Then set
to and temper your steel;[89] to this end you heat it, and let it
glow, neither too much nor too little, but just sufficient to temper
it aright. And forasmuch as in the tempering a film is formed that
would tend to spoil your fair impression, you must take great care
to prevent it. As we say in the craft, the dies should be _rosso
appunto_, to the point of redness, neither more nor less; and to make
them so you do this. You take some clean iron scale[90] and place it
on a board and then rub _pila_ and _torsello_ alike on this until
they are thoroughly bright, and the film quite gone from them, and in
the same manner may you afterwards brighten your coins. And—another
little hint—you clean out the deeper parts of your dies with pieces
of pointed cork tipped with iron scale, & then everything is done &
you can give your dies to the stamper, at the mint.

I must not forget to tell you, as I promised, how it was that the
ancients never turned their coins out as well as we; & the reason of
it was because they cut their dies out direct with goldsmith’s tools,
gravers, chisels, punches, & that was very difficult for them to do,
especially as the mints needed a large number of these dies—_pile_
and _torselli_.

I need give you but one instance of what I mean, gentle reader, and
you will see how right I am. On one occasion when I was making the
dies for Pope Clement in Rome, I had to turn out thirty of these iron
_pile_ and _torselli_ in one day; had I gone to work in the manner of
the ancients, I could not have produced two, nor would they have been
as good. Thus it was that the ancients had to employ a large number
of die cutters, and these could never do their work as well as they
wished to do it, having never attained our facility.

But now will I tell you of medals which the ancients made
superlatively well; & whatever I may have omitted in dealing with
coins I will make up for in treating of medals, so that you shall
learn all in listening to both.


FOOTNOTES:

[79] _See the ‘Vita,’ Symonds, Book I., xlii._

[80] _Terribilissimi popolani._

[81] _E ricci del Duca Alexandro._

[82] _Meaning in the way Cellini describes them._

[83] _Terra di bolo Armenio_: _red earth that was and is used in
gilding grounds, &c._

[84] _Ricuocano._

[85] _Cellini’s method of hardening differs from that of Theophilus;
the latter in describing the tempering of files, Book III, Chapter
xvii., practically employs animal charcoal to case-harden his metal._

[86] _Cellini uses the words ‘stampare’ and ‘intagliare’ in their
generic as well as their specific sense._

[87] _What we should call engraved punches._

[88] _Bolso forte._ _This might be: ‘strongly backed,’_ i.e., _the
reverse of undercut_.

[89] _Cellini’s description is not very clear; see note, pp. 68 & 74._

[90] _Scaglia_: _perhaps fine oxide of iron. Professor Roberts-Austen
suggests that this may have been what is now called ‘rouge.’_




CHAPTER XV. ABOUT MEDALS.


In dealing with these beautiful things I will first explain to you
the method adopted by the ancients and then tell you how we are wont
to go to work nowadays. As far as we can gather from the methods of
this art, it appears that in the days when the art of making medals
commenced to flourish in Egypt, Greece, and Rome, the rulers put the
impressions of their heads on one side and on the other some record
of the great deeds they had done. What strikes us professionals,
however, who look deeper into the matter, is the variety of medals
struck for each emperor by a number of different masters. And the
reason of this is that when a new ruler was elected all the masters
of the craft of medal stamping in his dominions, and especially those
in his immediate residence, struck a medal for the occasion, the
prince’s head on one side, and on the other some commemoration of one
of his deeds of honour. Then all the many medals were shown to the
prince, and his ministers, and to him whose work was pronounced the
best was awarded the Mastership of the Mint, or rather the making of
the dies for the coins.

Now as to their making. The first thing to be done is to make a model
in white wax of the head, the reverse, and whatever there may be, to
the exact size and relief of the final work, for we know this was how
the ancients did it.

The white model in wax is made as follows: Take a little pure white
wax, add to it half the quantity of well-ground white lead, & a
little very clean turps. It depends on the time of the year as to
whether you put much or little turps, winter requiring half as much
again as summer. With wooden sticks[91] it is worked on a surface
of stone, bone, or black glass, & thereupon—for the ancients and
the moderns are at one here—it is made in the gesso just as the
cardinals’ seals were, of which I erewhile told you. Then you take
what are called the _taselli_, or iron implements used for stamping
medals, just as in the case of the _pile_ and _torselli_ you used
for stamping coins; only in this case they are made alike and not
dissimilar like the latter. There is a further difference too, and
this you must be careful about; whereas the latter were made of steel
and iron, the former are of well-chosen steel and four-cornered
in shape and the one just like the other. After you have softened
them in the fire in the same way as I showed you above with coins,
you smooth and polish[92] them very carefully with soft stones and
mark out the size of your medal, the beading, the place for the
inscription & so forth, with just such immovable compasses as you
used before.

After this you begin to work with your chisels ever so carefully,
cutting away the steel in order to round off the form of the head
in just such manner as you have it in your gesso model. And in this
manner, little by little, you hollow it out with your tools, but
using the punches[93] as little as possible, because they would
harden the steel and you would not be able to remove it with your
cutting tools. This was the way in which the ancients, with their
wonted diligence and patience, went to work; & in the same way, using
the chisels and the gravers, did they engrave their letters, and
thus it comes about that on no ancient medal have I seen really good
letters, though some are better than others. So much for the methods
of the ancients.

Now for another of our practical instances, gentle reader, always
as I have promised you, something from my own hand. It was a medal
for Pope Clement VII., and it had two reverses. On the front was the
head of his Holiness, on the reverse side was the subject of Moses
with his folk in the desert at the time of the scarcity of water.
God comes to their help, bidding Aaron, Moses’ brother, strike the
rock with his staff, from which the living water springs. I made it
just full of camels and horses, and ever so many animals and crowds
of people, and the little legend across it ‘_Ut bibat populus_.’ An
alternative reverse bore the figure of peace, a lovely maiden with
a torch in her hand burning a pile of weapons, & at the side the
temple of Janus with a Fury bound to it, and the legend around of
‘_Claudunter belli portae_.’ The dies for these medals I prepared[94]
with the _madre_, of which I told you above, and the punches, using
them first in the same way as I did with the coins. But I must remind
you how I said that the dies for the coins were not to be worked
on with cutting instruments, gravers and so forth; here, with the
medals, the contrary holds good, & as soon as you have done what you
can with your _madre_ and the various little punches that go with it,
you must needs finish the work ever so carefully with chisels and
gravers. The letters are stamped in with steel punches, just as was
the case with the coins. You must take heed, too, while striking, to
fix your die on to a great block[95] of lead. Some, when they strike
coins, have used hollowed wooden blocks[96] for this purpose, but
this will not answer for medals, as the dies have to be much deeper
cut, the relief of the medal being so much higher. Just in the same
way as with the coins you will do well to make wax impressions from
time to time, while you are cutting, to see how you are getting
on. Likewise, before you temper[97] the die, make a few impressions
on lead so as to see how the whole works together, and to correct
any mistakes. When you are satisfied with the results, set to with
the tempering of the dies, like you did for the coining. Don’t,
however, omit to have a pitcher containing about ten gallons[98] of
water. When your die is aglow, grip it carefully with the tongs &
quickly dip it into the water, and not holding it in one position
but stirring it round, always keeping it under water till it hisses
no longer and becomes cold. Then take it out & polish it up with
powdered iron scale just as you did before with the coins.


FOOTNOTES:

[91] _Fuscelletti._

[92] _Ispianera’ gli._

[93] _Ceselletti da ammaccare._

[94] _This might be translated, ‘I sank.’_

[95] _Tasello._

[96] _Ceppi di legno bucati._

[97] _Perhaps: ‘harden’ (see pp. 68 & 70). I am indebted to Prof.
Roberts-Austen for the following note: ‘This passage is amplified
in the next chapter where the author treats of the hardening of
medal dies. He has shown that before working on the coin dies he has
made them as soft as possible, but before they could actually be
used for striking coins they would need “hardening” & “tempering.”
Hardening steel is effected by heating it to bright redness & then
quenching it in some fluid which will cool the metal with more or
less rapidity, cold water being usually employed for this purpose.
Hence in this chapter Cellini states that there must be ten gallons
of cold water in which the hot die is quenched, & kept moving (as in
modern practice) until it is cold. “Tempering,” on the other hand,
to which he alludes here, consists in reducing the hardness of the
quenched steel by heating it to a moderate temperature much below
redness. Usually the die would be (in modern practice) heated until
a straw-coloured film forms on its surface. Probably such a film
is contemplated by the author when he indicates the necessity for
removing a film, produced at the hardening stage, by polishing with
fine oxide of iron.’_

[98] _The barila is about forty pints. Capt. Victor Ward tells me
about twenty Florentine wine flasks._




CHAPTER XVI. HOW THE BEFORE-MENTIONED MEDALS ARE STRUCK.


Medals are struck in various ways. I will speak first of the method
called _coniare_[99] a term derived from this particular method of
medal stamping, and then I’ll go on to the others of which I have
also availed myself.

You make an iron frame[100] about four fingers wide, two fingers
thick and half a cubit long, and the open space within it should be
exactly the size of the dies (_taselli_) on which your medals are
cut in intaglio. These dies you remember are square, and they have
to fit exactly square and equal into the frame so that they may be
in no way moved in the striking of the medal. Before beginning the
actual thing, it is necessary first to strike a medal of lead of just
the size you wish the gold or silver one to be. You do it in the
usual way, taking the impression of it in caster’s sand—you remember
we spoke about it before—the same that all the founders use for the
trappings of horses, mules, and brass work generally. From this
pattern medal you make your final casting[101] which you carefully
clean up, removing the rough edges[102] with a file, and after that
polishing off all the file marks. This done you place the cast medal
between your dies (_taselli_). The medal, in that it is already cast
into its shape, is more easily struck, and the dies are for the same
reason less used up in the process of striking. When you have them in
the middle of your frame, & the frame itself fixed firmly upright,
push them down into the frame at one end, leaving a cavity of three
fingers’ space from the edge of it. Into this cavity fix two wedges
of iron,[103] or _biette_, the thin ends of which are at least half
the size of the thick ends and which in length are about twice the
breadth of the frame. Then when you want to do the striking, set
them with their thin ends over your dies, the point of the one set
towards the other.[104] Then take two stout hammers, and let your
apprentice hold one at the head of one of the wedges, and do you
strike with the other hammer the opposite wedge three or four times,
very carefully alternating your blows first on one wedge, then on the
other. The object of this is as a precaution to prevent the shifting
& facilitate the action of your dies[105] or the pieces of metal
that are to form your medals. Then take your frame, set the head of
one of the wedges on a big stone & strike the other head with a large
hammer called in the craft _mazzetta_, using both your hands.

This you repeat three or four times, turning the frame round at
every second stroke. This done, take out your medal. If the medal be
of bronze it will have been necessary to soften it first,[106] for
that is too hard a metal to strike straight off without heating; and
repeat this three or four times until you see that the impression
is sharp. True it is I could give you hundreds of little wrinkles
yet, but I don’t intend to do it, because I assume I am speaking to
those who have some knowledge of the art, and for those who haven’t
it would be dreadfully boring to listen. So much for the method of
striking medals that we call _coniare_.[107]


FOOTNOTES:

[99] _La qual dice coniare_, _as distinct from the method he
describes in Chap. xvii_.

[100] _Staffa._

[101] _In questo modo ti conviene formarla, egittarla agyrreso._

[102] _Barette._

[103] _Coni di ferro._

[104] _Mettile sopra i tuoi taselli le punte dell’una e dell’altra,
le quali si vengano a sopraporre._

[105] _Ferri._

[106] _This may mean working the bronze hot, but more probably
softening by annealing._

[107] _The method described may be illustrated by the following
diagram_:

[Illustration: Diagram illustrating the _coniare_ process of striking
medals

W WEDGE
D DIE
M MEDAL

FRAME IN PART SECTION.]




CHAPTER XVII. ANOTHER WAY OF STRIKING MEDALS WITH THE SCREW.


You make an iron frame of similar size & thickness to the one
described above, but of sufficient length to enable it to hold not
only the two dies, _taselli_, on which the medal is cut, but also the
female[108] screw of bronze. This screw is set beneath the male screw
of iron;[109] one ought really to apply the term screw, _vite_, to
this male screw only, the female screw being called _chiocciola_. The
male screw should be three fingers thick and its threads[110] square,
because it is stronger thus than of the usual shape. The frame has to
have a hole in the top of it to admit of the screw passing through
it. When you have placed your dies, _taselli_, beneath the screw,
with the metal you propose to strike between them, you tighten them
up by the insertion of iron wedges[111] so that they cannot possibly
shift. You will find this necessary owing to the greater size of the
bronze screw.[112] Then having prepared a piece of beam about two
cubits long, or more, you fix an iron rod of sufficient thickness and
of about two cubits in length to the lower end of it, and it must fit
into the beam;[113] then fix your frame into a cutting in the head
of the beam made exactly to hold it. It is necessary, too, to bind
the beam round with stout iron bands to give it strength at the place
where the frame is set in, and to prevent it from splitting.

Round the head of the screw must then be fitted a stout iron ring
with two loops to it, & these have to be made to hold a long iron
rod or bar,[114] say six cubits in length, so that four men can work
at it, and bring their force to play upon your dies and the medal
you are striking. In this method I struck about one hundred of the
medals I made for Pope Clement; they were done in the purest bronze
without any casting, which, as I told above, is necessary for the
process called _coniare_. I advise every artist to note well this
method of striking with the screw, for, though it be more expensive,
the impressions are better, and the dies not so soon worn out. Of the
gold and silver medals I struck many straight off without softening?
them first; & as for the cost, perhaps after all it only appears
greater, for whereas in the method of striking with the screw[115]
two turns of the screw will complete the medal, in the method of
striking in the _coniare_ process at least one hundred blows with the
stamps are necessary before you get the desired result.

[Illustration: Diagram illustrating the process of striking medals
with the screw
D. DIE
M. MEDAL
AT ‘A’ WOULD COME THE FEMALE SCREW, AND THE WEDGES WOULD COME AT THE
SIDES OF THE DIES.]


FOOTNOTES:

[108] _La vite femmina._

[109] _Il mastio di ferro_: i.e., _so that the male screw can fit
into it_.

[110] _Pani._

[111] _Biette._

[112] _Gli e di necessita che per la grandezza della chiocciola di
bronzo, la quale ha da essere fatte in modo che la non balli nella
staffa._

[113] _A quella si attacca nella testa di sotto un pezza di corrente
... e bisogna che sia commesso in nella testa di sotto nella detta
trave._

[114] _Cioè a un lungo corrente._ _I give on the next page a diagram
of what the upper portion of this machinery was probably like. Or it
may be as Prof. Roberts-Austen shows it in the drawing in his Cantor
Lecture on Alloys, Society of Arts Journal, March-April, 1884._

[115] _Colpi di conio._




CHAPTER XVIII. HOW TO WORK IN LARGE WARE, IN GOLD AND SILVER AND SUCH
LIKE.[116]


First will I speak of the methods I learnt in Rome and then of
those that are used in Paris. Indeed I believe this city of Paris
to be the most wonderful city in the world, and there they practise
every branch of every art. I spent four years of my life there in
the service of the great King Francis, who gave me opportunities of
working out not only in all the arts of which I have been telling
you, but also in the art of sculpture, and of that too I shall speak
in its proper place.

[Illustration: Diagram illustrating the process of casting silver
C. CLAMPS
P. PLATE
B. BRICK]


FOOTNOTES:

[116] _Cellini applies the term ‘grosserie’ to all large ware of
whatever process & as distinguished from ‘minuterie.’_




CHAPTER XIX. HOW TO BEGIN MAKING A VASE.


It is quite wonderful what a variety of different methods there are
for making silver vases. We might here begin with the casting of
silver, and then little by little get on to other subjects. There are
three ways of melting silver so that it shall not burn.[117] In the
first you use the bellows, constructing round their mouth a little
brick furnace sufficient to quite cover the crucible, even to be
some four fingers above it; then rub the crucible all over, inside
and out, with olive oil; put the silver into it & place it on the
furnace; you should not have too many coals aglow at first for fear
of cracking the crucible, for that is apt to happen with the sudden
heat, but let it get gradually hotter and hotter, without touching
your bellows, until it is red hot. At this point you gently start
blowing with the bellows. After a while you will see the silver
beginning to float like water; then you strew a handful of tartar
over it, and while it stays a moment so, take a piece of linen
folded four or five times & well soaked in oil, to lay this over the
crucible when you remove it from the coals. Then swiftly take hold
of the crucible with your cramping tongs,[118] a pair of tongs made
specially for catching hold of earthen crucibles, for if you catch
hold of these as you would of iron crucibles you would break them,
but these special tongs support the earthen crucible so that there is
no danger of its breaking. Meanwhile, the moulds for pouring silver
in must be at hand; these are made out of two iron plates of the
requisite size and as occasion shall demand, and beneath[119] them
place a few square rods about the size of your little finger, more or
less, as the work may need. The plates are then bound together with
stout iron clamps, struck with a hammer till they grip the moulds
equally all round. Of these clamps you need six or eight according
to the size of the mould. Then you paint round the junction of the
moulds with liquid clay so as to prevent the silver from coming
through.[120] When your moulds are well warmed, you pour a little oil
into them, and stand them in an earthen pot of spent ashes, or even
on the ground between four bricks, and so pour in your silver.[121]
That is one of the methods of casting.


FOOTNOTES:

[117] _Non si riarda._

[118] _Imbracciatoie._

[119] ‘_Infra_’: _should perhaps better be ‘between.’_

[120] _Per cagione che lo argento non versi._

[121] _The sketch on p. 79 may be taken as illustrative of the
process._




CHAPTER XX. ANOTHER AND A BETTER WAY OF CASTING.


The Florentine gold-beaters used to have another way of casting,
which was called casting in the mortar,[122] for so was the furnace
called in which the casting was done. You take a number of bands of
clean iron[123] about half a finger thick and as broad as a thumb,
and weave them into a round shape, about one & one-third cubits high,
sometimes smaller, sometimes larger than this in accordance with the
quantity of the work you have to cast. It must be interlaced into a
domed shape to about two-thirds of its circumference, and from the
iron that remains over you make four legs on which the furnace is to
stand. Note that where these legs commence you must make a grating,
the openings of which are wide enough to allow of one finger and a
half being put through them, this serves as a base for the furnace.
And the furnace itself you construct by means of fashioning a cake
of earth mixed with cloth shearings,[124] the kind of earth that
glass-blowers use for their furnaces. Then you take a terra cotta
tile and lay it on the base of your furnace, and strew a little
ash over it. On this you stand your crucible filled with as much
silver as it can hold, and set to work very carefully, much as you
did in the previous method. You fill the furnace with coal, light
it and leave it to get red by itself, for thus left, the draught
will produce a tremendous fire, and you will cast better so than if
you made fire with your bellows. I must warn you too, to make your
crucibles out of clean iron, for earthenware ones would easily crack;
this iron should however be coated over inside & out with a paste of
clean ashes about half a finger in thickness, which must dry well
before the silver is put in. Some take for this solution clay mixed
with cloth parings, & the one is as good as the other. For the rest
you proceed with your casting just as I showed you above.


FOOTNOTES:

[122] _Fondere nel Mortaio_: _perhaps better, mortar casting_.

[123] _Lame di ferro stietto._

[124] _Cimatura._




CHAPTER XXI. YET ANOTHER FURNACE. SUCH A ONE AS I MADE IN THE CASTLE
OF ST. ANGELO AT THE TIME OF THE SACK OF ROME.


These kinds of furnaces are the best of all. It was dire necessity
that taught me how to make them, because I had absolutely no means
at hand for doing my work. Being in a confined place, where I had to
set about using my wits, I made a virtue of necessity. I broke the
bricks out of a room, & with these bricks I set to work to construct
a furnace in the form of a bake-oven.[125] The bricks were arranged
alternately, so that between every brick was an opening of about
two fingers wide, & as I went on I narrowed them in upwards.[126]
When I had raised it about a cubit’s height from the ground, I
constructed[127] a grating of shovel handles and spears which I
broke. And from this point I continued building the furnace up and
round to about one-and-a-quarter cubit’s height, narrowing it in
towards the top. Then I found an iron ladle which they were by chance
using in the kitchen, & as it was pretty big I caked it round with
a paste of ash & pounded clay,[128] and filled it with as much gold
as it would contain, and gave it the full fire straight off as there
was no danger of the crucible cracking. When the first lot was cast
I filled it up again, and so on, till I had melted up about 100 lbs.
of gold. The whole thing went very easily, and ’tis about the best
and simplest method you can employ. Perhaps you think that I ought
to go and give you a diagram of it all here in my book, but I fancy
that anyone who knows anything at all about the craft of founding
will perfectly well understand by description. So that’s enough for
furnaces.


FOOTNOTES:

[125] _Fornello a foggia di una meta._

[126] _E cosi lo andai ristringendo._

[127] _Io lo avevo congegnato drento di modo che._

[128] _Terra mescolata._




CHAPTER XXII. HOW TO FASHION VESSELS OF GOLD AND SILVER, LIKEWISE
FIGURES AND VASES, & ALL THAT PERTAINS TO THAT BRANCH OF THE CRAFT
CALLED ‘GROSSERIA.’


When the silver is cast in the manner described above, in the first
furnace, it is as well to let it cool on the iron plates above
mentioned because by so doing it contracts better.[129] When it is
cold you clean off the rough edges from around it. This done, you
make a scraper[130] about two-and-a-half fingers broad, & it should
be blunted; to it you attach a stick shaped with two handles, and
these are distant about half a cubit from the point of the scraper.
Note that the scraper should be bent about three fingers,[131] and
such as is used for sgraffito work, _graffiare_.[132] With this
scraper the silver plate is to be planed, and in this wise: You make
your silver plate red hot & place it on one of the iron plates you
used for casting it on; fastening it on tightly with certain iron
tools used for nailing or fastening,[133] then setting the handle of
the scraper to your shoulder with your two hands to the two handles
that you fastened to it, so that it comes to be in the form of a
cross, you pare off the surface of your silver plate with very firm
pressure till it is thoroughly clean.[134]

I won’t omit to tell you of a method I once learnt. Whilst in Paris I
used to work on the largest kind of silver work that the craft admits
of, and the most difficult to boot. I had in my employ many workmen,
and inasmuch as they very gladly learnt from me, so I was not above
learning from them; the plates I planed with such diligence gave them
cause for much marvelling; but, none the less, one charming youth,
on whom I set great store, said to me, with the utmost modesty, that
in Paris it was not customary to plane the plate in the way we did
it, and albeit our method seemed very clever, he would undertake to
produce the same result without all this planing, and so gain much
time.

To this I replied that I should only be too delighted to save any
time; so I gave him a pair of vases to do, weighing 20 lbs. a piece,
and my models for them. Before my very eyes the youth melted his
silver in the way I told above, & cast it between his iron plates.
Then he cleaned some of the edges off and set to right away to hammer
it into shape & give it its rotundity (of which more anon) without
paring it in any way. Both vases he turned out in this way with
great care and admirable technique.[135] It is just because in Paris
more work of this kind is done than in any other city of the world
that the craftsmen, from constant practice, acquire such marvellous
technical skill. I should never have believed it had I not seen it
for myself. Then, at first, I thought that it was the quality of
silver that gave them a vantage, because they work here with a finer
quality of silver than anywhere else; but my workman said no, & that
silver of baser alloy would serve his purpose equally well. I tried
him and found that it was so. From which I conclude, therefore, that
a man can start straight away with shaping what he wants out of his
silver without wasting needless time in planing it up first. Of
course care has to be taken to remove certain little blemishes[136]
from time to time. I do not go so far as to say that it is bad to
plane the metal first: nay, I have found either way good.

Now let us consider how to make a vase in the shape of an egg.
I follow, as always, my promised method of giving you of my own
creations for different princes & great persons. In Rome I made,
among many other vases, two big ones in the form of an egg each about
a cubit high, with lips and handles spreading out from the top.[137]
One was for the Bishop of Salamanca, a Spaniard, and the other for
Cardinal Cibo; both were elaborately ornamented with foliage and
animals of various kinds. These vases were called ewers,[138] and
were used by the Cardinals on their credence tables on occasions of
state.

Inasmuch as I made numbers of these for King Francis, in Paris, and
as they were all larger and more richly wrought, I shall draw my
illustrations from them. You take your plate & trim off the rough
edges, plane it on both sides, & slightly round the edges off,[139]
and forasmuch as the plates are cast in somewhat oblong shapes, you
beat them into a rounded shape with your hammer, and this is how you
do it: you take your red hot plate, not too red, for then it would
crack,[140] but sufficient, I would say, to burn certain little
grains of powder or dust thrown on to it; & put it on the stake,
and you beat it very firmly with the thin end of the hammer from
one angle to the other driving the metal well to the centre,[141]
so that when all the four corners of your plate are done it will be
marked somewhat the shape of a cross.[142] After this you reverse
the process and work with the hammer outwards, annealing the plate
some four times, till it is of such roundness as your good craftsman
may see fit. And when it is rounded into the shape of the vase you
have in mind you must see that the measurement of the diameter of
your plate exceeds that of the future vase by about three fingers,
and that the plate must be kept as thick as possible in the middle.
Before you hit this size exactly you take an iron stake about a
finger thick and six fingers long, as blunt as possible so as not
to pierce the plate, this tool you put with its broad end on the
anvil, and you very carefully balance[143] your silver plate on the
point of the stake until it stands steady by its own weight. When
the point is fixed, get one of your handy lads to strike it with the
broad end of the hammer so that it makes a mark in the plate. I have
no doubt there are masters who can find the centre point straight
away without having recourse to this little dodge, especially when
working on small plates, but for large pieces I have always found
it very helpful. After this you turn the plate round again on the
anvil & strike it in the same manner on the stake till the point,
which so far was only indicated, is now boldly marked. Then you take
your compasses & strike a circle which will show you how far your
outline is out, and so on, hammering the silver in conformity with it
by repeated heating and beating. All the while you have to be very
careful not to lose your centre point, and to beat the silver out,
as I said before, so that the diameter of the plate exceeds that of
the future vase by some three fingers. Applying your compasses again,
you strike a series of concentric circles about a half a finger apart
from each other, & starting from the centre of the cup. Then you
take a kind of hammer about one finger thick at the narrow end, and
one-and-a-half at the broad end; this hammer is battered and rounded
off[144] into somewhat the shape of the fleshy part of a finger,
and with it you begin beating in the middle of the plate, at the
centre point in fact, being careful always not to lose the point. The
movement of the hammer should be in the form of a spiral,[145] and
follow the concentric circles; you take turn about in beating and
heating in this manner till you see the silver grow into the shape of
a hat, or at least its crown,[146] & thus approximating to the form
of your vase. The thing to observe is that the metal should spread
equally all round, for if it gives more on one side than the other it
would be uneven; and in this way you draw it inwards till it is as
deep as the body of your model requires. Then with various different
stakes, each adapted specially to the form you are at work on, you
beat, now with the broad, now with the narrow end of the hammer,
and right into the body of your vase till it is equally bellied
all round; and when this has all been very carefully done, always
working on the stakes—some of which are called ‘cows’ tongues’[147]
because of their shape—you work up the neck of the vase to the
necessary height, and similarly on other stakes specially curved for
the purpose, you little by little narrow out the neck. Any little
imperfections[148] on the surface you remove as you go on, and so
finally see the neck of the vase take the perfect shape you wish it
to have.

When you have thus finished the neck, you can begin to work the
bas-relief on the body of the vase; like a vase, for instance, that
I made for King Francis,[149] it was one among many, but it was the
finest of the lot. I filled it with black pitch made in the manner I
described to you before, then I divided out the body of the vase for
the figures, animals & leaves, which I drew on it with a stylus of
burnished steel. This done, I drew them over again with pen & ink,
using all the delicacy that good drawing requires. Then I took my
punches, these are of iron, about the length of a finger and about
the thickness of a goose’s quill. They are all shaped in different
ways, some are fashioned like a C, beginning with a small c, and
ending with a large one,[150] some are bent more, some less, and
some are almost quite straight.[151] Others, again, are greater,
diminishing from the size of a man’s thumb to six different smaller
sizes, and all these selections you ought to have. With them, and
with a hammer weighing some three or four ounces, and striking most
dexterously, you beat into relief whatever you have designed. Then
you place your vase on a slow fire and melt out the pitch. After this
you heat the vase once more and clean it with a solution of tartar
and salt, in equal proportions as I described above. When the vase is
quite clean you employ a set of iron tools like stakes and with long
horns,[152] technically termed _caccianfuori_, ‘snarling irons’:
they are made of pure iron, long or short as the case may be, and
as the work may need. These _caccianfuori_ have to be fastened into
the anvil stock,[153] then you put one of the horns into the vase,
so that the point of the horn, which should be in shape and rounded
like your little finger, is applied to the inside of the vase, & to
the parts you want to beat out; and you very gently strike the other
end of it with the hammer so that the blow passing to the end of the
horn adjoining the body of the vase, bosses up the silver from within
at such points as your learned and cunning master may deem well.
When this process has been applied to all the figures, animals, and
foliage, you heat and cleanse the vase once more, once more fill it
with pitch, and with other sorts of punches, similar in all respects
to the first, but having their ends shaped like beans, and large or
small as the case may be, you begin the bossing again. Each master
uses his own particular punches, & all have their own little ways
of working, but all have this in common that the punches do not cut
but only press the metal. The process of melting out & re-applying
the pitch may now be repeated two or three times as may be thought
necessary, till you have got your figures and foliage to the highest
point of workmanship, then melt it out for the last time. After this
you may proceed to fashion in wax whatever graces may have place
at lip or handle, improving on the model or design with which you
started. These finished, you can make them in all sorts of different
ways, ways so many, that they were wearisome to recount. The easiest
of these was the one I usually employed, and particularly in the
vase I made for King Francis.[154] I took earth, such as the makers
of artillery use, dried it and sifted it well, then I mixed it with
fine cloth shearings and a little cows’ dung sifted through a sieve,
then I beat it all well together. After this I took some tripoli,
such as jewellers use to polish their gems with, pounded it up very
fine & made from it a pigment as for painting, streaking it over the
wax ornaments. This I also did to the inlet holes and vent channels
after I had duly affixed them to the models. I always took care
to fix these vent holes down below, and pass them upwards, but at
such distance from the inlet channel that none of the silver should
spill into them, and thus prevent them doing their work. When I had
applied the first coat of tripoli I let it dry. Then I took the clay
of which I told you before & coated the work over to the thickness
of a knife’s back, letting it dry again, and repeating this process,
till the different coats were about a finger thick. Then I bound it
all round with iron bands as many as it could hold, over these iron
bands I put more coats of clay, this time mixed up with rather more
cloth shearings than I had used previously, & applied another coat
again of a knife’s back thickness. Then I applied the whole to a slow
fire, holding the vent holes downwards, and so gradually melted out
the wax, which I caught in a little receptacle down beneath. One has
to be very careful not to have the fire too hot, for that would make
the wax bubble, and so damage the mould within. When the wax is quite
melted out, you remove the mould from where it is attached to the
vase, clean it carefully of all wax, and close up the place where
it is attached to the vase with the same earth that is used above.
This done, you bind the whole thing round again with fine bands of
iron wire, & cover it up completely with a further coating of the
tripoli mixture. Then you heat it on charcoal, firing it and the
charcoal together in a brick furnace; and mind to get it well baked,
for this kind of earth differs from others, in that it should all
be fired at one turn. Meantime, have your silver ready for casting,
or I would say molten, and while this is in progress put your mould
into a large receptacle filled with sand, which should be moist,
not wet; & fix it in well as do the casters of artillery into their
troughs, but with the greater delicacy that the handling of lighter
metal requires.[155] When your silver is well molten, throw finely
powdered tartar over it to keep it fresh. Then take a piece of linen,
the size of the crucible, folded into four and soaked with olive
oil, and spread it over the tartar that covers the silver; and grip
the crucible with the tongs called _imbracciatoie_. You ought to
have many kinds of these, small, medium, great, and adaptable to the
quantity of silver you have to melt; they hold the crucible together
and prevent it breaking—that happened to me many a time. Just as
you’ve got your silver nicely molten and are pouring it into the
mould, crack goes your crucible, and all your work and time and pains
are lost! Take note therefore of this, while pouring your silver
into the mould, let one of your assistants hold the linen rag from
slipping from the crucible, for by so holding the rag on, it has two
good results; it keeps the silver warm and it prevents the little
bits of coal from falling into the mould. This also you may take note
of: if you have little masks and such-like conceits to apply to your
vase, when you have fashioned them all carefully in wax and taken
them off the vase having made moulds of them as above described, you
lay in the hollow of the moulds a coating of wax, a thin knife’s back
more or less in thickness, or of such thickness as you wish your mask
to be. This coating you spread equally all over. In the craft it is
called the _lasagna_. When you have fixed on to it the inlet channel
& the vent holes—just as I told you above, the latter fixed at the
bottom & turning to the top—you fill in the whole with the clay,
bind around with wire, and cast in the same way as before.[156] This
method you can employ in the handles & the feet of your vase, where
you find the hammer difficult to work with, and I counsel you in
working large vases always to employ this method of casting.


FOOTNOTES:

[129] _Meglio e’ si condensa._

[130] _Rasoio_: _literally ‘a razor.’_

[131] _Vuole essere piegato tre dite_: _perhaps, ‘inclined.’_

[132] _This may mean only hatching or cutting generally._

[133] _Conficcare o congegnare._

[134] _Mr. Heywood Summer tells me that the tool here described is
not used in modern sgraffito work; it would by the description,
however, be something like the diagram here shown._

[Illustration: Diagram illustrating the _rasoio_ for paring metal]

[135] _Pratica._

[136] _Sfogliette_: _probably little surface scalings of the metal_.

[137] _Strette di sopra._

[138] _Aquereccie._

[139] _Alquanto scantonato un poco._

[140] _Spezzerebbe._

[141] _E far che l’entri bene._

[142] _Verrà ferito in riscontro di croce._

[143] _Si congegna._

[144] _Scantonato e tonda._

[145] _Chioccola._ _We had the word above as applied to the female
screw._

[146] _Coppa._

[147] _Lingua di vacca._

[148] _Sfogliettina._

[149] _See ‘Vita,’ p. 321._

[150] _What our metal workers call semi-ring tools._

[151] _Curved chasers._

[152] _Con le corne lunghe._

[153] _Brinckman translates, ‘a vice.’_

[154] _This is the ordinary_ ‘_cire perdue_’ _process_.

[155] i.e., _smaller work_.

[156] _This is probably what we should call a cored casting._




CHAPTER XXIII. ANOTHER METHOD FOR GOLD AND SILVER IN SUCH THINGS.


Let us take another method of casting similar to the last; I have
tried it often and found it splendid; ’tis this: You take some fresh,
finely powdered and ground gesso, and you grind in like manner, & mix
with it, a little brick dust, two-thirds of the latter to one-third
of the former. Mix them well together with clean cold water into a
paste; then take a hog sable, & working with its softest part, paint
over your wax model as you did before with the clay. This time you
put it all on at one go, because as you gradually paint along with
your brush, the gesso as gradually sets,[157] so that you can soon
lay it on to a finger’s thickness with a wooden spoon. Then you bind
the mould with fine well-tempered iron wire, weaving it all round,
in and across, and, taking the thick rest of your gesso that has not
been passed through the sieve, you moisten it with a little water
& cake it on to the mould as before, to the thickness of a knife’s
back, till all the iron wire is well covered over. Of course, the
larger your mould is the larger must this shell of gesso also be
proportionately. You will do well, too, unless pressed for time in
finishing your work, to let the gesso dry a bit in the sun or in a
warm and smoky corner, so that all the moisture leaves it. Then you
put it over a slow fire and melt out the wax as you did in the former
process; let the fire grow greater when the wax has all melted out,
& bake the mould just as you did before with the earthen mould. This
is a good and an expeditious way to work in, and very useful if you
want to finish anything quickly.


FOOTNOTES:

[157] _Rappigliare._




CHAPTER XXIV. A THIRD METHOD FOR SIMILAR THINGS.


In the third method the wax models are cut into small pieces,
powdered and moulded in clay, and set in the troughs as described
above. When the moulds are made, with due observance to the
undercutting (I say this advisedly), lead castings are made from
them, and these as well cleaned and worked up as the master may be
minded; then they are cast in silver in the same troughs as I told
you before. This is a particularly good way, because when the master
has his lead model and has finished it up to suit his purpose, it
can serve ever so many more times than a single casting.




CHAPTER XXV. OF FIGURES MADE IN SILVER & GREATER THAN LIFE SIZE.


Now as to the way of making a great statue of silver; and when I say
a great statue I mean as big as a live man or bigger. Statues of
one-and-a-half cubits high I have of course seen plenty of in Rome on
the altar of St. Peter’s, and albeit the making of these is pretty
difficult and many excellent masters employ on them much admirable
work, still these smaller statues present no great difficulties in
the way of soldering, because they can be handled in the furnace
entire; moreover they are made of thinner plates[158] of silver than
the large ones. The actual process of both is much the same, but the
large ones are so much harder to manage that I for my part have never
seen any that were presentable. According to my promise of giving you
some practical example either of work I have seen of others or of my
own making, I’ll tell you the following.

The Emperor Charles V. was passing through France in the time of
Francis I., for the great war had ended, and Francis, my glorious
king, among the other wonderful presents he had given to the
Emperor, gave him a silver statue of a Hercules with two columns,
which was about three and a half cubits high. You remember how I
described above the beauty of all the things made in that great city
of Paris—well, I have never seen anywhere else in the world such
perfect hammer work as in that city, but with all their technique
(in the methods of embossing) not even the best masters were able
to give to that statue either grace, beauty or style;[159] and for
the simple reason that they did not know how to solder properly, and
so had to stick on the legs and the head and the arms by means of
fastening[160] them with silver wire. Now King Francis wanted to have
eleven statues like this made, and he complained to me that those men
of his had not been able to undertake such a job, and he asked me if
it lay in the art to do it & if I saw my way through. I replied that
most assuredly did I see my way through, that I could do these things
much better than talk about them, and that when done they would be
one hundred times finer than was anticipated. And this was the way in
which I began explaining it to that great king, and quoth I:

‘There are many different ways of doing the thing & each master
chooses the method to which his technical excellence or his fancy
guides him. First of all you make a statue in clay of the size you
want your silver statue to be, then you make a gesso mould of it in
many pieces, and this is the way: The whole breast to the middle of
the ribs at the sides, & to the juncture of the throat above & the
legs at the groining below, forms one piece. The next piece comprises
the back from the juncture of the neck and contains the shoulders and
down to the buttocks. These are the two main pieces. In like manner
must the arms, legs, and head all be formed into two pieces. And
because the undercuttings would impede the removal of the pieces,
these are filled up with wax. The gesso moulds are then respectively
cast in bronze. And you have your sheet of silver handy of such size
as may be deemed expedient by the skilful master, & commence to
hammer it over the bronze with wooden hammers, carefully rounding
the silver over the various forms; by means of frequent annealing
these forms come to be beautifully covered. The discreet and cunning
master in order to just connect separate pieces together[161] applies
a few additional hammer strokes to their edges, and expands them to
about two knife backs one over the other. These edges he cuts into
jags about two fingers apart with a pair of scissors, fits the one
into the other, and with nice judgment tightens them with a hammer,
holding them over a round stake, or some other piece of iron as shall
hinder the hammer from indenting the silver where it has nothing to
back it. In this way all the pieces are done, first the body, then
the legs, arms and head. After this they are filled with pitch, and
wrought over with hammer & punches to an exact likeness with the
original clay model, & finally soldered together into one.’

When I had delivered myself of these words to the King, he said it
was all so clear & he had understood it all so well that he very
nearly thought he would himself be able to undertake such work. Then
I told his Majesty that there were other methods which a master
thoroughly conversant with his craft might employ, and that these
methods were really easier in execution though they seemed harder
of explanation. Whereupon his Majesty retorted that verily he was a
great lover of genius,[162] that I had spoken so convincingly of the
first that he would willingly take my word for the other.

One of them was as follows: when I had cast the King’s silver into
sheets in the way I told above, and had my clay model of the
subsequent size of the silver ready completed, I went straight at the
job, with sheer ability of hammer work[163] together with my general
skill of craftsmanship, striking from front and from back in whatever
way the art demanded. By this method I got through much quicker than
the first. Arms, legs and body I hammered out in separate pieces, and
the head in one whole piece just as it were a vase, & in the manner I
told of once before. When I had given them all their shape I soldered
& fitted them together as before. The solder I used was _ottavo_,
that is a solder composed of one-eighth part of an ounce of copper to
one of silver. To do the soldering I had fixed to the tube of my big
bellows several channels of such length as I deemed necessary for the
purpose of blowing from below on the beds of coal that I had placed
under the back of my work. When this and the coal was aglow, that is,
of a golden colour, I blew the bellows on it gradually and made the
solder run, and I kept on with this, now applying it from above, now
from below, wherever I thought it necessary, and going from point to
point.[164] I have said nothing about borax, for it stands to reason,
as anyone who knows anything about his business is aware, that no
soldering can be done without it. If it turn out that, owing to the
length of the pieces, some of them are not completely soldered and
that fresh solder and borax is needed, I used instead of water to
take a bit of tallow candle in order not to have to cool the whole
of my large piece, & on this ointment I put my new solder and borax,
and this had the same effect as the water. Thus did I solder all the
different members, head, arms, feet, each for itself, filled them
with pitch, & with my punches gave the last finish but one[165] to my
work. Then came the job of soldering the big pieces together, & that
was where those great French experts failed.

I built in the middle of one of my large rooms—and I mean exactly in
the middle—a little wall about one cubit from the ground, four cubits
long, and one-and-a-half wide; and after fitting the parts to the
body I bound them on with silver wire instead of iron wire which is
usually employed, and in this way, doing three fingers’ width at a
time, and not without the greatest difficulty, I bound the two legs
to the body. Then I laid it on the wall over a good fire, and applied
_quinto_ to it, _i.e._, solder composed of one-fifth of an ounce of
copper to one of silver—I say copper not bronze,[166] because copper
is easier to treat with the punches and holds better, albeit it does
not run quite so easily. As I worked with eleven-and-a-half silver
to half copper[167] I had nothing to fear as far as the latter was
concerned; & I would have everyone aware that if he wish to make his
job succeed he must not employ inferior silver.

When my work lay in position I began, with four of my young men, to
blow the fire with the aid of fans and hand-bellows until I saw the
solder run, when I every now and then sprinkled a little soft ash
over it, for if one were to use water instead of ash, one would not
be able to add fresh solder where the old has run imperfectly. In
this manner, following just the method I have described, I happily
succeeded in soldering the whole piece with breast, legs, arms, &
head; & ere ever a piece cooled I managed to solder it on; the whole
thing succeeded most admirably, & was just lovely! So the entire
statue, which was about four cubits high, was lifted off the fire
all soldered; I cleaned it up with the tools for cleaning, which I
described before, filled it with pitch, and gave it the final polish
with the punches. Then I fixed it on a base of bronze, the latter
about two-thirds of a cubit high, with sundry little subjects in
bas-relief gilded and beautifully executed. The statue in question
was a figure of Jupiter[168] holding the lightning bolt in his right
hand, and from the lightning a torch was kindled; in his left he
held a ball to symbolise the world. Round the head and the feet was
abundance of ornamental detail; & all this was admirably gilded, the
which was most difficult to do.

Nor will I omit to tell how I cleaned[169] up the silver of so large
a piece of work, albeit I have already described to you the process
of cleaning silver, for there were exceptional difficulties in this
case. I did it thuswise: I went to the shop of a dyer of woollen
cloth and got one of his big vessels,[170] large enough to put my
figure in, which, as I said, was about four cubits high, and weighed
about 300 lbs.; then I took four iron rods, each about four cubits
long, and four chestnut staves, somewhat longer than the iron rods.
When the figure was carefully cleaned of its solder, and made smooth
and polished and carefully pumiced over, we lifted it with the four
iron rods on to a big bed of coal spread out on the ground, and large
enough to hold the figure. This we did not do, however, till the
coals were burnt out, had lost their vigour, and were well spent;
then we covered the figure all over, shovelling the embers upon it,
a very tiring job this, as you may imagine, because of the heat and
fume of the embers. We went on shovelling them about over the statue
wherever the need was, till the whole piece was of an equal red heat
all over. Then we raised it with the four iron rods, let it cool,
and when it was cold had ready our vessel[171] with the blanching
solution,[172] that is to say, water with tartar and salt composed as
I described to you above, and into it we placed the figure by means
of the four wooden staves, for the solution must not be touched by
iron. When inside we stirred it about and scrubbed it all over with
certain big hog sable brushes much like those used for whitening
walls & objects of similar size. When we saw it getting white, we
took it with great care out of this vessel and put it into another
similar one, but filled with pure water, & here we carefully washed
all the blanching solution off it. Then we poured off the water and
dried it very carefully; after which we set to gilding whatever parts
had to be gilded. Though the gilding of this statue was a much harder
job than you can possibly imagine, I do not intend here to enter
into those difficulties of detail, but will confine myself to saying
a word or two about gilding in general. Forsooth, it is a beautiful
and marvellous craft this, & it well becomes your big masters to
know of it, so that they may guide such as practise professionally.
I knew many, both in France and in Rome, who applied themselves only
to gilding. But none the less I say that great masters ought not to
practise this themselves, for the quicksilver that has to be used for
it is a deadly[173] poison, and so wears out the men that practise
in it that they live but a few years.


FOOTNOTES:

[158] _Lamine._

[159] _From the point of view of the Italian cinquecento Master it
would be correct thus to render the word ‘arte’ in this context._

[160] ‘_Legar la_’ _Brinckman translates ‘rivetting.’_

[161] _I am not sure whether this gives the right shade of meaning
to_ ‘_attestarsi_,’ _but I follow Brinckman_.

[162] _Virtù._

[163] _Virtù del martello._

[164] _E nulla spequevo_, _etc. I take this to mean that he moved the
heat of the flame about and about from point to point._

[165] _Penultima mana._

[166] _Ottone._ _Cellini would have used the pure copper, not any
alloy, for this purpose._

[167] _Argento di undici leghe e mezzo._ _Twelve being quite pure,
this would give about as little alloying metal as will work well._

[168] _See references to this in the ‘Vita,’ p. 145, and elsewhere._

[169] _Bianchire._

[170] _Caldare._

[171] _Caldare._

[172] _Bianchimento._

[173] _Smisurato_: _Cellini refers to the fumes_.




CHAPTER XXVI. HOW TO GILD.


When you want to gild you take the purest, cleanest, 24 carat gold,
& you beat it out with clean hammers on an anvil, until you get it
to the thinness of a sheet of writing paper. Then you cut up as much
as you want into small pieces. After this you take a new crucible
never yet used & such as goldsmiths melt silver and gold in, and
into it you put so much quicksilver, free from all impurities, as
may be needed for the gold you want to employ. The proportion is at
the rate of one ounce to a scudi’s weight, that is to say, one part
of gold to eight parts of quicksilver, rather less than more of the
latter. Note that you should first mix together the quicksilver and
the gold in a clean vessel of earth or wood, and you put the crucible
on a fire of glowing embers, but not using the bellows. When the
crucible is red you throw into it some of the mixed quicksilver and
gold, hold it over the fire, and with a glowing ember gripped in a
pair of tongs stir it thoroughly together. Your eye & the feel of
your hand will tell you whether the gold be dissolved and united with
the quicksilver. Great care has to be taken to aid the solution by
rapid stirring, for if you hold it too long, the gold, or rather the
amalgam will get too thick; if, on the other hand, you hold it on too
short a time, it will be too thin, and the gold not well mixed. The
great care which this requires can only be got by practice. When it
is all mixed & dissolved, & everything done in the manner described,
you take the hot mixture & pour it into a little beaker or vase in
accord with the amount of the gold you have mixed, and this vase is
filled with water, so that you hear it hissing when you pour the
mixture in. Then you wash it thus two or three times in other clean
water, till finally your water is quite clean and pure, and then you
set about the actual gilding as follows.

Wherever you want to gild on your work you have to get it well
polished & scratch-brushed,[174] for so it is called in the craft.
These scratch-brushes are made of brass wire about as thick as
thread[175] & done up into bundles about as thick as a man’s finger,
more or less, in accordance with the size of the work you want to
scrub, & tied round with brass or copper wire. Of course you can buy
these brushes at a grocer’s, but there they are usually sold only of
one size; so that your skilled workman if he wants to do his work
well, and has a large piece to do, binds up his own brushes himself
according to the size he wants.

After the scrubbing, you put the amalgam on with an
_avvivatoio_,[176] for so we call the little rod of copper set in a
wooden handle, & much the same size and length as a table fork; here,
again, the size accords with the requirements of your work. Carefully
then do you proceed to spread the amalgam over the places you want to
gild. True it is that some have put quicksilver on first, and then
spread the amalgam after, but this is not a good method, for too much
mercury dulls the colour and the beauty of the gold. Others, again,
have thought to do better by putting the gold on in successive times.
This I have likewise seen done, but have come to the conclusion that
the best way is to put all the gold on at once that you want for your
gilding, and then heat it over a slow fire, till all the quicksilver
goes off in fumes. If you notice that the gold on your work is not
even, you can, while it is still warm, very easily add on as much
as may make it so, till all is covered with gold. Then let it cool
by itself. I forgot to say in its proper place that if the gold
won’t stick on you will do well to have a little of the whitening
water[177] of which I told you above, and you dip your _avvivatoio_
with the gold in this water, & if that still won’t help you, take a
little aquafortis evaporated and weakened, and there’s no doubt that
will do it.


FOOTNOTES:

[174] _Grattapugiata._

[175] _Refe di cucire._

[176] _See ‘Vita,’ p. 252._

[177] _Bianchimento._




CHAPTER XXVII. A RECIPE FOR MAKING COLOURS & COLOURING THE GILDED
PARTS.


The first is colour for thin gilding. You take equal proportions of
sulphur, tartar well-pounded, and salt, grinding them separately,
then you take half a part of cuccuma[178] and you mix them all
four together. When you have the gilded parts well cleaned &
scratch-brushed, as I described above, you take a little urine of
children or boys, put it tepid into a clean pipkin and apply it with
hog sables, and the virtue of the urine and the sables will remove
any dirt or grease that may have come on the gold. This done, you
get a copper cauldron, or mayhap an earthen pot, & in one of the
twain, after filling it with boiling water, you put your colour
composition & stir it well up with a rod or a bunch of twigs till it
is thoroughly dissolved and mixed. Then you tie a bit of string, long
enough to hold it by, on to the work, and dangle it in for such time
as one might say an Ave Maria; after this you pull it out and dip it
into a vase of clear cold water. If it has not taken colour enough
you put it back again into the hot water, and so on for two or three
times till it be sufficient, minding, however, not to let it stay
in over long or else it will turn black and spoil the gilding. This
colouring matter is the weakest one can make and can only be used
for one turn.


FOOTNOTES:

[178] _More correctly, ‘curcuma’: turmeric root._




CHAPTER XXVIII. A RECIPE FOR MAKING ANOTHER SORT OF GILDING COLOUR.


Take red chalk,[179] verdigris, saltpetre, vitriol,[180] and salts of
ammonia, but half as much of the first as of the other ingredients;
take each by weight, and pound each separately; and be careful to
pound them very fine; when pounded stir them up in clear water to
the consistency of a paste, and while you are stirring see that you
go on grinding them up till all the particles are well blended. This
done, you must put them in a rather big vase because the composition
bubbles up; and mind that the vase has a glazed surface, or better
still be of glass, and let it be corked. In order to put the colour
on, your work must needs be thickly gilded, or else it will turn
black, for this colour is very powerful. But if it be sufficiently
strongly gilded the work will colour beautifully. The colouring
stuff is applied with a paint brush, but you must mind not to touch
the silver or you will black it. Painted over in this wise you set
your work to the fire, give it a good steaming and dip it into fresh
water, but you must mind not to overdo the steaming or the gold
would be eaten away and not hold.


FOOTNOTES:

[179] _Matita rossa._

[180] _Vitriuolo_: _probably green vitriol_, i.e., _sulphate of iron_.




CHAPTER XXIX. HOW TO MAKE A THIRD GILDING COLOUR FOR VERY THICK
GILDING.[181]


Take the work you want to gild, & in the same way as described above,
clean it[182] and gild it, then skilfully dry it; don’t be particular
as to drying it too much, only let it be free of all quicksilver,
then clean it again lightly and heat it over live embers. Whilst it
is in process of heating spread on it a kind of wax which I will
describe below.

When the wax is spread, let the work cool, then have a fire ready
of such nature as shall melt off the wax without heating the metal
to redness. When heated in this way, rinse it out in a solution of
tartar and water—what among goldsmiths is called _grommata_. This
done, let it stand for such time as you can say an Ave Maria, then
clean it with a brush in fresh water, rubbing it well.[183] If your
work has been well gilded, you may further colour it with the process
I shall tell you of shortly. But as to do so you have first to wax
it, I had best tell you to begin with how that wax is made; and ’tis
in this wise.


FOOTNOTES:

[181] _Che sia abbondantemente carico d’oro._

[182] _Cellini refers to the preliminary cleaning with urine
described in Chapter xxvii._

[183] _Ristiara di buon vantaggio._




CHAPTER XXX. HOW TO MAKE THE WAX FOR GILDING.


Take five ounces of new wax, half an ounce of red chalk (that is
to say, red stone chalk for drawing[184]), half an ounce of Roman
vitriol,[185] three pennyweights[186] of _feretto di spagna_,[187]
that is of the weight of a ducat, or one-eighth of an ounce, or it
may be a bit less, half an ounce of verdigris, & three pennyweights
of borax. Mix all these things together and melt them with the wax, &
apply them as above described. After this, when the wax is cleaned
off, you can give it the colouring that follows hereunder.


FOOTNOTES:

[184] _Lapis rosso da disegnare_; _French_, ‘_sanguine_.’

[185] _Vitriouolo romano_: _sulphate of iron_.

[186] _Denari._

[187] _Possibly calcined sulphate of iron; French_, ‘_ferret_.’




CHAPTER XXXI. HOW TO MAKE YET ANOTHER COLOURING.


Take half an ounce of Roman vitriol, half an ounce of saltpetre, six
pennyweights of salts of ammonia, half an ounce of verdigris, and
pound them upon a stone, do not use iron. Pound the salts of ammonia
first very carefully, then all the others together. Then mix them in
a glazed vessel[188] with as much water as shall make them have the
consistency of a sauce, stir them over the fire with a piece of wood,
& let them boil for such space as you can say two Paternosters. Do
not give them a strong fire for that would spoil them. Everything in
moderation. Let them cool, and use them as is here written in the
manner following.


FOOTNOTES:

[188] _Pentolino._




CHAPTER XXXII. THE MANNER OF APPLYING THE SAID COLOUR.


Let your work be dried with a clean cloth, then by means of a few
feathers streak it over with the above concoction in the same way as
you did when colouring the gold with the verdigris mixture. Then put
it on the fire. When you see it drying and beginning to steam hard
(do not let it steam quite dry) dip it in cold water. Then clean it
up, & once again let it simmer slowly in the tartar solution[189] for
such space as you may say an Ave Maria; yet again clean it in water
and polish it where you will. This gives the loveliest gilding and
of the most beautiful colour that can be made, and lasts for ever.


FOOTNOTES:

[189] _Bollire freddo nella grommata._




CHAPTER XXXIII. WHAT YOU DO WHEN YOU WISH TO LEAVE BARE THE SILVER IN
CERTAIN PLACES.


When you have cleaned up the parts where the gold is not to stick,
you take some flour dust, such as you may gather on the walls and
cornices of mills, & we in Florence call _fuscello_, and you mix it
with water to the consistency of a paste, and with a (camel’s) hair
brush lay it thick on the parts not to be gilded, after which you dry
it well before a slow fire, and can gild safely.

Another way, too, may be employed where the flour dust is not used.
You take gesso in the cake,[190] such as the shoemakers use, pound it
up well, and make a paste of it either with stag glue,[191] or better
with fish glue,[192] but mind that either glue be well mixed with
water, so that it does not get too stiff. And inasmuch as I want to
omit nothing, I bid you note that this gesso is best employed when
you merely want to gild and leave the silver white, whereas the flour
dust method is best used when you want in addition to colour the
gold as above described. This is as much as you need know about such
matters.

Now though, of a truth, the prime merit of every craft is your being
well able to practise it yourself, yet none the less it were better
to leave these processes of gilding to those who are specialists,
for it is as I said very unhealthy[193] to practise. Know _how_ it’s
done, that’s all.


FOOTNOTES:

[190] _Gesso in pane._

[191] _Colla cervona._ _Probably a glue made of stags’ skins or
chippings. In ‘Cennino Cennini’ is a footnote on glues, quoting from
‘Dioscorides’ a glue, colla taurina, hence possibly_ ‘_cervona_’
_from_ ‘_cervo_.’

[192] _Colla di pesce._

[193] _Perniziossima._




CHAPTER XXXIV. HOW TO MAKE TWO KINDS OF AQUAFORTIS, ONE FOR
PARTING,[194] THE OTHER FOR ENGRAVING & ETCHING.


First I will talk of that mixture with which you etch on copper
instead of cutting with the graver, this is an easy and a very
beautiful method. Aquafortis for etching is made thus: you take half
an ounce of sublimate,[195] one ounce of vitriol, half an ounce of
rock alum,[196] half an ounce of verdigris, and six lemons; and
after having care to pound the first mentioned substances well, you
boil them a little in the lemon juice, but not so as to let them
get too dry. The boiling should be done in a glazed pot, and if you
have no lemons you may take strong vinegar which will give a like
result. When you have well smoothed your copper plate you can take
any ordinary varnish,[197] such as is used for the lacquering of the
ornaments on daggers and other iron work, & heat it gently, putting a
little wax with it, this you do to prevent the varnish from cracking
when you draw upon it. It must not be too hot when you spread it on
your copper plate. When you have etched on your design make a ridge
of wax round the plate and pour on the parting water, letting it
stand not longer than half an hour. If then it be not bitten deep
enough, do it again. Then remove it and clean it well with a sponge.
You draw on the varnish with a stylus of well tempered steel, that
is an iron needle, which in the craft is termed a _stile_. You wash
the varnish off the plate with a sponge of warm oil, but very softly
so as not to destroy the intaglio. Then you use the plate & stamp
impressions on to card-board from it in just such a manner as plates
done with the graver. It is true that this sort of plate is produced
very easily, but then, you see, they don’t last near so long as
those done with the graver.


FOOTNOTES:

[194] _Acqua da partire is the acid into which you put alloys and
clippings, filings, etc., to separate gold from silver, or silver
from copper, or gold from gilt copper, in other words nitric acid_.
_Partitore is the man who exercises this trade_. _Hoepli’s Manual,
‘Oreficeria,’ published Milan, gives information about the modern way
of using acids for ‘separating or parting.’_

[195] _Solimato_: _can this be sublimed sal ammoniac?_

[196] _Allumi di rôcca._

[197] _Vernice ordinaria._




CHAPTER XXXV. HOW TO MAKE AQUAFORTIS FOR PARTING.


Aquafortis for parting[198] is made thus. You take 8 lbs. of burnt
rock alum[199] & an equal quantity of the best saltpetre, and 4
lbs. of Roman vitriol, & put them altogether into the alembic,[200]
add to these things a little aquafortis that has already been used,
exercising your discretion as to the quantity. And in order to give
a good luting[201] to your alembic take horse-dung, iron filings &
brick dust in equal proportions, and mix them up with the yolk of
a hen’s egg, then smear the mixture over the alembic as far as the
furnace will allow. Then for the rest put it to a moderate fire, as
the wont is.


FOOTNOTES:

[198] _Partire._

[199] _Allume di rôcca arso._ _Prof. Church tells me that this is
probably sulphate of alumina, from alum shale._

[200] _Boccia._ _Biringoccio in the fourth book of his
‘Pirotechnica,’ Venice, 1540, Chap. I., gives an illustrated
description both of such an alembic and of how aquafortis for parting
is distilled. See also the French edition of the same book translated
by ‘Jaques Vincent.’ Rouen, 1627._

[201] _Loto_: _the closing of the joints_.




CHAPTER XXXVI. HOW TO MAKE ROYAL CEMENT.


Take the gold you wish to refine and beat it thin, cut it into little
pieces of the size and the thickness of a golden scudo. Sometimes the
scudi themselves are taken and a twenty-four carat cement refined
direct from them; and this simple[202] cement has such virtue that
it can draw all the alloy[203] out of the scudo itself without
destroying the impression on the coin, but drawing from it only what
was of base metal.

The cement is made in this wise: Take tartar and brick dust and make
a paste of them; construct a round furnace[204], & into the joints
of the furnace between one brick and another spread the paste; put
your pieces of gold, or the scudi themselves, if you use them, into
the paste, and cover them well up with more of it; then fire for
twenty-four hours, at the end of which time they will be refined to
twenty-four carats.[205]

Know, gentle reader, that this screed of mine is not writ for the
purpose of teaching such as are refiners[206] by profession how to
make aquafortis, my only care is to show how & to what end it may
serve the art of goldsmithing; for it came about that having made
certain golden figures half a cubit high for King Francis, when they
were near the ending, during the softening in the fire, it happened
they got a film of lead fumes across them, and had I not covered
them over with this cement lotion they would have gone brittle as
glass.[207] Then I gave them six hours moderate firing, and so in
this way freed them from so evil a blemish.


THE END OF THE TREATISE ON GOLDSMITHING.


FOOTNOTES:

[202] _Cellini may intend a stronger sense to the word_ ‘_semplice_.’

[203] _Lega._

[204] _See above, furnace construction._

[205] _Cellini appears not to have quite understood the process.
Geber, who gives the oldest description of it_, ‘_Alchemiae
Gebri Arabis Philosophi Solertissimi Libri, etc. Joa͠n: Petreius
Nuremberge͠n denuo Bernae excudi faciebat_,’ _anno 1545, p. 51, gives
the ingredients thus: ‘Vitriol (ferrous sulphate), sal ammoniac,
flower of copper (scale of oxide of copper formed by heating the
metal with access of air), ground old earthen pot, sulphur in the
smallest quantity or none at all, man’s urine, together with similar
sharp and penetrating substances,’ etc. See Percy’s ‘Metallurgy,’
Murray, 1880; Part I., p. 385. Prof. Roberts-Austen adds that
‘usually the “cement,” and the gold to be purified, were placed
together into a porous earthen pot, and not between the joints of the
brickwork.’_

[206] _Partitore._

[207] _I am assured that this is a point of considerable scientific
interest._

[Illustration: (Decorative Flower)]




THE TREATISE ON SCULPTURE.

[Illustration: The Nymph of Fontainebleau]




THE TREATISE ON SCULPTURE.




CHAPTER I. ON THE ART OF CASTING IN BRONZE.


As in other places I have done, so now will I do afresh, & in order
to give more surety & confidence to him that reads this screed of
mine, adduce examples from sundry great works in bronze that I made
for King Francis while in the glorious city of Paris. Those bronzes
in part I finished, the greater part I left imperfect. One of the
completed ones was a lunette about eight cubits across, made for
the gateway of Fontainebleau. For this arch I fashioned a statue
about seven cubits long in rather more than half relief, it was a
figure personifying the fountain. Under its left arm were vases, from
which water seemed to flow, and its right arm was posed upon the
head of a stag, a great part of whose neck was brought out in full
relief. On one side of the lunette were a number of dogs, that is
to say setters[208] & greyhounds; on the other side were fashioned
stags and wild boar. Above the lunette I made two little angels
with torches in their hands as signifying victory, & over the whole
was the salamander, the emblem of the King. There was abundance of
rich festoonment, and two great satyrs for the pilasters of the
gate. These latter were not cast, but were left in a state ready for
casting. The lunette, however, was cast in several pieces, & the
first and biggest was the nymph of Fontainebleau herself.[209] Her
head & other portions of her body stood out in full relief, while the
rest were in half relief. The way I fashioned her was as follows.
I made a model in clay of just the size the figure was to be; this
done, I estimated that the shrinkage would be about one finger’s
thickness. So I very carefully went over the whole, touching it up
and measuring it as the art directs.[210] Then I gave it a good
baking, and after that I spread over the whole an even coat[211] of
wax of less than a finger’s thickness, similarly adding wax where
I thought it needed it, or even taking a little away from off the
waxen coat that was over the whole. This method I pursued till I had
completed it with infinite diligence and care.

After this I pounded up some ox bone, or rather the burnt core of ox
horns. It is like a sponge, ignites easily, and is the best bone that
you can get anywhere. With this I beat up half a similar quantity of
gesso of tripoli,[212] and a fourth part of iron filings, & mixed the
three things well together with a moist solution of dung of horses
or kine, which I first passed through a fine sieve with fresh water,
till the latter took the colour of the dung.

The whole formed a composition which I applied to my model with hog
sables, arranging the bristles so that their softer and external ends
formed the end of the sable, and were thus tenderer to work with;
and so gave the whole figure an equal coating of the composition all
over, then I let it dry, and similarly gave it two more coats, each
time letting them dry. These coats were every one about the thickness
of an ordinary table knife’s back. This done, I gave it a coat[213]
of clay about half a finger thick, let it dry, gave it another coat
about a finger thick, let that dry too, and finally gave it a third,
of the same thickness.


FOOTNOTES:

[208] _Bracchi._

[209] _See Cellini’s allusion to this in the ‘Vita.’_

[210] _Misurando come prometta l’arte._

[211] _I interpret this to mean that he made measurements with a view
to regulating the subsequent wax coat which was in the end to be
replaced by the bronze. Brinckman interprets it otherwise; according
to him the meaning would be that because of the shrinkage Cellini
gave the figure another coat of clay, but this appears to me to imply
a misunderstanding of the process. See also, Symonds’ interpretation
of this method in the ‘Vita.’_

[212] _Gesso di tripolo._

[213] _Camicia._




CHAPTER II. HOW THE ABOVE-MENTIONED CLAY IS MADE.


The clay you use is made thus: You take such clay as is used by the
ordnance makers for their moulds. It may be found in many places, but
preferably near by rivers, for there it has a certain sandiness,[214]
still it must not be too sandy, suffice it if it be thin, for the
rich clay is delicate and soft, such as is used for small figures,
cups, plates, and so forth, but not good for our purpose. Also you
will find it in hills and grottoes, particularly round Rome and
Florence, and in France at Paris. The clay from the latter city is
the finest I ever saw; but as a rule the clay from grottoes is better
than that from rivers.

In order to obtain a good result you must let it dry, and sift it
carefully through a rather coarse sieve in order to get rid of any
pebbles or bits of root or of glass, & such-like things. Then you
mix it with cloth frayings, about half as much of the latter as you
have clay; and take note that here is a wondrous mystery of the craft
that has never yet been used by any but me. When the clay and the
cloth frayings are mixed and bathed with water to the consistency of
a dough, you beat the mixture up well with a stout iron rod about two
fingers thick; and, for this is the secret, you let it decompose for
at least four months or more, the longer the better; for then the
cloth frayings rot, and owing to this the clay gets to be like an
unguent. To those who have not had experience of this little trade
secret of mine the clay will appear too fatty, but this particular
kind of fattiness in no wise hinders the accepting of the metal,[215]
indeed it accepts it infinitely better, & the clay holds a hundred
times more firmly so than if it had not rotted. I have used this kind
of clay in ever so many most difficult works, all of which I shall
tell of in their proper place.


FOOTNOTES:

[214] _Alquanto renosa._

[215] _Lo accettare il metallo._




CHAPTER III. ANOTHER METHOD OF CASTING FIGURES IN BRONZE OF LIFE SIZE
OR A LITTLE UNDER.


Model the figure you wish to cast direct in the clay and rag
composition above described. Finish your model most carefully as
regards its proportions and its details of design, in fact just as
you wish to see it completed. When you have finished your figure,
working it part in the fresh & part in the dry clay, as the art may
require, and wishing to cast it in bronze, you give it a covering of
painter’s foil[216] in order to do which you first take a certain
quantity of turps, heat it in a cauldron or pail, and when it is
heated to boiling, streak it very carefully all over the figure with
a hog’s sable, taking heed not to injure a single muscle, vein or
other subtlety, and so very carefully apply your foil. This foil
has to be beaten into very fine sheets such as the painters use in
many places, as for instance on their canvasses for painting coats
of arms; it is well enough known all the world over. Well, you put
this foil over the clay figure, and as you have to make a mould of
gesso over that, you oil the whole figure well first. Were it not
for the foil it would be but ill protected against the humidity
and cohesive[217] power of the gesso, but with the foil it is well
protected. In this way you work to great advantage, for after the
figure is cast in bronze you still have your fine original model
before you; and many youths & able workmen can help you clean the
bronze figure up, while if you have no model to work to, this
cleaning up takes a long time, is little to the poor master’s liking,
and has but a sorry result. This was what happened to me when I made
the Perseus for the most illustrious Duke Cosimo, and which may still
be seen on his Excellency’s piazza. This, which was a figure of more
than five cubits high, was made in the first of the two described
methods; that is to say, it was modelled in the clay composition, &
finished one finger’s thickness under actual size;[218] then it was
well baked, and the coat of wax modelled over it as in the case of
the nymph of Fontainebleau. After this it was cast all in one piece.
In order to remove the core[219] so that the figure might be lighter,
I made through the wax a number of holes in the flanks, shoulders,
and legs, and at such places where I required them; the result of
this was that the core was kept in its place. Moreover, I put over
the wax those unguents which I referred to in the case of the
nymph of Fontainebleau, then the two or three coats of clay, next I
bound it round with the iron of which I shall tell directly, & then
I cast it. This casting was, owing to its size, the most difficult
casting ever made. But because I am now minded to tell of the casting
of a smaller figure, I will not muddle things too much by leaving my
theme. Later on I shall not fail to enter upon a little dissertation
about my Perseus.

[Illustration: The Perseus]

Now I have to repeat, then, that the clay figure must have a kind
of paste spread over it with a very soft paint brush, & little by
little the foil is laid upon it. This paste is made of flour dust,
and prepared in the way shoemakers do it, or the mercers, when they
make barettas & satchels and such like, and you must mind to make it
very fine and thin, and when you have put the foil in little pieces
all over it and the whole figure is covered, you can make your gesso
mould.

There are divers ways of making the gesso moulds. The best, however,
that I have come across and that I mostly use myself, is to make as
many small pieces as when put together would make a complete man,
and that without any undercutting—as for instance feet, hands, head.
These small pieces must be made with great care; and while the gesso
is moist you fit into each of them an iron wire bent double, and
projecting out of the gesso much like a little ring, so as to be
capable of holding a thread through it. Each time that one of these
small pieces is finished it must be tested, and you must see if you
get a good impression from it & if the piece relieves. Then if you
see that the impression relieves without spoiling a single trifle of
your work’s delicacy, you put the piece in its place again, and with
all a good master’s ingenuity take the next piece off it, leaving no
rift whatever in between them such as would scar the work; & so you
go on little by little, making the whole series of pieces, observing
the undercutting and whatever is demanded for the head, hands, feet,
&c. In this manner you carefully make your division right down one
half of the figure, I mean the half, taken lengthwise, coming over
the belly and the breasts down to the hips, and from the bottom of
them to the half of the heels.[220] Mind, however, that with these
small pieces the figure is not entirely covered, but leave a part
of the breasts, a part of the body, a large part of the thighs, and
as much of the legs. You must take care, too, that the pieces be
so placed that they may be fitted together as one, but there must
be no undercutting because over this half figure will have to be
cast a coat[221] of fine gesso more than two fingers thick. Before
doing this, however, you must mind to cover up with a little clay
the iron rings which I told you before were to be put on the small
pieces, so that in putting on the coat they do not hinder it from
being lifted off. After this you carefully paint over with a brush of
olive oil all such parts as shall come in contact with this coat in
order that when the gesso is set the coat may easily relieve. When
you have tried a piece to see if it will relieve, put it back in its
place, and finish the other or back half of the figure in the same
way as I bade you do the front. You must be very careful when you
have finished your mould to take some strong thick cord and bind the
whole figure together from top to bottom, putting a lot of little
wedges of wood in order to tighten the rope yet more and prevent the
gesso from twisting[222] and buckling. In order not to run any risk
of such twisting you keep it thus bound up till all the moisture
has gone from the gesso. When you see it quite dry you unwind the
cord and open the mould, and that is your first mould.[223] This in
small figures may be of two pieces only; when I say small figures
I mean life size or less, these may be made in two pieces; if they
be larger than that you must make them in four pieces, _i.e._, one
piece on each side from the top to the navel, & another on each side
from the navel to the bottom of the figure. In order to fit better
together these pieces must overlap the one upon the other a distance
of about two fingers. This all minutely accomplished, you proceed to
open the mould and lay it back downwards on the ground, that is to
say with the concave sides of it facing upwards, and you take off
one by one all the little pieces sticking to the figure and put them
into the cavities made by them in the mould;[224] at the same time
removing the little bits of clay which you put on the iron rings; and
in every place where the clay has left impressions, bore a hole with
a small gimlet[225] into the mother mould, and attach to each iron
ring a piece of strong cord. This cord you pass through the holes in
the mother mould, and tie each piece up in this manner with a little
splint of wood. When you have thus fitted all your little undercut
pieces into the mother mould,[226] you grease the whole mould with
soft lard, & proceed to give it what is technically termed the
_lasagna_, which is a cake about a good knife’s back thick of wax or
clay or paste.

This is made thus: you take a piece of wood and with the chisels
cut out in it a square cavity the shape of a man’s palm and of the
depth of a good knife’s back, more or less, in accordance with the
thickness your figure is to have. Then you keep squeezing your cake
(or _lasagna_) into this wooden shape, & apply it to the gesso mould
of your figure so as to let one piece touch the other. Then you lay
the two halves together on the ground side by side, and construct
an iron framework which serves as a skeleton for the figure, and
this must be made tortuously and in accordance with the direction
of the legs, arms, torso, & head of the figure. This done, you
take clay beaten together with shavings of cloth—the thin clay of
which I told you before[227]—and little by little fit it round the
skeleton, letting it dry, now by patient waiting, now by holding
it before the fire, till the whole of your mould is filled. Then
you test the two parts by repeatedly applying the one to the other.
When this framework of earth and iron, which is called the kernel,
_nocciolo_, fills the figure so completely as to tally all round with
the _lasagna_, you take it out, bind it round with thin iron wire
from head to foot and give it a good firing. Then you streak it over
with a thin solution made of powdered bone and thin brick dust mixed
with a little of the clay and cloth frayings, and apply it again to
a rather slighter fire, this time so that the solution shall also be
fired, then you take the _lasagna_ out of your mould. You must be
very careful, too, to leave some pieces of the iron skeleton sticking
out in at least four places, for they will keep the kernel from
shifting, and these projections must tally with the gesso mould. When
the _lasagna_ is removed you once more grease the gesso mould with
fat, a little soft bacon fat is best, and it is also well to have it
warm, for then it combines better with the gesso.

Then you make the inlet holes in which you want to pour your wax, and
fit the kernel into the mould; then stand the figure up straight &
make at least four vent holes, two at the feet and two at the hands,
the more you make the surer you will be to fill your figure with wax.

The vent holes you make thus. The first two you place right at the
very bottom of the feet, and it will be better for you to set your
figure on a little eminence in order to do this more easily. You
must take a stout gimlet,[228] and carefully bore a hole with it,
and this is best done if slanting downwards, and see that you leave
no fragments in the mould as you do it. When you have made these
holes, you take a number of canes, which you skilfully bend, & so fit
together that they start from the holes below and turn up straight
alongside the figure, binding one cane to another & all together into
one up towards to the top of the figure. You must be careful, too,
wherever the bits of cane join, and wherever they fit into the holes,
to smear them well round with a little moist clay so as to prevent
the wax from oozing out.

After this you can heat your wax, &, when it is well molten, pour it
in. This process now can be easily effected, however difficult the
pose of the figure may be, if you observe the various little hints
I have given you, & above all give heed to the vent holes at the
base. After you have filled it with wax let it thoroughly cool for
a whole day—if it be summer, say two days. Then undo the bindings
with great care; & loosen all the little bits of string that tie the
pieces together within, and are made for the undercuttings as I so
carefully explained to you before. When you have uncovered the one
half, you may complacently begin to try it from either front or back;
& I tell you this, the fact of your having let the wax stand for that
day or two according to the season of the year, will cause a slight
shrinkage in the wax of about the space of a horse’s hair, and so you
will find it quite easy to remove this first piece from your figure.
Then lay it down, and proceed to do the like to the next piece, & you
will do well to lay both on long narrow benches, so that you can get
underneath them with your hands.

After this you remove from the figure all the pieces of the mould
attached with the bits of string through the iron rings one by one
ever so carefully, and you polish & remove very nicely all the rough
edges that may have been left on the figure by reason of the joinings
of all the different pieces, and in this manner you touch up the
whole. In doing this, moreover, if you are minded to add any subtle
labour or fancy to your work, you are easily able to do it. After
this[229] you fashion in wax, just as you erst made them for the
earthen mould[230] all the vent holes for the bronze casting, & mind
that they all slant downwards to the bottom; later when the figure
has its last & earthen mould on, these vents may easily be turned up
with clay. The method of doing this I shall describe minutely later
as soon as I have shown how all the different coatings[231] from
first to last are applied, the mould bound up and the wax emptied out.

Here all I want to insist on is that the vents must be made to bend
towards the bottom, because, when that is the case, the wax is more
easily melted out; if they were otherwise you would have to turn the
mould up and down, which would give trouble, & you would run risk of
spoiling it. But if you do it as I tell, you are absolutely safe.
Then note this too, it is of the utmost importance that in melting
out the wax your fire be so tempered that the wax does not boil in
the mould, but comes out with the greatest patience. When the wax
is all out give the mould yet another but very moderate firing, in
order to get rid of any moisture that may be left in the mould. Then
you may give it a regular good firing, first casing the mould in a
coat of bricks set one above the other, & at about a three fingers’
distance from the mould; this firing should be of soft wood, such
as elder, lime, beech or twigs. Any green wood, or the wood of the
oak, is to be avoided, and use no charcoal whatever, because all
these fuse the clay and make it become like glass. There are some
earths that do not thus cohere, and such are used in glass & bronze
furnaces. I shall not fail in the proper place to tell you of these,
but at present let me continue my narration of how to prepare our
mould for the casting of the bronze.

Dig a pit near your furnace in front of the plug at the outlet
hole,[232] which pit should be so big as not only to contain your
figure, but also be half a cubit deeper, and in order that you can
give the proper fall, the mouth or inlet hole[233] must be at least a
quarter of a cubit above the head of your figure. So also as in the
case of its depth, the pit should be half a cubit larger in width
than would be needed to hold the mould. Then take the mould out of
the bricks in which you baked it, and when it is cool bind it very
carefully with a rope which should be strong enough to carry it,
then fasten a pulley to a beam in the roof, & the rope through the
pulley, and see that you provide a windlass sufficiently strong to
lift your figure. As I don’t want to omit certain little details,
which may be well learnt from experience, I may mention that when I
made my Perseus, for that the work was so very large, I lowered it
into the pit with two windlasses, which were weighted with more than
2,000 lbs., but a small figure of three cubits would not need more
than one. ’Tis true you might do without any windlass at all for the
latter, but that would be very risky, because it might tend to move
the kernel of the mould, that is the core[234] or inner block, or
again it might knock the shell[235] outside it. The windlass obviates
this danger. And so you very very gently hoist the figure up, & move
it to the mouth of the pit, & with equal care you unwind the windlass
and lower it to the bottom.

When the figure is standing in position, with the inlet hole[233] in
a line with the plugs[236] at the outlet hole,[232] the first thing
you have to do is to fit on to the vent holes certain tubes of baked
clay such as are used for water-pipes. Of these there are plenty to
be got in Florence, so that I was provided, and I used some of them
bent, & those for the bottom pieces, and in all such instances when
the vents were turned downwards; and fitting one tube on to another,
I brought them into one straight line upwards.

This done, you take the earth you dug out of the trench and sift it
well; then mix it with sand, which, however, ought not to be too
soft, with this mixture you fill up the pit. The mixture of sand
& earth it may be observed need only surround the figure to the
extent of a quarter of a cubit, for the rest, the plain unsifted
earth as you dug it out of the trench, will suffice to fill up the
remainder of the cavity. When the earth has been piled in to the
extent of about one-third of a cubit, you go into the pit with two
rammers,[237] which are a kind of wooden instrument three cubits long
& about a quarter of a cubit broad at the bottom. And with these you
pound the earth and weld it well together. In doing this you must
take great care in no way to knock at the mould, it will be quite
sufficient if you come within four fingers of it, and instead of
the rammers, press it with your feet, still take great care not to
shake the mould. This ramming in you will repeat every time you have
shovelled another third of a cubit of earth into the pit. Every time,
too, that the earth fills up to the level of the top of the vents,
take another of the terra cotta pipes and add it on, binding the
juncture round well with a little clean tow in order to prevent the
earth getting into the vents, for that would stop the passage of air
and so hinder your figure from coming. In this way, taking heed of
the vents as you fill in the earth, you pass from base to legs, from
legs to flanks, from flanks to arms, till at last you get earth and
vents on a level with the top of your pit. Then you proceed to make
the passage[238] down which the bronze is to flow. Also you must take
care that as soon as you begin putting your figure into the trench,
you begin at the same time to fill your furnace with the bronze
and heat it, so that your mould shall not get damp from too long
standing. All these things if they be not observed ofttimes prevent
the mould from filling.

When the pit is filled up to the mouth of the main entrance[239]
where the bronze is to be poured in, and also having allowed for the
necessary fall from the mouth of the plug[240] whence the bronze
is to issue from the furnace, & having carried up all the vents as
described, you keep both them and the mouth of the main entrance
carefully plugged with a little tow. Then you take a lot of square
tiles and make a pavement of them round the vents. As there will be
more than one entrance channel for your bronze, you must take note
that the flooring in question comes right up to the ingress holes
of the bronze. Then you take bits of hard dry bricks broken up into
pieces of three fingers or more in thickness, according to your
cunning master’s discretion and according to the fall your bronze may
need, & then these bricks you plaster together with liquid clay and
cloth shavings in lieu of mortar, on the top of your flooring. Note
further, that of these same bricks you construct a channel from the
wall of your furnace and running right round the ingress holes of
your figure.

Then you take bricks, baked or unbaked (the latter are better, though
there’s not much difference)[241] and wall up the channel to the
requisite height, the thickness of a brick wall will suffice. You
construct it by laying brick upon brick & making the height of the
wall equal the width of the channel.[242] When you have carefully
joined together with your moist clay instead of mortar all the cracks
through which the bronze might ooze out, you remove the tow plugs in
the ingress holes of the bronze, and in their stead fit some easily
removable stops of moist clay made so that you can take them out
without difficulty, for you have almost immediately to bring glowing
coals into your channel, and with these you cover all the parts that
have been walled up with clay till they are well dried, and the fire
must be renewed several times till they are not only well-dried but
baked.

When all this is accomplished, and your metal meanwhile has got
well fused, carefully blow with the bellows all the ash and cinders
out of the channel, till none remains to hinder the passage of the
metal; then take out all the plugs that close the vent holes, and
the earthen stoppers in the ingress holes, & throw some two or three
tallow candles, under one pound in weight, into the channel. Hereupon
run to the mouth of your furnace and refresh it with a certain
quantity of pewter of rather more than the ordinary alloy, _i.e._,
half a pound per cent. (_i.e._, of bronze)[243] more than what you
have hitherto used. When this has been very rapidly done, heap up
more and more fire of green wood in your furnace, and then with your
iron crook (_mandriano_) for thus the instrument is called, boldly
strike away the plug of the furnace, & let the bronze run; gently at
first, holding a point of the iron crook in the mouth of the plug,
till a certain quantity of the metal has run forth, & its first fury
be spent, for if you did not do this you might run the risk of your
mould being stopped up with wind. Then you can remove the iron crook
from the mouth of the plug and let all the bronze go till the furnace
be emptied. To this end it is necessary to have a man standing at
each of the furnace mouths, who, with the scraping iron[244] which
is used in the craft, drives the bronze towards the outlet, until all
is cleared out. Such of the flowing metal as is still left after your
mould is filled you dam by means of throwing on to it with a shovel
some of the earth you erstwhile dug out of the trench. That is how
you complete your mould.

Not to be omitted are divers and terrible mishaps that occur from
time to time, and often bring to nought all the poor master’s pains.
So ’tis a wise thing to profit in good time by the experience of
others. Ofttimes we figure casters call in the help of ordnance
founders[245] to aid us, but the most terrible misfortunes not
infrequently occur owing to their insufficient experience and want
of care, and all our labour is lost. Just such a thing very nearly
happened to me when I was casting my Perseus, for, calling to aid
some of those fellows, I found them so absolutely devoid of sense
that in their stupidity they all swore my mould was spoilt, and that
there was no means of righting it, and all this thanks to the muddle
they themselves had made with my metal.[246] The statue was more than
five cubits high & its pose was a difficult one, for in its left hand
it held raised aloft the head of Medusa, in the hair of which was
much rich detail of serpents; while the right hand was held behind in
a vigorous action, & the left leg was bent. All this variety of limbs
made the casting most difficult, and for this reason I was ever so
keen to get it good, and also because it would be the first big work
I had produced in Italy, my fatherland, & the veritable school of all
the arts. So I was moved to even greater pains and diligence than
I had before used to complete my figure well. So, therefore, I set
to making a great number of air vents, and ever so many flowing-in
mouths that all diverged from one main one, the which ran down at the
back of the figure from the height of the head down to both heels and
spreading out a bit at the calves. All these little hints are part
of the craft, and in this manner did I practise it when I wrought
in France. As I had to do almost everything with my own hand, owing
to the intense bodily fatigue to which I was subjected a violent
fever seized upon me. I struggled against it for many hours, but
in the end it floored me, and I was brought to bed. As I had those
different masters of ordnance and statuary founders working for me,
I explained to them before I laid me down, exactly the methods I had
begun, and how these were now perfectly easy to understand, as more
than half the figure was already covered, & the greater part of the
difficulties surmounted. All that they had to do was to follow my
instructions in detail, and that appeared easy enough, so, being
utterly incapable of holding out any longer, I flung myself on my
couch.

Meantime the men worked at my furnace which I had so well prepared
and in which the bronze was nearly molten[247] and ready for
completing. Now they had a good six hours’ work still to employ them
in order to fulfil all my instructions in proper sequence, because
they were not quite skilled in the technique of the craft, and
because my methods were different from those they usually employed.
Well, instead of doing what they were told they began larking about,
neglected the furnace so that the metal commenced to curdle, or, as
it is called in the craft, to cake, _migliaccio_ they call it in
their lingo. Nary a one knew a remedy for this blunder, for in a
round furnace like this one the action of the fire upon the metal is
from above, were it from below it would be easy enough to heat the
curdled metal again; so not one of them knew a remedy. Then as I lay
there prostrate on my bed with fever, one of them in whom I had a
little more confidence than the rest, came to me, and speaking very
gently, said: ‘Benvenuto, resign yourself to the worst, the furnace
has been ill prepared,[248] a cake has formed on the metal.’

Then I turned myself toward him and had all the other craftsmen
summoned in whom I put any confidence, and asked them if they knew
any remedy. Whereupon these precious fine fellows said there was no
other remedy but to break up the furnace, & in so doing, as the mould
was buried six cubits in the ground, they could not see (they said)
how the mould could help being spoiled. For even if I tried to dig up
the ground round it, which had been plugged fast, there were so many
ingress holes & vents that it was dead certain to be spoiled. That,
forsooth, was the only remedy they had!

Now, gentle reader, picture to yourself my state,—I in all my ills &
sickness—this new trouble thrust upon me—all my honour at stake—why I
felt the keenest grief that ever man could imagine! But this was no
time to give way to grief. Suddenly, as in a frenzy, my old inborn
daring came upon me; it’s not a thing one can learn, this! it’s in a
man’s nature! Furiously I leapt from my bed & literally frightened
away that grievous fever with the biting words I shouted at those
fellows.

‘Oh you good-for-nothings! who not only know nought, but have brought
to nought all my splendid labours, at least keep your heads on your
shoulders now and obey me; for from my knowledge of the craft I can
bring to life what you have given up for dead, if only the sickness
that is upon me shall not crush out my body’s vigour.’ Thus hounding
them on I ran with them into the workshop, and in one go ordered
six of them to different duties. First I bade one of them fetch me a
load of dry oak that was stacked opposite the house of Capretta, the
butcher; & as soon as this came I began throwing it into the furnace
several pieces at a time. Now, though I’ve said it once before—as
it’s so very important I’m going to tell it you again, & it’s this:
in bronze furnaces the only woods you use are elder, willow, and
pine, for all these are soft woods; in this particular instance,
however, I used oak, because I wanted the greatest possible heat,
and thus the metal began to move at once. To two others I bade with
long iron rods to keep poking into the furnace mouths because it was
storming with wind, and raining cats and dogs, & wind and rain was
blowing into my furnace; by these means I showed them how to stave
off wind & rain. Two others I set to work to quench the fire, because
a part of the workshop had caught alight, and several great wooden
windows were blazing like the devil, so that I was in terror lest
the whole roof should be aflame, so tremendous was the fire. With
the others, and there were plenty of them, I set to work clearing
the channels, through which the metal was to run, and to opening all
the vent holes. Scarce was this done when, all on a sudden, just
as the work was being completed, owing to the terrific heat of the
burning oak, the whole cap of the furnace was blown up into the air,
and the metal began to well over on all sides; they stood in utter
astonishment, all of them,—for they had obeyed me fearsomely—to see
the caked metal thus again liquified. The strength of the fire,
however, had consumed all the tin alloy, so I ordered to be thrown in
a thick pig of fine pewter. When I saw this was of no avail, and that
by God’s grace the metal was already beginning to flow & to spread
itself on the sides of the furnace, I ordered two others to run into
my house and fetch hither all my pewter plates and dishes, 200 lbs.
weight in all, and threw them in bit by bit. Then I made another take
iron crooks and strike out first one & then the second of the plugs,
which were very hard. Then, as the metal began to flow through the
channels, I, little by little, threw the thin pewter plates into it,
which, owing to the immense heat, combined with the other pewter,
so that my mould was soon filled. Seeing all this mass of metal run
in so well without any bubbling or even a single hitch, I concluded
that all my vents were doing their work. The amount of metal left
over just corresponded exactly to the extra quantity thrown in, so
that my mould was completely filled. When this was accomplished I
gave thanks to God, and turning to the lot of them, said: ‘D’ye see
how everything has its remedy?’ Spite of the pain such was my delight
that I felt no more fatigue; the fever just went to the devil, & I
sat down to eat and drink with a light heart, together with all the
lot of them, and everyone marvelled thereat.

Once, too, in France, when serving King Francis, & being anxious
to cast a lunette of over six cubits in diameter, and containing
numbers of figures and animals, and other things, much the same
occurred owing to a like blundering of my assistants. For although
the founders in those parts, especially in & around Lutezia, where
they turn out more of it than in any other place under the sun,
are safer in their technique than any others, still, as they are
deficient in the fundamental principles of the art, they lose
their heads and give all up in despair when anything exceptional
occurs. I anticipated a similar accident to that which I have just
described with my Perseus on another eventful occasion; for, though
the incidents were very different, there happened to be one thing
that differed from customary methods.[249] My people were all in
despair, and even I myself was much troubled at seeing them so, but
with my wonted pluck, and owing to my thorough knowledge of the
art I was here again able to bring a dead horse to life.[250] When
those ancient masters of the art (who were present on that occasion)
saw this they blessed the day and the hour that they made my
acquaintance; though I, who was their pupil, knew well that it really
depended upon what I had learnt from them. They worked according to
tradition,[251] this tradition I mastered; and I will gladly describe
the rule on which it was based, and how this rule stood me in stead.

But let us return somewhat in order to continue the course of our
narration. For though we have digressed a bit we have not diverged
from the method of our subject, and can easily return to it. We
have shown how the mould is made and the casting done, and we have
evidenced this with a statue about three cubits in size; there yet
remains another method, in itself much easier, but not so safe as the
above-mentioned one. The point of this is that instead of making the
core[252] of your figure in clay, you make it of gesso mixed with
burnt bone and pounded brick. Provided the gesso be of good quality
this method is more easy to practise, because instead of applying one
coat after another, as you do in the clay method, you can make the
gesso liquid; that is to say, having combined the ingredients just
stated, one portion of gesso & an equal portion of bone and brick,
you make a sort of paste of it which you pour into the mould over the
solution (_lasagna_) and which soon sets.

After this, having taken off the mould,[253] you bind the core well
round with iron wire, and cover this very carefully with a similar
coat of paste, only rather more liquid. This done, the core is well
baked in the same way as the earthen one was in the previous method,
and the wax poured over it into the mould just as described above.

When the mould is removed the wax is cleaned round and the air vents
arranged also just as before described, then you case the whole over
with a shell of gesso also as before. When this shell is completed to
the thickness of about two-and-a-half fingers, you bind it all round
with the same bands of iron two fingers wide, & then once again cover
it all over with another coat of gesso.

After this the figure is placed in a furnace made entirely of bricks,
& so arranged that when the fire is lighted the wax can be melted out
into a receptacle set in a hole in the ground beneath the furnace,
the wax flowing through the air vents, and these vents arranged in
the manner above stated. When the wax is out you make up a good fire
of wood and charcoal till the outer mould[254] of your figure is well
baked, but you may take note that the gesso does not need near so
strong a fire as the clay. True it is that the gesso in our part of
Tuscany does not lend itself so well to works of this nature as that
of Mantua, Milan and France. Several very able youths who have worked
for his Excellency the Duke of Florence, have been taken in not once
but two or three times, owing to the delusion that ours was the best
way of making gesso. The most excellent Duke, who was ever a lover of
thoroughness, very thoughtfully had patience with them, but our young
men, unacquainted with the difference between the one gesso and the
other, stuck to their own method, & remained unenlightened. From this
you may take note that when a master wants to do a work he should
make trial, not only of his clays and his gessos, but of all the
things he proposes to use. In this way alone will he get credit by
his work, and in no other way. In this connection I may make mention
of the sorts of lime I have seen in Rome, in France, and in other
parts of the world. The lime that keeps longest in the slacked state
is the best & makes the firmest composition, but our Florentine lime
ought to be used immediately after slacking; if this is done it makes
the best lime and the firmest composition in the world, but it loses
its virtue if left standing; with the foreign lime, however, the
reverse obtains.


FOOTNOTES:

[216] _Stagnuolo_, i.e., _tinfoil_.

[217] _Forza._

[218] _E finito magro in circa un dito._

[219] _L’anima_, _or internal block_.

[220] _E da basso in sino alla metà dei talloni._

[221] _Camicia._

[222] _Torce._

[223] _Che viene a essere quella prima camicia._

[224] _Or ‘mother mould’ as the sculptors would call it._

[225] _Succhiellino di tutti quei pezzi che ti tenevano i sotto
squadri._

[226] _Da poi che tu arai vestito tutta la tua camicia._

[227] _Page 113._

[228] _Succhielletto._

[229] _E di poi che tu ti sei resoluto._

[230] _Tonaca._

[231] _Loti._

[232] _Dinanzi alla spina._

[233] _Bocca._

[234] _Anima._

[235] _Spoglia._

[236] _Spine._

[237] _Mazzapicchi._

[238] _Via._

[239] _Bocca principale._

[240] _Bocca della spina_, i.e., _the egress channel_.

[241] _Con tutto ci sia poco differenzia._

[242] _Accomodandoli intorno al tuo canale tanto quanto viene alto._

[243] _E rinfrescala con una certa quantita di stagno di piu della
lega ordinaria, la quale vuole essere circa una mezza libbra per
cento di piu della lega che vi arai messa._ _Professor Roberts-Austen
is of opinion that this implies an additional half-pound of pewter
for every 100 lbs. of bronze you have in the furnace. If it is
not so, should the word ‘pewter’ be translated ‘tin’? that is the
lead-tin alloy should contain half-pound more tin (than is usual) in
every 100 lbs._

[244] _I rastiatoi._ _Brinckman has ‘kratzeisen.’_

[245] _Maestri d’artiglierie._ _See above._

[246] _See the account of this in the ‘Vita,’ p. 420 and onwards._

[247] _Condotto il mio bronzo in bagno._

[248] _Stata a disagio ei s’e fatto un migliaccio._

[249] _Una cosa la quale usciva di quella ordinaria praticaccia._

[250] _Un morto_: _our workshop slang of the ‘dead horse’ would seem
to meet Cellini’s meaning here_.

[251] _Una continova pratica._

[252] _Nocciolo._

[253] _Di poi sciolto il suo cavo._

[254] _Tonaca._




CHAPTER IV. HOW TO CONSTRUCT FURNACES FOR CASTING BRONZE, WHETHER FOR
STATUES, ORDNANCE, OR OTHER SUCH-LIKE THINGS.


Furnaces for casting bronze have to be made by each master according
as the special needs of his piece of work require it. Inasmuch as at
the beginning of my book I promised always to illustrate what I was
describing by work of my own, I will do so with furnaces also. When
working for good King Francis, I had to make a great bronze gate,
for which a special furnace had to be constructed. This I did in
my own castle, given to me in royal letters patent by his Majesty,
whom I served most loyally for four years; and these letters patent
I brought back with me to Florence, if only to show in Italy & my
native land what great treasures may not be acquired, and how good it
is after having been trained in Italy to leave home, and reap such
useful & honourable fruits abroad.

Well, then, having to make a furnace, this was the way I did it. The
hollow within was three Florentine cubits wide, which made it about
nine cubits in circumference, the height of the vault of the furnace
was equal in size and shape to the half circle of the bed.[255] To
this bed, most gentle reader, I want you to give special attention;
I do not intend making a drawing of it, because I have seen so many
architectural drawings altered and spoiled, so I shall content myself
with words only to convey what I mean, and such as I trust may
suffice.[256] In a furnace of this nature, the bed, _i.e._ the place
where the metal is put, must be constructed with a fall, just as I
made the little one in question. The total fall to the bottom of the
bed should be about one-sixth of a cubit, and see that it is shaped
in the manner of the streets you go a-walking in that have in the
middle of them what in Tuscany we call a _rigaguolo_ or gulley; this
gulley runs direct to the mouth of the outlet hole out of which the
metal is to flow. The shoulders[257] of the gulley should slope up
ever so gently, till they come to within about one-third of a cubit
at the two gates[258] where you put the bronze. This third you can
increase or not by one-sixteenth of a cubit according to whether you
wish to increase or decrease the depth of your furnace. The third
door, about which you need not be so particular, is the one through
which the fire enters, &, as it is not brought into direct connection
with the bronze, it need only be blocked with a little mound of
earth about three fingers high. The bed of your furnace should be of
bricks, specially constructed, they should be small, but bigger at
one end than the other, & measuring one-sixth of a cubit in either
direction; by far the best are those used for glass furnaces, which
are made much in the same way as other bricks. Some have shaped
their bricks with a cutting instrument[259] as they went along, but
I find, after having tried one way & another, that the best results
can be obtained by having them all the same size. Care should be
taken to make the bricks of a clay that does not yield in the fire;
in my native city of Florence we use a kind of white clay, said to
come from Monte Carlo, and all our glass furnaces were constructed
with it. In France I found another and ever so much better way. The
bricks are one-fourth of a cubit long, & the same width as the above,
they call them _ciment_, and they make them out of crucibles used in
founderies, of which there are no end in those parts. But your master
has got to accommodate himself to the conditions of workmanship in
every place he works in. When your bricks are thus made, they must
when quite dry, be carefully worked over with iron tools, somewhat in
the nature of axes or large chisels made specially for the purpose,
so as to make them cohere as well as possible. After this they are
gradually cemented with quarry stones[260] to the thickness of
about half a cubit, so that you get an absolutely firm floor for
your furnace. These quarry stones should be at least one-third of a
cubit in size, and ever so firmly united. The first or lower part
of a furnace of this description should be, in diameter two-thirds
of a cubit larger than the upper portion. Both must be walled with
ordinary lime, provided it be good, and after the lower, you proceed
to wall the upper, the portion in which the bronze has to be placed.

Having fashioned your bricks out of the fire-resisting earth just
referred to, you take some of this earth, and make a paste of it as
you would of lime, minding however, that it is well sifted and clean,
and with it wall the whole base of your furnace. I insist again upon
the need of your working over the bricks with your chisels carefully,
& smoothing them well, so that they fit together absolutely, and in
thus fitting them, you must make the jointings as thin as possible.
Sometimes it happens, owing to some little negligence on the
master’s part, if he mix the liquid earth too coarsely, that the
tiniest little cracks form in the drying. These cracks, however small
they be, are mighty dangerous, & may cause incalculable mischief;
for, when the bronze grows liquid, such is its terrific force, that
it penetrates into them, be they never so small, and I myself have
seen the whole thing burst up owing to this.[261] But when due care
is observed, & the walling made with the finest possible liquid
earth, there is no need for cracks, your bronze may be safely melted,
and all your work come scatheless from the furnace.

After the bed you build up the vault with similar bricks in the same
way, in doing which you must remember, as I said before, to make your
two openings for putting in the bronze; two-thirds of a cubit wide
and three-quarters of a cubit high will suffice them, and they must
be semi-circular atop. There must also be a third opening two-thirds
of a cubit wide and one cubit high for the fire to enter in at, so
that the flame, as is its wont, may curl powerfully to the top of the
vault, and thence curl down again,[262] and with great heat play upon
the metal, & melt it rapidly. Four air vents have to be distributed
round the spring of the top of the furnace vault.[263]

In one of the vault bricks, at the lower end of the channel, a mouth
must be made much like the air vents, & big enough for you to put
in two fingers quite comfortably. The air vent too must be the same
size. This mouth, out of which the bronze is to flow, must be made
from one brick; & mind that it is a good sound one. The said brick,
too, must, moreover, be built into its place just as the others were,
and helping with them to gradually lock in the vault at the top. So
that you don’t think me inaccurate, I would have you know that this
mouth is called _bocca della spina_, the mouth of the plug; it must
be half a finger wider inside than out, and before you pour out the
metal you keep it stopped with an iron stopper luted with a little
ash made into a kind of paste. Then you take a quarry stone about
half a cubit square & make a hole through the middle of it. This hole
is to be exactly the size of the mouth just made in the brick, that
is to say on the side adjoining the brick, but on the other side,
the side away from the furnace, it is to be six times as big, and it
should be cleaned off[264] outside. Then you join it to the brickwork
wall of the furnace with the earth, & in the manner mentioned above;
but because the base and sides of the furnace have also to be
considered, as I said before, you cement these with good ordinary
lime. Similarly all the quarry stones must be the same size as the
first piece, and be attached to the walling in the same manner, &
they must be carried up to the height of the vault, but straight; so
that in the event of any accident happening to the vault, for to that
the craft is often liable, it may be mended or put in order. When
you have walled your furnace round in this way you must be careful
to join at the shoulders[265] of the principal orifice, by which
the flame enters,[266] a hearth two-thirds of a cubit square & two
cubits deep, measured from the bottom of this hole of the hearth.
In this cavity you put six or seven iron bars, these are about two
fingers thick, & of such length as to project beyond the sides of
the hole about four fingers each way, and they rest upon pins set at
intervals of about three fingers apart. This hearth made over the
fire bars is constructed in just the same way, & with just the same
bricks, and cemented with just the same mortar as was the furnace;
it must stand from the ground to about the middle of the hole where
the fire enters the fire bridge, and the part above this point must
be narrowed to one-eighth of a cubit. Straight through this hole the
wood is put. Under the grating a trench must be dug, & five or six
cubits long, in the direction in which the draught is to pass through
the grating into the hearth. Care must be taken that the draught
only blows in one way, and that long-ways. We craftsmen call this
trench _bracciaiuola_, the ash-pit, because all the ashes fall into
it. How long the fire is to be kept up must be a matter of judgment;
sometimes the master may have, owing to work he has to do on his
mould, to keep it up for quite four or six hours. When the wood logs
are burnt through, they fall into a great pile below the grating. And
sometimes they heap up in such a way as to obstruct the force of the
draught through the hearth, that it cannot do its work; heed must be
taken then, that when the pile begins to grow big, the ashes must be
raked asunder from time to time. To do this, you must have what we
call a _rastrello_ or rake, which you make as follows. You take a
piece of iron half a cubit long and one-eighth of a cubit thick; on
to the middle of this piece and at the upper and thicker side of it
you weld an iron rod two fingers thick and two cubits long, at the
other end of this is fashioned a ferule,[267] into which is fitted a
wooden handle at least four cubits long.

Take heed, too, that when your whole furnace is duly made as above
directed, you gird it round with two stout iron bands, the one round
near the base, the other about one-third of a cubit higher up; the
thicker and stouter these hoops are, the better, for I know by the
experience of the casting of my Perseus how terrific the might of
the fire is. The opening of the hearth through which the wood is put
must be kept closed. The covering must be made in the form of an iron
spade, of such a size as shall well cover the opening, and to this
spade a handle of such convenient length that when, now and again,
you have to manipulate it for putting on fresh wood or otherwise, you
don’t burn yourself. It stands to reason that before all these things
are accomplished, the metal has already been put in the furnace, &
it must be stacked up in such a manner as to admit of flames playing
easily through it, for this will make the working of your furnace
much more effective.

Know, too, gentle reader, what up to now I have forgotten to tell
you, that when with due care your furnace is made, you must, before
putting the metal into it, heat it well through for a space of
twenty-four hours; for if you do not do this, you will not get the
metal to melt, nay rather will it stiffen,[268] and certain fumes
will result from the damp earth that will so impede your work that
it may be eight days before your metal begins to flow. That is what
happened to me in Paris. I had made a little furnace and had put my
trust in a very excellent old fellow, quite the best of his craft and
about eighty years of age; but he hadn’t dried the furnace properly,
and, sure enough, just as it was on the point of melting, & the fire
at its fiercest, out came these earth fumes. When the old worthy
saw that for all his heeding the metal was stiffening, he got into
such a stew, the poor old chap, that what with his mighty exertions
to overcome the difficulty, he fell flat down, and I took him for
certain dead. Howbeit I had a great beaker of the choicest wine
brought him, & since there was no such great risk in leaving the work
as there was in the case of my Perseus; since, too, I served that
most admirable of kings, and thus had not to bother so much about
the peddling trivialities of making it pay, for however big it was
it never mattered with him—I mixed a large bumper of wine for the
old man, who was groaning away like anything, and I bade him most
winning-wise to drink, & I stretched out my hand to him and said:
‘Drink, my father, for in yonder furnace has entered in a devil,
who is making all the mischief, and, look you, we’ll just let him
bide there a couple of days, till he gets jolly well bored, and then
will we, you and I together, in the space of a three hours’ firing
make this metal run like so much butter, & without any exertion
at all.’ The old fellow drank, & then I brought him some little
dainties to eat, meat pasties they were, nicely peppered, and I made
him take down four full goblets of wine. He was a man quite out of
the ordinary, this, and a most lovable old thing, and what with my
caresses and the virtue of the wine, I found him soon moaning away as
much with joy as he had moaned before with grief. When the appointed
day came the fumes had duly evaporated, the furnace was quite ready
and well heated, & in two hours we cast 1500 lbs. of metal, with
which I finished certain portions that were left of my lunette of
Fontainebleau. And that is why I insist upon your well heating the
furnace, and also upon making two little quarry stone doors[269] at
the furnace openings, and you make in each of them two holes one and
a half fingers wide respectively, and four fingers apart from each
other, and these holes serve for the insertion of an iron fork made
specially to fit into them, with which now and again, as need occurs,
you may open & shut the doors.

Remember, too, that each time new metal is to be put into the furnace
it must be first put up against the doors[270] till it becomes red
hot, for if you put it in too soon with the other metal already in,
you run the risk of cooling the latter, & so caking it,[271] much as
before referred to. Hence the very greatest care must be taken on
that point.

In Paris have I seen craftsmen cast the most wonderful things
imaginable, and also make equally wonderful blunders. And this is
due to the fact that technical skill[272] serves you up to a certain
point, but in some accident, for instance, you need the deeper
knowledge of the principles of the art that leaves technical skill on
one side, as I have evidenced to you above.

Indeed I may add that I have seen 100,000 lbs. of metal cast at one
time with so much ease that I marvelled at it, so great was the
technical skill with which it was done; at another time I saw a
little error made that might easily have been remedied. I stood &
watched whether they knew how to put it right, and I saw them throw
it up, work and all, and so lose hundreds of scudi. Willingly would
I have shown them what the remedy was, but their presumption was so
huge that had they not known how to put my remedy into practice, they
would have been quite capable of saying that I myself was the cause
of all the ruin. So I stood mum and grew wise at their cost.

Gentle reader, let that suffice about furnaces and bronze casting,
and let us now turn to other branches of the art.

       *       *       *       *       *

[_It is interesting to note that Biringoccio, a professed
metallurgist, and a contemporary of Cellini, describing the
reverberatory furnace_ (reverbero) _in his celebrated metallurgical
treatise ‘della Pirotechnica,’ 1540 (see above, p. 106), the
first accurate treatise of its kind, gives fewer details than
Cellini; he gives, however, diagrams which are very precious.
Cellini’s decision not to give diagrams is much to be regretted.
Biringoccio has, however, the following among other drawings of
reverberatories. It serves to show what Cellini’s furnaces would have
been in sectional plan. The letters are mine. It will be observed
that no chimney is shown._]

[Illustration: Biringoccio’s Furnace from the ‘Pirotechnica’
  A. FIRE BARS WITH ASH PIT UNDER.
  B. FURNACE BED.
  C. FIRE DOOR.
  D. FIRE BRIDGE.]


FOOTNOTES:

[255] _L’altezza della volta di detta fornace si era il mezzo tondo
della pianta della sua rotondita._

[256] _See note, p. 133._

[257] _Spalle._

[258] _Porte._

[259] _Literally, a knife._

[260] _Pietre morte._

[261] _Levato il fondo in capo_: _perhaps better rendered as the base
blown up to the top_.

[262] _In modern language, reverberate._

[263] _Dove la muove._

[264] _Pulitamente sbavato_: _perhaps, well rounded off_.

[265] _Spalle._

[266] _That is what would now be called the fire bridge._

[267] _Gorbia._

[268] _Agghiada._

[269] _Sportelletti._

[270] _In su li sportelletti._

[271] _Fare un migliaccio._

[272] _La pratica._




CHAPTER V. HOW TO CARVE STATUES OR INTAGLIOS, OR OTHER WORKS, SUCH AS
DIVERS BEASTS, IN MARBLE OR OTHER STONES.


There are many kinds of white marble, & since those of Greece are the
most desired,[273] and the loveliest, let us consider them first.
And well may I speak, for I spent some twenty years in the wondrous
city of Rome, and while there, though I gave my attention to the
craft of the goldsmith, I always had a desire to do some great works
in marble; & I worked along of some of the first sculptors that
lived in those days; and among them that I knew best was our great
Michaelangelo Buonaroti, the Florentine, the man that wrought better
in marble than any other ever known. Of the reason of this I shall
duly speak to you in its place.

Let us tell, then, in the same way as we did before in other matters,
of the qualities of marbles. I have seen five or more different sorts
of marble. The first of these has a very coarse grain,[274] and in
the grain appear certain bright points running close along side of
each other. This marble is the most difficult of all to work, because
it is the hardest; it is particularly difficult to fashion the more
delicate forms in it without the chisel damaging or cracking them;
if you do manage, though after much effort, to bring them off in
this stone, they look lovely. I have found that the grain gradually
softens through the five different sorts above-mentioned, & the
softest of all I have found verging in colour to a delicate flesh
tint rather than a white. This sort is the most cohesive, the most
beautiful and the tenderest marble in the world to work in.


FOOTNOTES:

[273] _Piu orientali._

[274] _Grana grossissima._


[Illustration: The Crucifix in the Escurial]




CHAPTER VI. OF CARRARA MARBLES.


These marbles are again of several different sorts. Some are
coarse-grained with plenty of stains,[275] and spotted with black;
these are very difficult to work in because the particular kind of
stains they have in them eats into the workman’s chisels. ’Tis bad
luck to him if he happens on one of such stained blocks; for many
times they deceive you with a lovely surface outside, while within
are all these blots. At Carrara and in the mountains round are many
different quarries, and here our great Michaelangelo came himself and
spent much time and labour in choosing the quarry from which came all
the great statues of his hand in the sacristy of St. Lorenzo, that he
made for Pope Clement. Let us discuss this marble a bit.

Just as I kept my promise in dealing with the other branches of the
art, of illustrating from my own notable works, so will I do likewise
with this most noble art of sculpture. Indeed I have always held it
to be most wondrous and beautiful, and, what is more, a good deal
easier than any of the others; and so I decided to set my hand to
a piece of work such as no man before had ever done. The work in
question was the Crucified in marble. I fashioned Him in life size,
of noble proportions, & set him upon a cross of black marble; this
likewise was of Carrara, & is a very difficult marble to work by
reason of its being so hard and brittle.

I destined this work for a tomb for myself; and I comforted myself
with the reflection that even if the work didn’t quite succeed, at
least the intention was good; but so great was the determination that
I put into the work, that what with all my previous careful studies,
I overcame all the difficulties, and satisfied everybody. So, though
of course[276] I have done lots of other works of this kind, I may
content myself with instancing this one alone in illustration of
marble.

To succeed with a figure in marble the art requires a good craftsman
first to set up a little model about two palms high, and in this
model he carefully thinks out the pose, making his figure draped or
nude as the case may be. After this he makes a second model of the
size his marble is to be; & if he wants it to be particularly good
he must finish the large model much more carefully than the small
one. If, however, he be pressed for time, or if it be the will of his
patron who needs the work in a hurry, it will suffice if he complete
his big model in the manner of a good sketch, for this may be quickly
done, whereas the working out in marble takes a long time. True it is
that many strong men have gone straight for the marble with all the
fury of the chisel, preferring to work merely from a small and well
designed model, but, notwithstanding, they have been less satisfied
with their final piece than they would have been in working from a
full size model. This was noticeable in the case of our Donatello,
who was a very great man, and even with the wondrous Michaelangelo,
who worked in both ways. But it is perfectly well known that when
his fine genius felt the insufficiency of small models, he set to
work with the greatest humbleness to make models of the size of his
marble; and this have we seen with our own eyes in the Sacristy of
St. Lorenzo. When you are satisfied with your model you draw the
principal views of your statue on to the stone, and mind it be well
drawn, for if not you may miscut your block. The best method I ever
saw was the one that Michaelangelo used; when you have drawn on your
principal view you begin to chisel it round as if you wanted to work
a half relief, and thus gradually it comes to be cut out. The best
chisels for doing this are those that have got, I might say, very
fine points, but the handles of which are at least as small as the
little finger. With this chisel, _subbia_, you approach to within at
least half a finger of what is called the _penultima pelle_, the last
skin but one; then you take a chisel, _scarpello_, with a notch in
the middle of it,[277] and carry on the work further till it be ready
for the file, _lima_, & this file again is called the _lima raspa_,
or roughing file, or occasionally _scuffina_. There are ever so many
sorts of this tool; there is the blade-shaped file, the semi-circular
file, and others of varying sizes, five or six of them, from such as
are two fingers thick to such as are the thickness of a very slender
penholder. Stone borers, _trapani_, too, may be employed wherever
you have to undercut any difficult piece of drapery, or any pose of
the figure that stands free. These borers are of two kinds, one that
you turn by means of a thong and a handle with a hole through it;
with this you can do all the more delicate and minute interstices in
hair or drapery; the other is larger and called the _trapano apetto_,
which you use in those parts for which the first is inapplicable.

When the chisels, whether _subbie_ or _scarpelli_, the files, and the
borers have all done their work to the due completing of your figure,
you proceed to polish the surface with a fine white, close-grained
pumice stone. I must not omit to say for the guidance of those who
are unskilled in working marble, that they may strike boldly in with
their _subbie_; for the more delicate _subbia_, provided it be not
inserted straight into the stone, does not crack the marble, but just
chips off as lightly as possible whatever may be necessary; while
with the _scarpello a tacca_ the rough edges may then be brought to
an even plane, & you go over the work with it just as if you were
making a drawing for the surface. And this truly is the right method,
and the one which the great Michaelangelo employed. Some have tried
other ways, and thinking to have their work done quicker have sought
to get their figure out by taking a bit off first in one place and
then in another, but it took them all the longer in the end, and
wasn’t near so good; and indeed they mightily mistook, for oftentimes
they had to piece up their figures, and yet with all their patching
and piecing they could not remedy the mistakes which a want of
discipline[278] and patience at the outset had led them into.

Gladly would I go on to describe the various kinds of _subbie_,
_scarpelli_, and _trapani_, and likewise the mallets, all of which
are of iron tempered, or of the very finest steel; but as everybody
in Italy, nowadays, knows all about these things it really isn’t
necessary. Had I been writing in France I should have described
another sort of stone which is very soft to work in, & also white,
but not the brilliant white of marble, rather a dull white. This
stone, after it is first quarried, is so soft and easy to work, that
some masters, especially those of Paris, and I too, while there,
wrought it with wooden chisels, only we notched them in various ways
in order the easier to cut the work out according to the sketch.
After this it was finished with delicate and close chisels, pointed
tools[279] and _scarpelli_ of all sorts. This stone, in course of
time, hardened almost like marble, especially its external surface,
but I never saw any that came up to marble when it was cleaned.

The ancients, you know, had so great a joy in things of this kind
that they paid their sculptors with fine liberality, and so they
came to investigate the most difficult things; amongst others they
wrought in a sort of green stone, often nowadays called Greek stone,
of the hardness of agate or chalcedony. Now though I have seen fair
sized figures in this stone, I have never been able to imagine how it
was worked, for, though it admits of being smoothed with lead[280]
and emery for the purpose of pavements and such things, I can only
conceive that for carving figures out of it the ancient masters must
have had some secret of tempering their steel, and so were enabled to
overcome the stone’s tremendous hardness.

There are yet other kinds of stone of which I have in Rome seen
statues, both many and great, serpentine and porphyry, but more
of porphyry, for the stone is somewhat softer. Up to our own day
there was no one who worked in this stone, till one of our Fiesolé
carvers took it up, his name was Francesco del Tadda. This man with a
fine cunning found out the way of working in porphyry. His patience
was great, & he used little hammers, _martelleti_, sharpened like
chisels, _subbie_, and other _scarpelletti_, which he tempered by a
special process of his own.[281] Francesco made Porphyry busts just
as fine as the ancients. Had he been equally strong in designing he
might have done over life size work too, but let it suffice that he
has the credit of being the first among moderns to practise this
art. Would that his example might inspire all who have great work at
heart, princely patrons as well as artists!

We have yet another kind of stone which is called granite. It is
somewhat softer than porphyry and there are two kinds, the one is red
and comes from the East, the other is white or black & comes from
the quarries at Elba; it is very hard to work. The column of Santa
Trinita that came to Florence from Rome is of this sort. Moreover it
is durable and beautiful, but no statues have been made from this
stone in our time.

There are still some other stones that must not be passed over,
stones that we get from near Florence, Fiesolé, Settignano and other
places. Of these, there is one of a blue colour, very delicate, & as
charming to work in as to look at, the country folk call it _pietra
serena_. Great columns are made of it, because it is found in large
masses in the quarry, statues are made of it too; but it is no good
for open-air use, for though it is beautiful it has no durability.
Another sort & a veritable quarry stone[282] is the tan-coloured. It
is soft to work in, statues are made of it, and it is so durable that
it will resist all effects of wind and weather. Yet another sort, and
this likewise a tan-coloured variety, is called the _pietra forte_,
the ‘strong stone,’ & strong it is indeed, for it is desperately hard
to work in, statues, weapons, masks, & many other things are made of
it. You cannot, however, quarry it in very great pieces as you can
the Fiesolé or Settignano varieties. I have mentioned these three
sorts of stone because statues may be made in them. There are many
others in and around Florence, beautifully marked stones, some hard,
some soft, but as they are not used for figure work, I shall have no
more to say about them.


FOOTNOTES:

[275] _Smerigli._

[276] _See ‘Vita,’ p. 475, etc., and note. This crucifix is in the
Church of S. Lorenzo, in the Escurial. I give an illustration of it
opposite._

[277] _Con una tacca in mezzo._

[278] _Ubbidienzia._

[279] _Gorbie._

[280] _Il piombe._

[281] _Altri scarpelletti pur fatti con sue tempere._

[282] _Pietra morta._




CHAPTER VII. A DISQUISITION ON COLOSSAL STATUES, WHETHER MODERATELY
OR VERY GREAT.


Most gracious of readers, forasmuch as I have always promised to
illustrate my words with instances from my own created works, I
would like now to tell you of another branch of the subject, and one
that is both the most difficult and the most admirable of any so far
described; allow me then to make the following digression, so that
those who read may have means of pondering it well. I mean colossi;
not necessarily the very great ones, because whenever a statue is
three times bigger than life size it may be termed a colossus. I
have seen plenty of such, both ancient and modern. But of the very
great ones I have only seen one, and that was in Rome; it was in many
pieces, & I saw the head, feet, part of the legs and other fragments
of its great limbs. Upon measuring the head, which was standing
upright and without the neck, I found as I stood alongside it that
it came up to my nipples, so that it would measure more than two & a
half Florentine cubits, the complete statue therefore must have been
about twenty cubits high.

When I served the great King Francis,—it must have been about the
year 1540,—knowing his consummate taste and his delight in everything
rare and masterful, knowing, too, that such an object had never yet
been fashioned by any living artist, I made among the other works
before-mentioned a model for a fountain at Fontainebleau, or as one
might translate it ‘_Fontana Belio_,’ ‘the fountain of fine waters.’
This model was square in form, and in the middle of the square was
a square base rising four cubits above the water. It was richly
ornamented with many pleasing designs, and devices appropriate to the
King and to the fountain. Upon the base was a figure representing
the God Mars, and at the four corners were figures having reference
all of them to his Majesty. When I showed it to the King it was
to a smaller scale, but in its full size the central figure would
have been forty cubits high, the side figures being proportionately
smaller. When the King saw the model he examined it a long while
with the greatest satisfaction, and then asked me of the central
figure. It was a God of War, I said, and hence most appropriate to
his Majesty. Then he asked me of the other figures. They represented,
I said, the four virtues in which he especially delighted. Just
as the central figure betokened the glory of arms, so did this
one at the corner represent the glory of letters; this one again
sculpture, painting, and architecture; the next music and every
sort of musical harmony; while the last personified liberality, the
cause, mainspring & foster-mother of all the other virtues, and one
that was most abundant in his Majesty. His Majesty promptly gave
me the commission to proceed with the work, which I did, inspired
by his delightful encouragement and with abundance of all sorts of
things placed at my service. After the careful completion of my
little model, as it did not seem to me possible to retain all the
proper proportions if I worked direct from it into the full size, I
determined to make another model three times the size of the small
one,—about the stature of a well-formed man therefore. This model I
made in gesso, so that it should the better resist the much handling
that is inevitable from frequent measuring. After setting up the
iron skeleton I covered it with gesso, and finished it beautifully,
putting more care and detail into it than the little one.

I would take this opportunity, gentle reader, of bidding you bear
in mind that all the really great masters have followed life, but
the point is that you must have a fine judgment to know how the best
of life is to be put into your work, you must always be on the look
out for beautiful human beings, and from among them choose the most
beautiful, & not only so, you must from among even these choose the
most beautiful parts, and so shall your whole composition become
an abstraction of what is beautiful. So alone may work be created,
that shall be evident at once as the labour of men both exquisite
in judgment and humble in study. Such men are rare! Now such zeal
had I, and so many conveniences were placed at my service by that
most liberal King Francis, that I brought this three-sized model of
mine to completion; not only was I satisfied with it myself, but it
pleased everybody who knew what good work was. Truly great Art is
infinite, & the more study you put into your work the easier it is
for you to see its blemishes than others, but for all that it is
sometimes good to cry ‘hold, enough!’ even to one’s own work, so
meseemed here I ought to content me, and therefore I arranged for
setting my work up in due order from the scale model to the final
forty cubits. This was how I went about it.




CHAPTER VIII. THE MYSTERY OF MAKING GREAT COLOSSI.


To begin with, then, I divided the model, which was to be translated
from three cubits to forty, into forty small parts, each of these
parts again I divided into twenty-four parts. But as I knew that
this method alone would not suffice to arrive at the requisite
size, I devised another method, a method entirely my own, never
invented by anyone before, & the outcome of my own great researches.
As I am always generously inclined, I will impart it to such as
have good work at heart. It is this: I took four square pieces of
wood measuring respectively three fingers each way, they were very
straight, and planed nice and smooth, and they were exactly the
height of my figure. These I fixed into the ground, plumbing them
absolutely straight, and at such distance from the figure as to admit
of a man entering in between; they were then match-boarded[283]
all round, the boards being likewise perfectly straight, & a small
opening at the back to enter by. Up against this match-boarding I
began making my measurements, & then I drew out on the floor of a
long room a profile[284] of the whole statue, forty cubits in size.
Finding this plan work out with delightful accuracy, I proceeded
next to make a skeleton three cubits high, similar to that of the
model. This skeleton was all joined together with pieces of wood,
fastened respectively to a very straight rod, the latter served for
the left leg, upon which my figure rested. I took the measurements
of the body of the figure off the case, making allowance in doing
so for the thickness of the flesh and bone work it had subsequently
to be clothed with. Thereupon I erected a great mast forty cubits
high in the centre of the court of my castle, and round it I set up
four other masts just as I had done it with the model, and these
also I cased round with match-boarding just as I had done the small
model. Then I joined together the life size skeleton, taking the
measurements exactly from the small skeleton, for every little piece
a large piece, and so marking off every measurement of every part of
my figure proportionately from one case on to the other.

Had I scaled the work off in the usual way I should have had no end
of difficulties, but this method of mine with the cases avoided all
that, and I got as fine a proportion in my life size as in my small
figures. Now as my figure was posed upon the left foot, and had the
right foot resting on a helmet, I so arranged the skeleton as to
make it possible to get inside the helmet & climb easily through
the foot right up into the head. The skeleton completed, I clothed
it in flesh, that is to say in gesso, and laid it on rapidly in the
same manner. When I had got the work completed to the last skin
but one, I had the front of the casing opened, and stepped back
to view it some forty cubits, which was as much as there was room
for in my court-yard. Everybody was delighted with the result, not
only connoisseurs, many of whom came to see, but, what was much
more important, I myself, who had given so much labour towards its
fulfilment. What pleased me most, however, was the fact that there
was not the slightest discrepancy between the small and the large
model. By this method of mine I set working a number of labourers &
people unskilled in the profession, it wasn’t in the least necessary
for them to know what they were doing. Indeed so masterly is my
invention that nothing but patience and diligence are needed, for the
rest you may be a perfect ignoramus in the art, and not even the hand
of a Michaelangelo help you. In a colossus of this kind the masses of
muscle, &c., are so huge that it is impossible to take them in from
the ordinary point of vision, which one may put at twice the length
of a man; & if you approach the figure at arm’s length in order to
work it you see nothing; if, on the other hand, you go a long way off
you do see a little more, but still not enough to remedy the great
errors that must arise. You see, therefore, that without this method
of mine it is impossible to carry out a large colossus with fine
proportions. Truly, many a statue of ten cubits high has been spoilt
by some blunder or other; and I really think that not even statues of
six cubits high can be properly made without this method of mine. Of
course it is quite conceivable that just as I have discovered this
method so some greater genius than I may discover a better one still;
but then it’s always easy to improve a patent!

When the King came to Paris, he lay, as was his wont, at his castle,
the Logro (the Louvre); it was opposite my castle of Little Nello,
for there was only the Seine in between. I crossed the river and
waited upon his Majesty. He was quite charming to me, and asked me
if I had anything lovely to show him. I replied that as for the
loveliness I wasn’t so sure, but I had done some work with great
study and with all the devotion that so noble an art demanded, and
that if it was good it was due to him who allowed me to want for
nothing, such freehandedness being the only way of getting the best
work done. To this the King yeasaid me, and the day following he came
to my house. After I had shown him a variety of different work I made
him enter the court-yard, placing him at the point whence my great
statue told to the best advantage. He obeyed me with the greatest
condescension and the most perfect breeding;[285] and, indeed,
never have I met any prince who had such a wonderful way with him.
Now while I was conversing with his Majesty I ordered Ascanio, my
pupil, to let the curtain down. Instantly the King raised his hands
& spoke in my praise the most complimentary words that human tongue
ever uttered. After which, turning to Monsignor d’Aniballe,[286] ‘I
command you,’ he said, most emphatically, ‘to give the first good
fat Abbey that falls vacant to our Benvenuto, for I do not want my
kingdom to be deprived of his like.’ At this I bowed deeply and
thanked the King, while he, well satisfied, went back to his castle.

Now knew I what pleasure my labour caused this great King,
encouragement brought encouragement, and I set to yet greater labours
still. I took 30 lbs. of silver of my own money & gave it to two
of my workmen, with the designs and the models to make two large
vases of. As it was a time of great wars I had asked no money of
the King, and also left untouched six months of my salary. Setting
to work lustily at my own vases, I finished them in a month’s time,
and set out with them to find the King who was in a city by the sea
called Argentana. When I gave him the vases he was most engaging, &
said: ‘Be of good heart, my Benvenuto, for I am one that both can
& will reward your labours better than anyone else in the world.’
To which I replied that from earliest recollections my mightiest
labours had been the discovery & application of my method relating
to the founding of great colossi; that now, thanks to God, my model
had come up to my expectations, that the casting had now to be
considered, and that this would have to be done in over one hundred
separate pieces, fitted together with swallow-tail joints. Nor
would it be very difficult for us to do, as I had already devised a
skeleton of iron upon which to attach the various portions of the
colossus as I cast them, commencing at the feet and piece by piece
fitting them together up to the head. The only difficulty would be
the putting together of the iron skeleton; but this, too, I would
take credit for surmounting, observing the same process as I had
carried out previously in the wooden one. It would be necessary,
then, for me to fix the first rods of the skeleton straightway into
their final position, that is to say, at his Majesty’s residence
at Fontainebleau, where I should have to be provided with a room
sufficiently large for the purpose. To this the King replied that,
if there were no other rooms suitable to my purpose, he would give
up to me his own private apartment, so great was his desire to see a
work of this kind finished. I might take courage, then, and be of a
light heart, and, he added, I might return to Paris to this end. The
two big vases were standing on the table before his Majesty, & as
he was fingering and praising them, I preferred the request to him
that, as the time was opportune, it being the time of war, he would
grant me permission to return for four months to Italy, to revisit
my fatherland, my relatives & friends. At these words of mine his
Majesty grew very sour of aspect, and turned to me, saying, ‘I wish
you to gild these two vases from top to bottom with dull gilding!’
This remark he repeated twice, and then rose quickly from the table
and said nothing further. By ‘dull’ I fancied he meant two things:
firstly, that I was a ‘dull fool’ to ask such a liberty; & secondly,
that the gold on the vases was to be left unburnished. When his
Majesty had withdrawn I begged the Cardinal of Ferrara, to whom was
entrusted the duty of looking after me, to procure the leave for me.
The Cardinal bade me go back to Paris, and that he would let me know
what I should do. In the space of a fortnight he sent word by one of
his servants that I could go, but that I should return as soon as
possible. I praised God and set out.

Of the property in my castle I took absolutely nothing with me,
neither the stuffs nor the house furniture, the silver nor the
gold, nor the embossed vases, nor any of the other works made
independently of the agreements entered into with the King, works
all of them carried out by my workmen and paid for by me. The great
works enumerated in this book, and made for the King, his Majesty had
himself valued at over 16,000 scudi. I not unnaturally thought that,
as I had not only taken nothing, but was likewise a creditor for so
large a treasure, I should come back quick enough.

So I came to Italy and reached Florence my native city, & went to
Poggio in Caiano, and shook hands with the grand Duke Cosimo, and
he received me very charmingly. Two days after, the grand Duke
gave me an order to make a small model for a Perseus, which was
most gratifying to me, & two months sufficed to do it in. When his
Excellency saw it he was beyond measure pleased, & he said to me in
the presence of a number of gentlemen: ‘Had you the courage to carry
out the work as finely in a great piece as here in your little model,
it would be the grandest work on the Piazza.’ To these gratifying
words I replied: ‘My lord, in the Piazza are works by Donatello and
the great Michaelangelo, both of them men that in the glory of their
works have beaten the ancients; as for me I _have_ the courage to
execute this work to the size of five cubits, and in so doing make
it ever so much better than the model.’ At this there was no end of
argumentation.

Now, as the war was still raging hotly in France, I thought I should
have plenty of time to cast one at least of the two figures.[287]
But when they heard in France that I was working in Florence for the
grand Duke Cosimo, his Majesty took it very ill indeed, and he said
on several occasions: ‘Didn’t I tell Benvenuto that he was a dull
fool?’ Upon which the Cardinal of Ferrara did me a bad turn and made
matters worse, so that in the end the King said he would never call
me back again. All this was notified to me in writing on behalf of
the King. To this I replied that what alone troubled me was leaving
so great a work unfinished, but that I should never think of going
anywhere where I wasn’t called. And so it came about that what with
the encouragement of his Excellency I set to work to get my Perseus
through. After some time, it must have been several months, the King
relented, and, discussing the matter with the Cardinal of Ferrara,
said to him that it had been a great mistake ever to have let me
go. The Cardinal replied that it needed but a wink to fetch me back
again. To this the King said that it was the Cardinal’s duty to have
prevented it; & instantly turning to one of his treasurers, by name
Giuliano Buonaccorsi, one of our Florentines, said to him: ‘Send
Benvenuto 6,000 scudi, & tell him to come back and finish his great
colossus, and I’ll make it up with him.’ The treasurer wrote to me
all about his Majesty’s making it up, but he didn’t send any coin,
saying, however, that upon hearing my reply he would at once give the
order for the money. To this I, on my part, replied that I was quite
ready & would make it up too. In the midst of these negotiations to
and fro, the good King departed this life; thus was I deprived of
the glory of my great work, the reward of all my labours, and of
everything that I had left behind me. So I set to work to finish my
Perseus.


END OF THE TREATISE ON SCULPTURE.


FOOTNOTES:

[283] _Soppannata._

[284] _Proffilo._

[285] _Virtù._ _See also Brinckmans rendering_: ‘_Als grösserer
Liebhaber der schönen Künste._’

[286] _Claude d’Annebault, Marechal de France._

[287] _The Perseus and the Medusa._




          THE GLOSSARY HERE FOLLOWING DOES
          NOT PROFESS IN ANY SENSE TO BE
          COMPLETE, NOR ARE THE WORDS IN IT
          TO BE REGARDED AS BEARING ONLY
          THE SIGNIFICATION GIVEN IN EACH
          CASE: THE ATTEMPT, HOWEVER, IS TO
          RENDER CELLINI’S MEANING IN THE
          TREATISES AND AUTOBIOGRAPHY, AS I
          HAVE UNDERSTOOD IT.




A GLOSSARY OF ITALIAN TECHNICAL TERMS FOR THE USE OF STUDENTS.


_The references, where given, are to the paging respectively of the
Trattati (Tra.) and the Vita (V.); the former to the Italian of
Milanesi, 1857 edition, the latter to Symonds’ Translation, 1893
edition. Where I have adopted Symonds’ definition of a word I have
acknowledged it with an (S.)._

  ABBASSARE: to bring or hammer down, as of relief work in metal.
  Tra. 143.

  ACCETTARE: to accept or take; of the accepting of metal from the
  gesso or clay mould. In Tra. 164, Cellini describes how the metal
  accepts better when the clay is fatty from decomposition.

  ACCONCIARE: to set. Tra. 40. _See_ also SERRARE, LEGARE.

  ACQUA: the water of a diamond. Tra. 60, 65.

  ACQUA DA PARTIRE: _see_ PARTIRE.

  ACQUA DI DRAGANTE: _see_ DRAGANTE.

  ACQUA FORTE: aquafortis in its various uses. _See_ Tra. 31, 149,
  155.

  ACQUAIO: a pipe for carrying off water. Tra. 173. _See_ CANNONETTO.

  ACQUA MARINA: the aquamarine. Tra. 39.

  ACQUA MORTA: urine. V. 282.

  ACQUERECCIA: a large metal ewer for holding water. Tra. 130.

  AFFARE: to make, to tell well, to give a good effect, as of a
  well-set stone. Tra. 41.

  AFFATICARSI: to wear; of the wear and tear of the dies in stamping.
  Tra. 123. More generally, to be affected by. Tra. 186.

  AFFINARE: to fine, of gold. Tra. 156.

  AFFUMARE: to besmoke, as with a candle or lamp flame. Tra. 102,
  103. For substantive Cellini uses _spolverezzo_.

  AGGHIADARE: to curdle, to stiffen; of metal when it does not fuse.
  Tra. 192.

  ALIETTA: a wing or bracket of iron to strengthen the frame that
  holds the dies for stamping. Tra. 122.

  ALITARE: to blow or kindle with the bellows. Tra. 124.

  ALLACCIARE: to fasten. Tra. 80.

  ALLUME DI ROCCA: rock alum. Tra. 155. Probably sulphate of alumina
  from alum shale.

  ALZARE: to stand or be bossed up. Tra. 95.

  AMATISTA: amethyst. Tra. 39.

  AMATITA NERA: a hæmatite stone. Tra. 49.

  AMATITA ROSSA: _see_ MATITA.

  ANCUDINE, ANCUDINETTA, ANCUDINUZZA: an anvil, or more usually a
  stake head for hammer work.

  ANELLO: a ring; _anello del granchio_. A metal ring of lead or
  copper, now worn in Italy under the name _anello di salute_ (S.).

  ANIMA: the core or inner block of a _cire perdue_ casting. Tra.
  165. V. 1.

  APPICCATO: standing or picked out; of a figure from its field. Tra.
  78.

  APPOMICIATO: treated with pumice, as of metal work for the final
  cleaning. Tra. 145.

  APRIRE: a term employed in enamelling to express the effect of a
  firing upon red enamel, when the same turns to a yellow scarce
  distinguishable from gold. Tra. 35.

  ARCHIMISTA: an alchemist.

  ARCHIPENZOLO: a geometrical plane. Tra. 205.

  ARENA DI TUFO: a tufa earth. Tra. 102.

  ARGANO: a windlass. Tra. 173. V. 420.

  ARGENTO VIVO: mercury. Tra. 147.

  ARMADURA: a framework, such as would admit of the model of a large
  statue being built upon it. Tra. 206.

  ARRENARE: to treat with sand or sand-paper. Tra. 76.

  ARRUOTARE: to polish or burnish, as of dies upon a smooth stone.
  Tra. 111.

  ARTIGLIERIE (MAESTRO DI): ordnance founders. Tra. 163.

  ASSOTIGLIARE: to softly polish over, as of enamel with sandstone.
  Tra. 35. _See_ FRASINELLA.

  ASTA: the hasp or handle of a chisel. Tra. 198.

  AVVIVATOIO, also ISVIVATOIO: a metal rod with a wooden handle used
  for polishing rings, and applying mercury gilding. Tra. 149. V. 252.


  BACINELLA: a mortar. Tra. 30.

  BAGNO (CONDOTTO IN): a bath, _i.e._, of bronze brought to the
  liquid state. Tra. 178.

  BALASCIA, BALASCIO: the balas ruby. Tra. 38, 50.

  BARILA: a measure of about 40 litres; 20 Florentine wine flasks.
  Tra. 119.

  BATTILORO: a gold beater. Tra. 125.

  BAVA, BAVETTA, BAVUCCIA: roughness; the rough edges of a casting.
  Tra. 120, 129, 174.

  BERILLO: the beryl. Tra. 63.

  BIACCA: white lead. Tra. 116.

  BIANCHIMENTO: blanching solution. BIANCHIRE, to use this solution,
  or more generally to clean or whiten silver. Tra. 48, 146, 149.
  _See_ also GROMMATA.

  BIETTA: a wedge of iron, such as is used for fastening the dies
  into the frame for minting. Tra. 122. Or of wood for tightening up
  a plaster mould. Tra. 167.

  BOCCA: a mouth; the lip of a jug; the channel in which to pour
  the metal in a casting, &c. BOCCA PRINCIPALE, the main entrance.
  BOCCA DELLA SPINA, the mouth of the plug, from which the molten
  metal flows into the mould. BOCCA DEL MARTELLO, the thick end of a
  hammer. Tra. 131.

  BOCCIA: a retort; an alembic. Tra. 156.

  BOCETTA: a flask or bottle. Tra. 15.

  BOLO ARMENIO (TERRA DI): bole of Armenia, a red earth used for
  gilding grounds, &c. Tra. 111.

  BOLSO: blunted. Tra. 131.

  BORDELLERIE: lumber (S.). V. 39. Large, clumsy rubbish.

  BORRACE: borax. Tra. 17.

  BORRACIERE: a borax crucible or pan. Tra. 20, 73.

  BOTTONE: a button or clasp, or more specially a morse. Tra. 49, 80,
  89.

  BOZZA: a sketch. Tra. 197.

  BRACCIAIUOLA: a pit beneath the grating to receive the ashes from
  the furnace. V. 423; Tra. 191.

  BRACCIO: a cubit, _i.e._, about 48 inches.

  BREVE: a trinket in the nature of a locket. Tra. 20.

  BRUNIRE: to burnish; the process of burnishing as in niello. Tra.
  18, 153. BRUNITOIO, a burnisher, usually of tempered steel. Tra. 18.

  BULINO: a graver. Tra. 13.


  CACCIANFUORI: snarling irons, a species of small stakes for
  repoussé work. Tra. 96, 134.

  CALCIDONIO: chalcedony. Tra. 67.

  CALDANUZZO: a pan or brazier. Tra. 58.

  CALDARE: a large vessel used for the blanching solution. Tra. 58.

  CALDERONE: a cauldron. Tra. 16, 150.

  CALDO: a cooling, _e.g._, _dare un caldo_. Tra. 124; as of enamel
  work from the furnace.

  CAMICIA: the coat or vest of wax drawn over the baked clay mould in
  a _cire perdue_ casting; or the mould generally. Tra. 162.

  CAMOSCIARE: a method employed in embossing metal by working over
  the backgrounds with a broken steel tool; what we should call
  ‘matting’ or ‘frosting.’ Tra. 92.

  CAMPO: the field or background of a piece of work. Tra. 76, 91.

  CANALE: the channel through which the metal flows in a casting.
  Tra. 175. Also, in other uses, an ingot mould. Tra. 48, 175.

  CANAPO: rope. Tra. 173; V. 420.

  CANNELLA, CANNELLO: Tra. 170. _See_ CANALE.

  CANNONE, CANNONETTO: tubes or pipes of metal or earthenware. Tra.
  173, 174.

  CAPPA DI FRATI: a grey colour of that name. Tra. 33.

  CARATO: a carat; 3·17 grains troy. Tra. 47.

  CARBONCULO: a carbuncle. Tra. 38.

  CARBONE (MISURADI): troy weight. V. 205.

  CARICARE: to fill in, or cover up; as of enamel in its cloisons, or
  gold on metal; also more generally, to load or weight. Tra. 25, 173.

  CARTONE: cartoon. V. xlix.

  CASTAGNUOLO: chestnut wood.

  CASTONE: the bezel; or more generally, setting of a stone. Tra. 40.

  CATINELLETTA: a little vessel. Tra. 136.

  CATINOTTO: an earthen pot. Tra. 125.

  CAVO: a mould.

  CENERATA: a brew of charcoal, usually from oak, in boiling water,
  for cleaning niello work, &c. Tra. 16.

  CEPPO: an anvil stock. Tra. 134. Also of a wooden block for
  striking coins on. Tra. 119.

  CERVONA: _see_ COLLA CERVONA.

  CESELLO, CESELLINO, CESELLETTO: a punch. CESELLARE: to work with
  the punch. _Passim._

  CHERMISI: Kermes. Tra. 42.

  CHIAVAQUORE: a trinket in the shape of a key; a hearts key. V. 27.

  CHIOCCIOLA, CHIOCCIOLETTA: the female of the screw; or more
  generally, a spiral; also a snail or scroll in design. Tra. 92,
  122, 132.

  CIAPPOLA, CIAPPOLETA, CIAPPOLINA: a chisel; sometimes a sculper.
  Tra. 93. _See_ GRAFFIARE.

  CIBORIO: pyx; a vessel for holding the Eucharist. V. 132.

  CIMATURA: cloth shavings or frayings.

  CIMENTO: cement; of the royal cement, the recipe for the making of
  which is described. Tra. 156.

  CIOTOLINA: a beaker. Tra. 17, 21.

  CITRINI, CITRINO: citron quartz. Tra. 65.

  COGLIONERIE: gewgaws, shoddy trifles. V. 39.

  COLLA: a gum or glue as of pear or quince seeds. Tra. 37. COLLA
  CERVONA: a glue made of stag’s horn. Tra. 154. COLLA DI PESCE: fish
  glue.

  COLMETTA: bent or curved, of the sheet of gold to be hammered over
  bronze in the method of Caradosso. Tra. 72.

  COMPARTIMENTO: a cloison in enamel; or a division in filigree.
  Tra. 24.

  CONCIARE: to cut or polish stones. Tra. 51. CONCIATORE: a stone
  cutter. Tra. 66.

  CONFICCARE: to clamp. Tra. 128.

  CONGEGNARE: to nail. Tra. 128.

  CONII: the dies for minting. V. 114. CONIARE: the process of
  striking with them. Tra. 120.

  CONO: an iron wedge used in the frame for minting. Tra. 120.

  COPERCHIO: the cap of a furnace. Tra. 181; V. 424.

  COPERTO: suffused, clouded; used of the colour of stones. Tra. 38.

  COREGGE: straps. V. 172.

  COREGGIUOLO, CORREGGIOLETTO: a crucible. Tra. 15, 29, 126.

  CORNA, CORNETTO: a horn, _e.g._, of a _caccianfuori_ stake. Tra.
  134.

  CORNIOLO: cornel wood from which punches for delicate metal work
  were made. Tra. 72.

  CORNIUOLO: the carnelian. Tra. 67.

  CORRERE: to fuse or run, of enamels in the furnace. Tra. 35.

  COSTA DI COLTELLO: a knife’s back, a term of measurement, where we
  should use a gauge, _e.g._, Birmingham gauge.

  CUCCUMA: turmeric root. Tra. 150.


  DIGUAZZARE: to stir. Tra. 150.

  DITO: a finger, used as a standard of measurement.

  DOMMASCO: damask. Tra. 28.

  DOPPIA, DOPPIO: a stone artificially pieced together of several
  pieces. Tra. 45.

  DRAGANTE: gum tragacanth. Tra. 21.


  FACETTE (A): facetted (_a facette_ as distinct from _a punta_ and
  _in tavola_ in the cutting of the diamond). V. 393; Tra. 49.

  FALSATORE: a cheat; a dealer in false stones; a coiner. Tra. 44,
  113.

  FATTORETTO, FATTORINO: a shop assistant. Tra. 137, 68.

  FEMMINA: the female screw. Tra. 122. _See_ also VITE FEMMINA.

  FERETTO DI SPAGNA: calcined sulphate of iron (French, _ferret_).
  Tra. 152.

  FERRAMENTI: tools and appliances generally. Tra. 46.

  FERRI, FERRETTI, FERRUZZI, FERROLINI: iron or steel tools used for
  various processes, _e.g._, as applied to dies for minting.

  FIASCO: a flask holding more than a quart. V. 187.

  FIBBIA: a buckle, brooch, or pin. Tra. 9.

  FILETTI: the sharp lines that divide one facet from another. V.
  394.

  FILO: filigree.

  FILO TIRATO: metal wire or thread. Tra. 25.

  FOGLIA: foil; usually of thin hammered metal for setting beneath
  stones, or covering gesso models to prevent the suction of the
  cast. Tra. 47.

  FOGLIAME, FOGLIAMETTO: foliage; spray work. Tra. 19, 24, 79.

  FONDERE: to cast. FONDERE NEL MORTAIO: a special method of casting
  described. Tra. 125.

  FORBICE (UN PAIO DI), FORBICINE: a pair of forceps or pliers. Tra.
  147.

  FORMA: the mould, _e.g._, for casting metal in. V. 1.

  FORMARE: to model or mould.

  FORNACE, FORNACETTA: the furnace.

  FORNELLO, FORNELLETTO: a stove.

  FORNIMENTO DA CAVALLI: the metal trappings of horses. Tra. 120. DI
  SPADA: the inlay or damascening on swords. Tra. 155.

  FRASCONCINO: a birch rod or bundle of twigs. Tra. 150.

  FRASINELLA: a fine grained sandstone used for whetting the more
  delicate sorts of steel instruments and enamels; equivalent to hone
  rather than to whetstone. Tra. 36.

  FREGIO: a border or framework. Tra. 92.

  FUMMICARE: to steam. Tra. 151.

  FUSCELLETTO, FUSCELLINO: a small twig, or tool of wood for working
  wax. Tra. 73, 116.

  FUSCELLO: flour dust, described by Cellini as gathered on the walls
  and cornices of mills, and used as a paste for gilding. Tra. 154.
  _See_ also, in another sense, FUSCELLETTO.


  GALANTERIE: little devices or conceits of design. Tra. 135.

  GALLETTA: a strip, or shaping of wire, _e.g._, in filigree work.
  Tra. 21.

  GAMBA, GAMBETTO: a claw in the setting of a stone. Tra. 53. A small
  clamp or attachment. Tra. 79.

  GANGHERO: a hinge. Tra. 91. V. 41.

  GATTA: _see_ OCCHIO DI GATTA.

  GESSO: plaster of Paris, or one or other of the various
  compositions made from it with resin, beeswax, &c. Cellini has
  GESSO VOLTERRANO: gesso of Volterra. Tra. 100. GESSO COTTO: Tra.
  100. GESSO IN PANE: gesso in the cake. Tra. 154. GESSO DI TRIPOLO:
  _see_ TRIPOLO.

  GETTO (ARTE DEL): the art of bronze casting. Tra. 7.

  GIRARE: to reverberate; of the flame in the furnace. Tra. 189.
  Also, _V. tr._ to handle, as of the graver, GIRARE IL BULINO. Tra.
  13.

  GIRASOLE: the girasol opal. Tra. 43.

  GITTARE: to cast (of metal). Tra. 48, 76. Also in another sense, to
  lean or verge towards, _e.g._, of the colour of marble. Tra. 195.

  GIULIO: a Tuscan coin of 56 Italian centimes or 8 Tuscan _crazie_,
  which in Florence was also called _barille_ or _gabellotto_,
  because the sum had to be paid as duty on a barrel of wine. (S.).

  GOCCIOLA, GOCCIOLINA: a drop, as of the water distilled from pear
  or quince seed, used for enamelling. Tra. 36.

  GOLA: the neck, _e.g._, of a vase. Tra. 133.

  GOMMA, used alternately with GROMMA & GROMMATA: Any solution for
  the blanching or cleaning of metal. More strictly, the incrustation
  in wine casks, tanks, & water pipes. _Gomma_ or _gromma di botte_
  is the tartar of wine casks used for the cleaning of metals and
  gilding silver; tartrate of potash. Tra. 48, 106.

  GONFIARE: to boss or belly out. Tra. 79, 82.

  GORBIA: a ferule or throttle of iron. Tra. 191. Also generally, a
  pointed tool for working soft stone. Tra. 200.

  GRAFFIARE: in the sense used by Cellini, Tra. 128, to hatch or to
  grave upon the metal by means of a well sharpened _ciappola_, a
  cutting instrument, different from the _bulino_ & the _cesello_,
  used especially for hatching. From _graffiare_, used in this sense
  comes the better known word _graffito_.

  GRANAGLIA: grains, or granulated metal for filigree. Tra. 20.

  GRANATO: the garnet. Tra. 39.

  GRANIRE: a method employed in embossing metal for working over the
  backgrounds with a sharp-pointed steel tool. Tra. 92.

  GRANITURA: beading, _e.g._, around a coin. Tra. 112, 114.

  GRATICOLA, GRATICOLETTA, GRATICOLINA: a grating, a grill. Tra. 126,
  190.

  GRATITUDINE: the gratefulness, charm, or delicacy of a stone. Tra.
  38.

  GRATTAPUGIA: a scratch-brush. GRATTAPUGIARE: to clean or polish
  with the scratch-brush. Tra. 148.

  GREMBUILO: an apron. V. (l.).

  GRISOLITA: the chrysolite. Tra. 39.

  GRISOPAZIO: the chrysoprase. Tra. 39.

  GROSSERIA: metal work of the larger sort, as opposed to
  _minuteria_. Our term, hammered hollow ware, would partly express
  it. It mainly included the beating of large vessels into shapes,
  but it did not exclude the processes of casting.


  IACINTO: the jacynth. Tra. 39.

  IMBRACCIATOIE: special tongs for holding earthenware crucibles.
  Tra. 124, 137.

  INCARNATO: flesh-tinted, as of stones or enamels. Tra. 33, 195.

  INDACO: indigo. Tra. 60.

  INDOLCIRE: to soften, as of the tempering of steel. Tra. 112, 117.

  INFRANGERE: to beat or dent in as opposed to cutting out or
  removing the surface of metal. Tra. 75.

  INTACCARE: to notch, to cut a tally, _intaccatura_, in metal.
  INTACCATO: notched. Tra. 142.

  INTAGLIO, INTAGLIARE: cutting in intaglio; more generally, carving.
  INTAGLIATORE: a carver.

  INTERSEGARE: to cross or plait, of wire. Tra. 138.

  INTRONARE: to crack or spring, of stone beneath the chisel. Tra.
  199.

  ISPIANARE: to plane or pare the metal plate. Tra. 117. _See_ RASOIO.

  ISVIVATOIO: _see_ AVVIVATOIO.


  LAGRIME DI MASTICO: tears of mastic, used in stone-setting. Tra. 59.

  LAMA: a band, as of hoop iron. Tra. 125.

  LAMINE: plates of metal. Tra. 141.

  LAMPEGGIARE: to flash, glow, or blaze, as of a red stone. Tra. 74.

  LASAGNA: the coating of wax, clay, or paste, applied to the mould
  of a casting. Tra. 137, 168, 170.

  LEGA, LEGHA: alloy; also generally, for the metal of a setting, and
  so of a setting itself. Tra. 144. V. 424. LEGARE: to set. Tra. 8,
  37, 41.

  LEGATURA: setting. Tra. 43.

  LEGNETTE, LEGNUZZI: faggots; small logs or pieces of wood for
  burning. Tra. 17, 22.

  LEVARE: to remove or cut away, as of metal background to be removed
  with the chisel. Tra. 75.

  LIMA: a file, of which Cellini describes several sorts, _e.g._,
  LIMA A COLTELLA, LIMA MEZZA TONDA, LIMA RASPA. Tra. 198. LIMARE: to
  file. Tra. 20.

  LIMATURA: filings, as of the solder, _limatura di saldatura_,
  sprinkled over the filigree. Tra. 21.

  LIMUZZA: Tra. 92. _See_ LIMA.

  LINGUA DI VACCA: a cows’ tongue stake head. Tra. 132.

  LISTRE DI FERRO: bands of iron, as of the bands used for holding
  together the moulds in bronze casting. Tra. 183.

  LOPPA: dregs, lees, scum, as of the glass scum, _loppa di vetro_,
  in the metal vent of the crucible described. Tra. 198.

  LORDO: greasy, as of the surface of metal in the working. Tra. 28.

  LORDURA: literally _lordura di untume_, fatty substance, removable
  with aquafortis. Tra. 31.

  LOTO: a paste or composition, as of ashes. Tra. 126. Also a luting,
  as of the closing of the joints in an alembic. Tra. 156.

  LUSTRO: the shine or glimmer on the metal left by the use of the
  punches, &c. Tra. 28, 195.


  MACINARE: to pound. Tra. 104, 148.

  MADRE: the matrices of the dies; the mother punches. Tra. 118.

  MAGLIA, MAGLIETTA: an eye or socket of iron fitted into the plaster
  mould of a casting. Tra. 167, 168.

  MAGRO: coarse and thin; used of clay as distinguished from the rich
  and fatty quality. Tra. 163.

  MANDORLA, MANDORLETTA: literally, an almond shape; used of
  jewellery thus shaped, & of the shapes of Cardinals’ seals. Tra.
  20, 99.

  MANDRIANO: an iron crook; a pole fitted at the end with a curved
  iron. Tra. 176, 181; V. 421.

  MANICA: a funnel shaped furnace (S.). V. li.

  MANICO: a handle. Tra. 107, 137.

  MANIGLIA: a bracelet. Tra. 37.

  MANTACO, MANTACETTO, MANTACUZZO, MANTICHE, MANTICO, MANTICETTO: a
  pair of bellows. Tra. 15, 17, 34, 74, 124. MANTACETTO A MANO: the
  hand-bellows. Tra. 144.

  MARTELLO, MARTELLETTO, MARTELLINO: a hammer, whether of wood or
  iron. Tra. 32, 78. MARTELLO A DUE MANI: a large hammer wielded with
  both hands, commonly called _mazzetta_. Tra. 121.

  MASCHERA, MASCHERETTA: a mask, a favourite form in Renaissance
  design. Tra. 137.

  MASELLI (DI RAME): sizes of copper. V. 420.

  MASTICO: the varnish resin, commonly called gum mastic. Tra. 57.
  _See_ also LAGRIME.

  MASTIO: the male screw; as in the process of striking coins with
  the screw. Tra. 122.

  MATASSINA: a skein. Tra. 42.

  MATITA ROSSA: red chalk; red hæmatite (Dict., Baretti); perhaps,
  jewellers’ rouge. Tra. 150, 152.

  MATTONE, MATTONCELLI: tiles; baked bricks.

  MATURO: ripe, mature, of the colour of the ruby. Tra. 38.

  MAZZAPICCHIARE: to ram. Tra. 174.

  MAZZAPICCHIO: a rammer; a wooden instrument three cubits long and
  widening to the bottom to a quarter of a cubit, used for tightening
  in the soil into the pit that contains the mould. Tra. 174.

  MAZZETTA: _see_ MARTELLO.

  MAZZUOLO: a mallet. Tra. 199.

  MESTOLETTA: a spoon or ladle. Tra. 138.

  MEZZANA: a flooring brick or tile. Tra. 175.

  MEZZO TONDO: a half relief.

  MIDOLLO: pith. MIDOLLO DI CORNA: pith of cornel wood. Tra. 103.

  MIGLIACCIO: a curdling of the metal. V. 423; Tra. 179.

  MINUTERIA: small metal ware, as distinguished from _grosseria_.

  MISURA DI CARBONE: troy weight. V. 205.

  MODELLO, MODELLINO, MODELLETTO: a model.

  MOLLA, MOLETTE: a pair of tongs or pliers. Tra. 21, 125.

  MORDERE: to bite, cut, or wear away, as of the cutting of the
  diamond by the diamond. Tra. 52.

  MORTAIO: a mortar. Tra. 125.


  NASTRETTO, NASTRETTINO: a streak or strip. Tra. 97, 25.

  NIELLARE: to work in niello, of which the various processes are
  described in Tra., Ch. I.

  NOCCIOLO: the ‘kernel,’ or the framework of clay or iron that fits
  into a casting, and tallies in its various parts with the _lasagna_
  or coating of the mould. Tra. 173, 183.

  NOTTOLINO: any little knot or tie of metal in jewellery. Tra. 94.


  OCCHIO DI GATTA: the cats’ eye stone. Tra. 43.

  OLIO DI GRANA: linseed oil. Tra. 58. OLIO DI MANDORLE: almond oil.
  Tra. 59. OLIO D’OLIVA: olive oil. Tra. 59.

  ORIVUOLO: a clock. Tra. 11.

  ORLO: a ridge or mound of wax, _e.g._, round the copper etching
  plate. Tra. 155.

  ORO MATTO: dull gilding. Tra. 210.

  OSSATURA: the framework or sketch upon which the various portions
  of a colossus are pieced. Tra. 209.

  OTTAVO: a species of silver solder formed of one-eighth part of an
  ounce of copper to one ounce of silver. Tra. 143.

  OTTONAIO: a brass caster. Tra. 120.

  OVATO: an octagonal or eight-sided figure or arrangement. Tra. 97.

  OVOLATORO: a metal founder. V. 121. OVOLATORE DI ZECCA: metal
  founders of the mint (S.).


  PADIGLIONI: the pavilion or back facets of a stone. Italian
  stone-cutters distinguish in a stone the following parts: _il
  bordo_, _la tavola_, _le facette_, _i padiglioni_.

  PAGONAZZO: peacock blue. Tra. 38.

  PAIUOLO: a pail. Tra. 164.

  PALA: a spade; a shovel. Tra. 177.

  PALETTA, PALETTINA: a palette or placque, as of iron. Tra. 192.

  PALETTIERE: a hand-shaped palette, such as Cellini constructed
  specially on a leaden stand to hold enamels. Tra. 32, 36.

  PALLA, PALLOTTOLA: a ball; a sphere. Tra. 79, 97.

  PANE: pig or cake, _e.g._, of metal. Tra. 73, 181. PANE DELLA VITE:
  the threads of a screw. Tra. 122.

  PANNACCIO LINO: a linen rag. Tra. 16.

  PARTIRE (ACQUA DI): the acid into which you put alloys and
  clippings, filings, &c. PARTIRE: to separate gold from silver,
  or silver from copper, or gold from gilt copper. Tra. 155, 156.
  PARTITORE: the man who exercises this craft.

  PASTA: a paste; a coating. Tra. 148, 166.

  PECE GRECA: powdered resin (white pine) from which the oil has
  been evaporated over hot water. Tra. 27. _See_ also Hendrie’s
  ‘Theophilus,’ p. 70.

  PELLE: a skin, surface, or coating, _e.g._, of metal or stone; also
  of the working of the tools over a surface. Tra. 92, 96, 128, 134,
  200.

  PENDENTE: a pendent.

  PENDIO: a fall, as of the fall in a furnace. Tra. 186.

  PENNA: the thin end of a hammer. Tra. 130, 132.

  PENNELLO, PENNELLETTO, PENNELLINO: a paint brush of hog’s hair or
  sable, &c. Tra. 21, 93, 104.

  PENTOLINO: a vase or pipkin. Tra. 153.

  PERLA, PERLETTE: a pearl.

  PESTARE: to pound. Tra. 31. PESTATA: the substance pounded. Tra. 93.

  PIANO DEL MARTELLO: _see_ PENNA.

  PIASTRA, PIASTRETTA: a plate; as in PIASTRA DI RAME: a copperplate.
  Tra. 13.

  PICCIUOLETTO: _see_ GAMBETTO.

  PIEGATO: bent, inclined, as of the tool described. Tra. 128.

  PIEGHETTA: used by Cellini to describe little raised carved pips or
  patterns on the metal field with a view to their showing through
  the translucent enamel to express damask or diaper, &c. Tra. 28.

  PIENO: full, rich; of the colour of a stone. Tra. 38.

  PIETRA FORTE: a stone used by the Florentine sculptors; of hard
  substance & tan coloured, & found in small quantities in the
  neighbourhood of Florence. Tra. 202. PIETRA MORTA: quarry stone;
  in general, of any rough stone fragment. Tra. 187, 189. More
  specifically of a soft tan coloured stone found in the vicinity of
  Florence, and much used because of its durability for all sorts of
  carving. Tra. 202. PIETRA SERENA: a very soft, blue-grey coloured
  stone found in large quantities in the neighbourhood of Fiesolé and
  Settignano, but used mostly for internal work owing to its want of
  durability. Tra. 201.

  PIETRUCCOLA, PETRUCCOLA, PIETRUZZA: a little stone or gem. Tra. 69,
  163.

  PIGLIARE: to take, generally. PIGLIARE IL CALDO: to take the heat;
  to grow warm, _e.g._, of the enamel plate when held to the furnace
  before its insertion. Tra. 34.

  PIGNATTA: any large receptacle. Tra. 136, 155.

  PIGNERE: to paint; to streak or paste over as with liquid gesso.
  Tra. 101, 104.

  PILA: the lower of the two dies for minting, fashioned in the form
  of a small stake or anvil, and described with the whole process.
  Tra. 111, 113. _See_ also TORSELLO.

  PIOMBO: the bureau for affixing the leaden seals to papal bulls; an
  ecclesiastical office in Rome sometimes given to laymen (S.). V.
  125.

  PITTORACCIO: an indifferent painter. Tra. 84.

  PIVIALE: a cope. Tra. 49, 80.

  POMICE, POMMICE: pumice stone. Tra. 92.

  PORFIDO: porphyry. Tra. 30.

  PRASMA: the plasma; possibly, the prase. Tra. 39.

  PRATICA, PRATICACCIA: the practice or practical skill as
  distinguished from the theory or scientific study of a craft. Tra.
  27, 42. CONTINOVA PRATICA: workshop tradition. PRATICO, PRATICONE:
  a craftsman, a professional, as opposed to an amateur. Tra. 11.

  PRATICONACCIO: a humbug or pretender at a craft; a botcher. Tra. 6.

  PROFFESIONE: the practice of an art. Tra. 46. _See_ PRATICA.

  PROFILARE, PROFFILARE: to outline, _e.g._, as of the outlining with
  the punches in embossed work. Tra. 133. PROFILO: an outline.

  PUGNELLETTO: a pinch; a small quantity. Tra. 168.

  PULIRE A MANO: to hand polish; of a method of finishing enamel by
  scouring it with tripoli. Tra. 35.

  PULITEZZA: precision; neatness; cleanness of execution (S.). What
  in a modern workshop one might call ‘finish,’ in contradistinction,
  however, to ‘trade finish.’

  PUNTA (IN): point cut, as applied to a stone. Tra. 51. V. 393.

  PUNTALO: buckles or pins for belts. Tra. 20.

  PUNTERUOLO: a pin or skewer. Tra. 38.

  PUNZONE, PUNZONCINO, PUNZONETTO: a punch, in various uses.


  RADERE: to plane or pare, as of a metal plate. Tra. 48, 128, 129.

  RAFREDDO: cooled. Tra. 171.

  RAMAIUOLO: a ladle. Tra. 127.

  RAMO: a pipe. RAMO DI GITTO: the conduit of a casting. V. li., 418.

  RAPPEZZARE: to patch up, to re-piece, as of the holes in the
  hammered gold coating upon bronze figures. Tra. 83, 199.

  RAPPRESO: set or hardened from cooling, _e.g._, of metal in the
  furnace. Tra. 179.

  RASOIO: a razor, a sharp flat knife. Tra. 128.

  RASTIARE: to scrape. Tra. 59. RASTIATOIO: a scraper, or instrument
  used for assisting the flow of the bronze into the mould. Tra. 177.

  RASTRELLO: a special sort of rake constructed to rake over the
  cinders from the ash-pit in bronze casting. Tra. 191.

  RENELLA DI VETRO: glass-paper. Tra. 76.

  RIARDERE: to scorch up, to harden from heat. Tra. 59, 124.

  RIBOLLIRE: to re-heat, to consume with heat, to burn, as of the wax
  in the gesso mould, from too rapid heating. Tra. 22, 172.

  RICERCARE: to search out, to pick out with the tools; _e.g._, of
  the minute workmanship on a highly-wrought piece of repoussé. Tra.
  95.

  RICESELLARE: _see_ CESELLO.

  RICORRERE: to run together, as of different solderings in later
  firing. Tra. 75.

  RICUOCERE: to heat, to put to the fire, to anneal. Tra. 25, 142.

  RIGAGUOLO: a gully. Tra. 186.

  RIGONFIARE: to swell or bubble up. Tra. 151.

  RILEVARE: to raise, boss or work up into relief. Tra. 78.

  RIMACINARE: to pound or mix together. Tra. 153.

  RIMBOTTARE: to refill. Tra. 127.

  RIMENARE: to stir. Tra. 153.

  RINALZARE: to boss or beat out from within. Tra. 134.

  RISCHIARE: to clean. Tra. 154.

  RISERRARE: to stop or fill up, as of the bubble holes in niello
  work. Tra. 18.

  RISTIARARE: Tra. 151. _See_ RISCHIARE.

  RITONDARE: to round or body a piece of work, _e.g._, of Michael
  Angelo’s method of hewing his figures from the stone direct,
  without recourse to the clay model. Tra. 199.

  RITURARE: Tra. 18. _See_ RISERRARE.

  ROSTA: a fan or blower. Tra. 144.

  ROVESCIO: the reverse of a medal.

  RUBINO BALASCIA: _see_ BALASCIA.

  RUOTA: a wheel, as of the steel wheel on which diamonds are cut.
  Tra. 52.


  SACCACCIO: a sack or a piece of sack cloth. Tra. 16.

  SALDARE: to solder. Tra. 21, 73, 90. SALDARE A CALORE: a term used
  by Cellini of the first soldering given to a piece of minuterie
  work; it should be, says he, termed rather, ‘firing in one piece,’
  than soldering. Tra. 73, 74.

  SALDATURA: solder. Tra. 75, 143. And of its various consistent
  alloys in _saldatura di lega_, _di ottavo_, _di quinto_, _di
  terzo_. _See_ also LIMATURA.

  SALE ARMONIACO: sal ammoniac. Tra. 73.

  SALIERA: a salt cellar.

  SALNITRO: saltpetre.

  SANGUE DI DRAGO: dragon’s blood. Tra. 44.

  SAVORE: an ointment; a paste.

  SBIANCATO: bright, clean, as of fresh grains of mastic. Tra. 57.

  SBORRACIATO: free from borax, _e.g._, of filigree work after it has
  been cooked in the tartar solution. Tra. 22.

  SCAGLIA, SCAGLIETTA DEL FERRO: scale of iron. Tra. 114.

  SCALDARE: to anneal. Tra. 131, 151.

  SCANTONATO: to round or trim off, as of the edges of a metal plate
  in its first stages to the cup form. Tra. 130.

  SCARPELLO, SCARPELLETTO: any chisel or cutting tool, and of its
  different sorts, _e.g._, SCARPELLO AUGNATO: the wood-carvers’
  chisel, and SCARPELLO A UNA TACCA: a notched chisel. Tra. 21, 199.

  SCASSARE: to open; to unpick; as of the setting of a stone. Tra. 43.

  SCATOLETTO, SCATOLINA: a little box or casket. Tra. 85.

  SCHIACCIATO: _see_ STIACCIATO.

  SCHIUMA: _see_ STIUMA.

  SCHIZZARE: to crack or spring, as of enamel. Tra. 28.

  SCIOGLIERE: to take out, as of a stone from the setting. Tra. 43.

  SCIORRE: _see_ SCIOGLIERE.

  SCODELLA, SCODELLETTA, SCODELLINO: a pipkin or pot, of glass,
  earthenware, or metal. SCODELLINO INVETRIATO: a glazed earthenware
  pipkin.

  SCOPETTA: a rod of birch or twigs. Tra. 150.

  SCOPRIRE: to uncover, disclose, lay bare. Tra. 198.

  SCORRERE: to run, as of enamel in the firing. Tra. 25.

  SCORZA: bark, crust. Tra. 196.

  SCREPOLATURA: a crevice, crack, fissure. Tra. 188.

  SCUFFINA: _see_ LIMA RASPA.

  SERPENTINO: a serpentine stone. Tra. 30.

  SERRARE: to set. Tra. 41. _See_ also ACCONCIARE, LEGARE.

  SESTA, SESTOLINA: the compasses. Tra. 27, 111. SESTA IMMOBILE:
  compasses of which the legs were fixed to a definite angle; used
  (as in marking out medals) for striking a number of equal circles.
  Tra. 117.

  SETOLA, SETOLETTA, SETOLINA: a brush, usually of hog sables. Tra.
  16, 74, 94.

  SFASCIATA: freed; disconnected from, as of a mould freed from the
  bricks in which it is baked. Tra. 172, 173.

  SFIATATOIO: a vent hole in a _cire perdue_ casting. SFIATARE: the
  verb form of the same word used of the working of the _sfiatatoi_.
  Tra. 137, 170, 173.

  SFOGLIETTA, SFOGLIETTINA: a blemish, a roughness; as a rule some
  surface scaling of the metal. Tra. 129, 133.

  SFUMMARE: to steam. Tra. 151.

  SILIMATO: _see_ SOLIMATO.

  SMALTO, SMALTARE: enamel; the art of enamelling; to enamel. SMALTO
  ROGGIO: a particular kind of red enamel described by Cellini. Tra.
  36. Also SMALTO ROSSO TRANSPARENTE.

  SMERALDO: an emerald. Tra. 40.

  SMERIGLIO: the stain or blemish in marble. Tra. 196.

  SODO: the base. Tra. 96.

  SOFFIARE: to bubble or blow; of metal flowing into a mould for
  which the vents have been improperly prepared. Tra. 181.

  SOFFREGARE: to rub; as of stone against stone in the cutting of the
  diamond. Tra. 52.

  SOLIMATO: corrosive sublimate. Tra. 155.

  SOPPANNATO: match-boarded. Tra. 206.

  SOTTIGLIEZZA: delicacy; subtle detail in a piece of work. Tra. 164,
  166.

  SOTTO SQUADRO: undercutting. Tra. 141.

  SPADAIO: a sword cutler. Tra. 49.

  SPAGHETTO: string. Tra. 171.

  SPALLA, SPALLETTA: shoulder, end, roof; as of the ends of the
  furnace bed, or the ramparts of earth around a wax seal that is to
  be cast. Tra. 105.

  SPANNARE: to spread or paint over. Tra. 150.

  SPAZZATURE: sweepings; refuse of old bits of metal in goldsmiths’
  work. V. 20.

  SPECCHIETTO: the reflector, or piece of square glass set beneath a
  diamond in the bezel; sometimes in conjunction with the process of
  tinting. Tra. 65. _See_ also TINTA.

  SPEGNERE: to dip or quench. Tra. 48.

  SPIANARE: to smooth, planish, polish; as of enamels with the
  _frasinelle_; or a metal plate before commencing work. Tra. 21, 26.

  SPICCARE: to pick out or raise, as of a figure from its background.
  Tra. 78.

  SPINA: a plug, as at the outlet hole of a furnace, & thus used for
  the outlet hole itself. Tra. 172; V. li., 421. _See_ also BOCCA
  DELLA SPINA.

  SPINELLA: spinell. Tra. 39.

  SPINGERE: _see_ SPICCARE.

  SPOGLIA: the shell or outer mould of a _cire perdue_ casting
  between which and the core, _nócciolo_, is the cavity which
  subsequently receives the bronze. Tra. 173. _See_ also TONACA.

  SPOLVEREZZO, SPOLVERIZZATO: _see_ AFFUMARE.

  SPORTELLI, SPORTELLETTI: the doors of a furnace; the little doors
  that open into any closed fire place. Tra. 191, 193.

  SPRUZZARE: to sprinkle. Tra. 74.

  SPUGNUZZE: bubble holes. Tra. 18.

  STACCIARE: to sift. STACCIO: a sieve. Tra. 138.

  STAFFA: a frame, _e.g._, the frame for sand casting, or for holding
  dies for stamping. Tra. 132.

  STAGNO: pewter. V. 424; Tra. 176.

  STAGNUOLO: tinfoil. Tra. 165. _See_ also FOGLIA.

  STAMPA: a die for minting. V. 114; Tra. 108, 116. STAMPARE: used
  in several senses, _e.g._, to cut or engrave into metal generally.
  Tra. 14. To make medals of coins. Tra. 110, 119. To make an
  impression as of a seal. Tra. 100.

  STECCA: a board. Tra. 27.

  STIACCIARE: to stretch or flatten. Tra. 25.

  STIACCIATINA: a flat cake. Tra. 103.

  STIANTARE: to chip; to split. Tra. 196.

  STILETTO: a style, as of the burnished steel style with which
  Cellini outlined on metal. Tra. 133.

  STIUMA: scum, as of the lead in the crucible for niello. Tra. 15.

  STOPPA: putty. Tra. 174.

  STRACCIO: a rag. Tra. 137, 173.

  STRACCO: spent, as of cinders. Tra. 145.

  STROFINARE: to scour; to polish; as of the dies on a wooden board
  with iron scale. Tra. 114.

  STUCCO: a composition variously described as of pounded brick,
  yellow wax. _See_ PECE GRECA. Tra. 27, 75. STUCCARE: to paste or
  cake over with _stucco_ or other earthy substance.

  SUBBIA, SUBBIETTA: sculptors’ chisels. Tra. 198.

  SUCCHIELLETTO, SUCCHIELLINO: a tool of the nature of a gimlet. Tra.
  168, 170.

  SUGHERO: cork, as of the cork tipped with iron scale for cleaning
  out dies. Tra. 114.


  TACCA: a notch. Tra. 198.

  TAGLIA: a pulley. Tra. 173.

  TANAGLIA, TANAGLIETTA: tongs. Tra. 52, 119.

  TANE: tan coloured.

  TASSELLI: the dies for stamping medals as distinguished from those
  for stamping coins, which were termed _pila_ and _torsello_. Tra.
  117.

  TASSELLINO: a little cup or clip, as of the metal cup in which the
  diamond is set against the wheel. Tra. 52.

  TASSETTO: a stake or stake head. TASSETTINO TONDO: a rounded stake
  head. Tra. 48, 78.

  TAVOLA (IN): table cut, as applied to a stone. V. 393; Tra. 51.

  TEMPERARE: to temper steel. Tra. 114, 119.

  TESSUTO: a woven fabric; also for the alternate or reticulated
  arrangements of bricks in furnace construction. Tra. 125.

  TINTA: _dare la tinta_ or _tingere_, a process used in jewellery of
  blackening the bezel to give value to diamonds. Tra. 37, 52, 60.

  TIRARE: Cellini uses this word in several technical senses in
  relation to metal work, _e.g._, to lay or prepare a plate or sheet
  of metal. Tra. 72. To prepare the threads for filigree. Tra. 20.
  Or more generally, to bring into shape with the hammer. Tra. 129.
  TIRARE DI MARTELLO: hammer work. Tra. 48, 140. In another sense the
  word is used as of translating from a small to a large scale. Tra.
  203.

  TONACA: the tunic or outside mould of a _cire perdue_ casting,
  between which and the _anima_, or inner block, the metal ran,
  displacing the wax. V. 421; Tra. 171. Also generally, of a coat of
  gesso.

  TOPAZIO: a topaz.

  TORCERE: to twist or warp. Tra. 168.

  TORSELLO: the upper of the two dies for minting. Tra. 111. _See_
  PILA.

  TRAFORARE: to fashion the forms or perforations of filigree work.
  TRAFORO, TRAFORETTO: a filigree scroll or perforation.

  TRAPANO: a borer. Tra. 198. TRAPANO A PETTO: described as a larger
  sort of borer. Tra. 199.

  TRARRE DI FUOCO: described by Cellini as being the technical term
  for completing the process of soldering before the commencement of
  the cleaning, &c. Tra. 91. TRARRE DI PECE: similarly described as
  the term for carrying the work of embossing and chasing through to
  the moment of removing the pitch. Tra. 134, 135.

  TREMENTINA: turps.

  TRIPOLO: Tripoli clay; a silicious earth consisting of the remains
  of diatoms. Tra. 103.

  TUFO or ARENA DI TUFO: a sand tufa, a volcanic spongey rock like
  pumice, used for silver casting. Tra. 102.

  TURCHINA: a turquoise.


  UNTICCI: messy; untidy. Tra. 28.

  UNTUME: grease or fat, used in soldering. Tra. 143, 144.

  USCITE: the issues for the metal in a casting. V. 417.


  VERDEMEZZO: a term signifying not too dry nor yet too moist,
  probably tacky. Tra. 104.

  VERDERAME: verdigris, _i.e._, acetate of copper. Tra. 73, 93, 94.

  VERDOGNOLO: greenish; used in describing the colour of stone. Tra.
  200.

  VERMIGLIA: the vermeil. Tra. 39.

  VERNICE: varnish. VERNICE ORDINARIA: described as the ordinary
  varnish used for sword hilts. Tra. 155. VERNICIARE: to varnish.

  VESCICA: a crack or flaw, _e.g._, in glass. Tra. 65.

  VESTA, VESTIRE: _see_ TONACA.

  VETRIVUOLO, VETRIVUOLO ROMANO: Roman or green vitriol, _i.e._,
  sulphate of iron. Tra. 150, 152.

  VIRTU: a word used with many and double senses. For its larger uses
  _see_ Symonds’ ‘Vita,’ _passim_. In its more technical uses Cellini
  has _virtù_ for the glory of a ruby. Tra. 42. VIRTU DEL MARTELLO:
  excellence of hammer work. VIRTU DEI FERRI: general technical
  ability with punches and chisels.

  VITE: a screw. VITE FEMMINA: the female screw as used in minting
  with the screw process; and termed also FEMMINA & CHIOCCIOLA, which
  _see_.

  VIVACITA: the flash and brilliancy of a stone. Tra. 66.

  VOLTO: turned, bent, _e.g._, of the form of a semi-ring punch. Tra.
  133.


  ZAFFIRO: the sapphire. Tra. 40, 66.

  ZAFFO DI FERRO: a stopper of iron. Tra. 189.

  ZANA: a division or space. Tra. 97.

  ZECCA: the mint. Tra. 115.




  HERE END THE TREATISES OF BENVENUTO CELLINI ON METAL WORK AND
  SCULPTURE, MADE INTO ENGLISH FROM THE ITALIAN OF THE MARCIAN CODEX
  BY C. R. ASHBEE, AND PRINTED BY HIM AT THE GUILD’S PRESS AT ESSEX
  HOUSE, WITH THE ASSISTANCE OF LAURENCE HODSON WHO SOUGHT TO KEEP
  LIVING THE TRADITIONS OF GOOD PRINTING REFOUNDED BY WILLIAM MORRIS,
  THE MASTER CRAFTSMAN, AND LIKEWISE OF T. BINNING & J. TIPPETT,
  COMPOSITORS, AND S. MOWLEM, PRESSMAN, WHO CAME TO ESSEX HOUSE
  FROM THE KELMSCOTT PRESS TO THAT END. BEGUN APRIL, 1898; FINISHED
  OCTOBER, 1898.

[Illustration: GUILD 1888]


                        Published by EDWARD ARNOLD, 37 Bedford
                        Street, Strand; and of the 600 copies printed,
                        this copy is No. 431




ERRATA.


Page 28, _for_ but putting it in water, not cooling it with the
bellows, _read_ but not putting it in water, nor cooling it with
the bellows.

Page 150, _for_ CIAPPOLINTA _read_ CIAPPOLINA.




_BACK PUBLICATIONS OF THE GUILD & SCHOOL OF HANDICRAFT BEFORE THE
STARTING OF THE PRESS AND OF WHICH A FEW COPIES YET REMAIN._


THE TRANSACTIONS OF THE GUILD & SCHOOL OF HANDICRAFT, Vol. I. Edited
by C. R. ASHBEE: Preface by G. F. Watts, R.A.; Lectures, Addresses,
Recipes, by Alma Tadema, R.A., W. Holman Hunt, Henry Holiday, T.
Stirling Lee, E. P. Warren, Walter Crane, W. B. Richmond, A.R.A., &c.
  Large Paper Copies, £1 1s.; Ordinary Paper Copies            7s. 6d.
  Set of proofs on hand-made Japanese vellum coloured &       10s. 6d.
  Bound in cow-hide, pressed, chased,
     gilded                                           £2 2s. to £5 5s.

  ON SCULPTURE. L. ALMA TADEMA, R.A.                               1s.

  AN ADDRESS ON THE OPENING OF THE WHITECHAPEL
      PICTURE EXHIBITION. W. HOLMAN HUNT                           1s.

  PARLOUR ARCHITECTURE. E. P. WARREN                               1s.

  RECIPES AND NOTES. WALTER CRANE, &c.                             1s.

  ON GESSO. W. B. RICHMOND, A.R.A.                                 1s.

  A SHORT HISTORY OF THE GUILD AND SCHOOL OF
      HANDICRAFT, 1890. C. R. ASHBEE                               1s.

  THE IDEALS OF THE CRAFTSMAN. An Address to the Craftsman Club    1s.

  DECORATIVE ART FROM A WORKSHOP POINT OF VIEW. C. R. ASHBEE       1s.

  SOME ILLUSTRATIONS FOR A COURSE OF LECTURES
      ON DESIGN IN ITS APPLICATION TO FURNITURE. C. R. ASHBEE      1s.

  MANUAL OF THE GUILD & SCHOOL OF HANDICRAFT. A Guide to County
      Councils and Technical Teachers                              1s.

  ARTS AND CRAFTS TABLES. C. R. ASHBEE.
  —— Of the Renaissance                                            1s.
  —— Of the 17th Century                                           1s.
  —— Of the 18th Century                                           1s.

  FROM WHITECHAPEL TO CAMELOT. C. R. ASHBEE. A Story           2s. 6d.

  CHAPTERS IN WORKSHOP RECONSTRUCTION & CITIZENSHIP. C. R. ASHBEE  5s.
    Large Paper with Hand-coloured Blocks, in Japanese Vellum
        Covers                                                  £1 1s.

  THE DING’S SONG BOOK. Printed for Mr. H. H. GORE                 1s.

  SCHOOL OF HANDICRAFT REPORTS, 1888 to 1895                   3s. 6d.

  THE TRINITY HOSPITAL IN MILE END. By C. R. ASHBEE.
      With Illustrations by Members of the Watch Committee    10s. 6d.


_The above may be had (post free) of the Manager, GUILD OF
HANDICRAFT, Essex House, 401 Mile End Road, London, E._




  TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES


  Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between paragraphs
  and outside quotations.

  Titles from the List of Illustrations and List of Diagrams have been
  applied to the images as captions. The second jewellery illustration
  has a new caption, as the one from the index would be confusing
  out of context. Illustrations that did not have a title have had a
  descriptive caption added, these are indicated with parentheses.

  Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
  corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
  the text and consultation of external sources.

  Some hyphens in words have been silently removed, some added,
  when a predominant preference was found in the original book.

  Errata listed on page 167 have been applied to the text.
  Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text,
  and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.

  Pg  xi: “᾿ευηθεια” replaced with “εὐηθεια”
  Pg   4: “dalla Golpaia” replaced with “della Golpaia”
  Pg  20: “jewelry” replaced with “jewellery”
  Pg  23: “crysolite” replaced with “chrysolite”
  Pg  34: “Miliano Larghetta” replaced with “Miliano Targhetta”
  Pg  48: “Girolamo” replaced with “Girolano”
  Pg  52: “Fillippo Brunellesco” replaced with “Filippo Brunellesco”
  Pg  54: “hostting” replaced with “hosting”
  Pg  54: “comissioned” replaced with “commissioned”
  Pg  62: “occuring” replaced with “occurring”
  Pg  63: “where-ever” replaced with “wherever”
  Pg  76: “anealing” replaced with “annealing”
  Pg  78: “softenening” replaced with “softening”
  Pg  84: “set too right” replaced with “set to right”
  Pg  97: “avvivitoio” replaced with “avvivatoio”
  Pg 105: ‘Cennino Cenini’ replaced with ‘Cennino Cennini’
  Pg 114: “Aliquanto” replaced with “Alquanto”
  Pg 118: “earthern” replaced with “earthen”
  Pg 128: “accomodate” replaced with “accommodate”
  Pg 134: “Buonarotti” replaced with “Buonaroti”
  Pg 135: “wants it to he particularly” replaced with
          “wants it to be particularly”
  Pg 149: “calcedony” replaced with “chalcedony”
  Pg 151: “guage, _e.g._, Birmingham guage” replaced with
          “gauge, _e.g._, Birmingham gauge”
  Pg 152: “special meth” replaced with “special method”
  Pg 160: “fiigree” replaced with “filigree”
  Pg 160: “aneal” replaced with “anneal”.





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