Benvenuto Cellini was a man of mercurial temper. Get on his wrong side and you should expect to be humiliated or killed in any way he saw fit. He was also a passionate artist, one of the best goldsmiths and sculptors of his time. Cellini’s Autobiography gives his side of his life story and early on in the book, the reader is alerted that Cellini’s version may be a twisted portrayal of the truth.
Benvenuto Cellini was born in Florence, Italy during the time of the Medicis. During his childhood, he saw a mythical salamander in his family’s hearth fire, a sign that the narrator would sometimes slip into a world of exaggeration or fantasy. He was a bit younger than Michelangelo, growing up in that master’s shadow, occasionally seeking his approval, and later in life trying to surpass his accomplishments. Cellini’s early adulthood was rowdy; he solved disputes with either fistfights or knives. Although his family was humble, he had connections in high places and as long as he continued to make great art, whatever pope, king, or duke that paid his commission would see to it that he got away with any crime he committed which often was murder.
While one facet of his life story portrayed his unapologetic indulgence in violence and his hair-trigger temper that led him into bickering matches with his employers, another facet is examined in his flair for creation. Whether working with gold, silver, wax, wood, or bronze, Cellini always strove to be the best at what he did and often he succeeded. His talent, along with his narcissism and egomania rubbed a lot of people the wrong the way. Out of petty jealousy, envy, or ignorance, there were a lot of people who tried to sabotage his endeavors in life. Some of them were associates of the powerful elite in the Catholic church, others were wives or advisers of the aristocracy, and still others were the mediocre artists, competitors, and laborers who wanted as much renown and repute as Cellini. In his dealings with these enemies, Cellini always insisted on being fair and honest; most often this worked out in his favor.
As the story progresses into Cellini’s middle age, he tells less stories about fighting and indulges more in describing his artistic techniques. A good portion of the second half of the book is dedicated to describing the process of making molds for casting bronze statues with some odd little details along the way. He allowed a young woman to sleep inside a hollow bronze bust he had perched on the roof of his house and the neighbors thought they saw a ghost in there whenever she stirred in her sleep. Is this anecdote truth or fantasy? It is probably better for the reader not to care one way or the other.
So what can be made of Benvenuto Cellini’s Autobiography? It’s like a less raunchy version of Don Juan. Cellini’s balls-out willingness to tell the reader whatever it is he thinks while damning the consequences predates the transgressive writings of Henry Miller by about 500 years. All this is done with a personal candor that is modern in its sensibilities, while upholding the robust passion for living and knowledge that characterized the Renaissance. But not all of it is exciting; Cellini has a tendency to whine and squabble with the men he works for, usually over time spent working or money. The more interesting side of this is how the irresponsible nobility often try to cheat him out of what they promise to pay him. And if you want to dislike Cellini, then reasons won’t be hard to find. What is interesting is that, even as unappealing as he can be, his enthusiasm for telling his own story makes this a fascinating read. It succeeds even though it shouldn’t. And if there is any big complaint to be made, it is that while Cellini leaves out no details, there isn’t much room for interpretation. When so little is left to the imagination, placing the deeper layers of thinking on the surface, the reader doesn’t have to work too hard to think about what it all means. For those with a philosophical mindset, there isn’t a lot to theorize about in these pages.
Benvenuto Cellini’s Autobiography is obviously a blend of fact and fiction. Some readers may want to sort out what parts are what, but taking that approach doesn’t do the text justice. It’s best to just dive in and read it as it is, getting the most out of it that you can.
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