a particular gravity was conspicuous. He was then conducted to a situation where he beheld the object of his desire, on which he gazed and meditated profoundly for some time, and, raising his voice, exclaimed

"O wonderful power! O glorious influence divine! how much more bounteous art thou to me, than I expected! The sun, divested of his rays, appeared a ball of purest melted gold. Whilst I gazed on this noble phenomenon, I saw the centre of the sun swell and bulge out, and, in a moment, there appeared a Christ, upon the cross, formed of the self-same matter as the sun, and so gracious and pleasing was his aspect, that no human imagination could ever form so much as a faint idea of such beauty. As I was contemplating this glorious apparition, I cried out, aloud, A miracle! a miracle! O God! O clemency divine! O goodness infinite! what mercies dost thou lavish on me, this morning! At the very time that I thus meditated, and uttered these words, the figure of Christ began to move towards the side where the rays were concentered; and the middle of the sun swelled and bulged out, as at first: the protuberance having increased considerably, was, at last, converted into the figure of a beautiful Virgin Mary, who appeared to sit with her son in her arms, in a graceful attitude, and even to smile; she stood between two angels of so divine a beauty, that imagination could not even form an idea of such perfection. I likewise saw in the same sun, a figure dressed in sacerdotal robes; this figure turned its back to me, and looked towards the blessed Virgin, holding Christ in her arms. All these things I clearly and plainly saw, and, with a loud voice, continued to return thanks to the Almighty. This wonderful phenomenon having appeared before me about eight minutes, vanished from my sight, and I was instantly conveyed back to my couch.

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The Cardinal of Ferrara, at this juncture, made his appearance at Rome, and being detained, by the Pope, one evening, to supper, took advantage of the high spirits and good humour of his holiness, to urge the liberation of our artist, in the name of his master the king of France. The holy father, who was given to indulge in the good cheer of the vatican, somewhat beyond apostolic warrant, perceiving his time of vomiting was at hand, said to the cardinal, laughing, " take Benvenuto home with you directly, without a moment's delay." The cardinal, who knew the necessity of expedition, sent for Benvenuto, at midnight, and engaged him in the service of the French king. He soon afterwards set out for Paris, where he arrived in due time, after encountering his usual series of adventures. He met with a gracious reception, and was put under the care of his friend, the cardinal, who proposed, as an ample remuneration, to allow him three hundred crowns a year. Great was the ire of Benvenuto at the proposal of so small a salary; and, after thanking the cardinal, with all his heart, for the blessing of liberty, which, by

his intervention, he now enjoyed, he took his leave, determined to make a pilgrimage to the holy sepulchre, and never more to work upon any thing but a figure of Christ, wishing to make as near an approach, as possible, to the extraordinary beauty he had so often displayed to him in visions. He had not proceeded far on this devotional scheme before he was overtaken, and brought back, by a company of horsemen. Every thing was now settled to his satisfaction: he was directed to make twelve silver statues, for his majesty; and a house being assigned him, which had formerly been granted by his majesty to the Provost of Paris, he began to work, in God's name. Our artist, however, found the greatest difficulty in retaining possession of his residence, against the daily assaults to which he was subjected, by the friends of the provost. Grants of naturalization, and of the house, were, without solicitation, made out, and he would have been tolerably quiet, but for the interference of Madame D'Estampes, the king's mistress, whose resentment he incurred by neglecting to court her favour. He proceeded to finish one of the statues, and made his first attempt to cast in bronze; he also designed a model for the gate of Fontainebleau, his majesty's favorite residence. The king, during the progress of his different works, paid him frequent visits: on one occasion, when he had signified his intention to visit the artist. Madame D'Estampes spoke so bitterly against him, that the king promised to scold him heartily. The author's account of this interview is equally creditable to the generosity of the monarch, and the address and spirit of the artist.

"When he came to my house," says he, "I shewed him into some ground-floor apartments, in which I had put together the several parts of the gate of Fontainebleau; the king was seized with such astonishment, that he could not find in his heart to load me with abuse, as he had promised Madame D'Estampes. He did not, however, chuse entirely to go back of his word, as appears from his having expressed himself to this effect: it is something extraordinary, Benvenuto, that you men of genius are not sensible of your inability to display your talents without our assistance, and that you shew yourselves great, only by means of the opportunities that we afford you; it would become you to be a little more humble, and less proud and opinionative: I remember I gave you express orders to make twelve silver statues for me, and that was all I desired of you; but you took it into your head to make me a salt-cellar, vases, heads, and a thousand other fancies of your own; insomuch, that I am quite surprised you should neglect all that I required of you, and mind nothing, but pleasing yourself. If you continue to behave thus, I will shew you in what manner I am used to proceed, when I want to have things done my own way; I must therefore repeat it to you, that I insist upon your shewing yourself obedient when I lay my commands upon you, because,

if you continue obstinate in your whims, you will only run your head against the wall."

"Whilst his majesty uttered these words, the noblemen stood with the most profound attention, perceiving that he shook his head, knit his brows, and used a variety of gestures, sometimes with one hand, and sometimes with the other; all present, therefore, began to tremble for me, but I was not under the least apprehensions myself. As soon as he had made an end of reprimanding me, as he had promised Madame D'Estampes, I knelt with one knee upon the ground, and, kissing his mantle, addressed him in the following terms: Sire, I acknowledge the truth of what you say; all I have to alledge in my defence is, that my heart has been constantly attentive, day and night, to obey and serve you, with the utmost exertion of all my faculties; whatever appears to the contrary to your majesty, you may depend upon it, does not come from Benvenuto, but is the work of my adverse fate, which has rendered me unworthy of serving the greatest prince that the world ever beheld; I, therefore, humbly ask your pardon. It appeared to me that your majesty gave me silver for one statue only, and, as I had none of my own, I could make only that; so, with the little silver that was left, I made the vase, to give your majesty an idea of the beautiful manner of antiquity, which was, perhaps, unknown to you before. With regard to the salt-cellar, as well as I can recollect, you, one day, desired me to make one, in consequence of some conversation, concerning a salt-cellar that was shewn you; upon which I produced you a model, which I had formerly made in Italy, solely at your majesty's request, and you were pleased to order me a thousand ducats, for making it, declaring yourself highly pleased with my performance; you even went so far as to thank me, when I gave it to you finished. As for the gate, I apprehend that your majesty, in some occasional conversation, gave orders to Mons. de Villeroy, your secretary, to direct Mess. Marmande and Apa to employ me in such a work and supply me with money; for, without that assistance, I could not possibly have gone on with the work. With regard to the heads, I should not have thought of casting such large. pieces, except merely to try my hand at that branch of business. The bases I made, in a persuasion that they were admirably suited to such figures; however, in all I undertook, I endeavoured to do best and never lose sight of what your majesty intended. True it is, I made the great colossal statue, and brought it to its present degree of perfection, at my own expence; for, it appeared to me, that it would become the dignity of so great a monarch, and reflect some honour on my slender abilities, that such a statue should be made in your kingdom, as had never been seen by the antients. But, since I perceive that God has not thought proper to render me worthy of so honourable a service, I request it of your majesty, that, instead of the noble recompense you intended to make me for my labours, you would only give me a small share of your good will, and leave to depart; if you condescend to grant me this favour, I will instantly set out for Italy, returning thanks to the Supreme Being, for the happy hours that I have been in your majesty's, service. When I had finished, the king took me by the hand, and, in

my

the kindest manner imaginable, raised me from the ground; he told, me that I should be contented with his service, and that all I had done for him, he was highly pleased with: turning, afterwards, to the noblemen present, he deliberately uttered these words: I really believe that if there were to be gates to Paradise, it never could have any finer than this. When I saw that he had made an end of speaking, though his words were highly favourable to me, I, again, in the most respectful manner, returned him thanks, at the same time repeating my request to be dismissed, as my resentment had not yet entirely subsided. When the great monarch perceived that I made such a return to his extraordinary caresses, he commanded me, in a loud and tremendous voice, not to utter another word, for that, if I did, I should repent it; he farther added, that he would smother me in gold, and that he gave me leave to depart; that the works which he had employed me upon, were not so much as begun; but, with respect to what I had done out of my own head, he was very well pleased, and he should never have any other difference with me, because he knew me thoroughly; that I should endeavour to study his temper and know him, as duty required of me. After answering, that I thanked God and his majesty for every thing, I requested him to come and take a view of the colossal statue, which was, by this time, in a high state of forwardness; so he came to my house. I caused the statue to be uncovered, and nothing could equal his astonishment at beholding it: he gave orders to one of his secretaries, instantly to reimburse me the money I had spent out of my own pocket, let the sum be ever so great, provided I gave him an account, written with my own hand: upon which he left the place, saying to me, adieu, mon ami; my friend, farewell; an expression, seldom used by a king."

The Cardinal Ferrara, however, gave him permission to de part, and promised to make all smooth at court. He, accordingly, set forward to Italy, leaving his castle and effects in the care of his two favorite assistants, who repaid all his kindness by abominable treachery; and, by their insinuations, prevented his return to France. He next entered into the service of Cosmo de Medici, for whom he cast, amidst incredible difficulties, the famous bronze statue of Perseus, which was placed in the great square of Florence, to the delight and admiration of the inhabitants of that illustrious city. Statuaries and painters emulated each other in commending this splendid performance, and numerous sonnets celebrated its praise.*

Full of gratitude for his magnificent success, he undertook a pilgrimage to Vallombrosa and Camaldoli. We must pass

* Several of these Sonnets are collected at the end of a work of Cellini, entitled "Due Tratti uno intorno alle otto principali arti dell' oreficeria-L'altro in materia dell' arte della scultura. Fiorenza, 1568." Amongst them, we find one by Michael Angelo.

over the remainder of this entertaining book, which is brought down to within three or four years of the author's death, an event that took place on the 13th February, 1570, thankful for the gratification it has afforded us, and trusting it may not be altogether uninteresting to our readers. His funeral was performed with great honor, attended by the whole academy of drawing, and a sermon, in praise of his life and works, and his excellent moral qualities, preached, to the satisfaction of all present.

Thus died Benvenuto Cellini, a man of great genius, and uncommon versatility of talents; caressed alike by kings, popes, and dignitaries of the church of Rome; esteemed by men of learning; lauded by the most eminent artists of his time; and beloved by all his acquaintance. Admitted into the privacy of the most elevated in rank and station, he never forgot what was due to himself as a man: he was neither servile to kings nor their mistresses; he neither flattered popes nor their favorites; he neither worshipped a cardinal's hat nor the tiara; he was bold for the right, and thought not that St. Peter's chair could sanctify wrong, or hallow injustice-he dared to speak the truth; an audacity fatal to the hopes of the followers of courts, and the aspirers to place.

But if he honored not the character of the Patriarchs of the church, he was impressed with a deep sense of religion, and not altogether free from superstition. He was of a rather capricious nature, and his passions were fierce and vindictive.-Jealous of his rights, he hesitated not to resent, with promptitude and decision, the slightest infringement of them, and, in the spirit of the times, he seldom thought the expiation complete without violence. It must be allowed, however, that, although somewhat too impetuous and sensitive, too jealous in honor, and quick in quarrel, he was generally in the right, and disdained to chastise pusillanimity, or annihilate imbecility. Of great power of suffering; he rises in our respect, as afflictions thicken around him; we honor him for his bravery, his rigid adherence to truth, his unshrinking fortitude, his kind and affectionate heart. We triumph in his triumphs; we sympathise with his wrongs; and we sorrow when injustice restrains the person of a man, whose mind is too elastic for chains or dungeons to fetter or confine. Indeed his fervour of imagination and sensibility of feeling frequently amounted to an extreme intensity, and gave rise to his visionary intercourse with superhuman beings-to colloquies with his guardian angel-to the invocation and imagined presence of spirits, and the halo which shone around the shadow of his head

-a distinction which was first manifested in France, and which he occasionally condescended to shew to a few select friends. In all these imaginations, however, the tenor of his thoughts as an artist is conspicuous.