The pontificate of Leo X was the golden age of the arts, though crimes of every character were still unchecked in Rome. The pope, one of the Medici of Florence, who had reason to suspect Cardinal Alfonso Petrucci of being privy to a plot to murder him, dissimulated his anger and affectionately invited the cardinal to visit Rome. Petrucci was promised a safe conduct and the pope gave his word to the Spanish ambassador that the cardinal should come to no harm. He arrived accompanied by a friend, also a cardinal, and both were immediately arrested and imprisoned in St. Angelo. An extensive conspiracy was supposed to be on foot, and many other victims found their way to the dungeons of the castle. The exact fate that overtook them was never made known, but it is certain that Petrucci and his friend were put to the torture, and after trial and conviction the first-named was strangled in his cell, and the second was only released after the payment of an exorbitant fine; even then he had purchased freedom with death hanging over him from slow poison which had been administered to him before his release. Leo X also made away with Gian Paolo Baglioni, ruler of Perugia, whom he suspected of a secret understanding with his enemies. Baglioni was distrustful and hesitated to answer a summons to Rome, but went at last, relying upon the fair promises that he should come to no harm. Leo received him at St. Angelo, which he was visiting temporarily, and there was no hope for Baglioni, who was seized and subjected at once to torture, under which he confessed to many crimes. He was then cast into a dungeon, where he lingered for a couple of months, and was eventually decapitated.

Leo X had a strong liking for the castle and constantly resided there in the apartments, most of which are still on view, and which he greatly beautified. By his order Michael Angelo designed the marble front for the chapel of the Angel already erected in the topmost part. This upper story was the scene of a theatrical representation when Ariosto’s comedy “I Suppositi” was performed under the direction of Cardinal Bibbiena, the stage decorations being the work of Raphael. To facilitate the pope’s ascent to the upper story, the governor of the castle constructed a lift or elevator communicating from the ground floor to the top of the castle, one of the earliest instances of the domestic use of hydraulics. The remains of this elevator may still be seen in the guiding beams inserted in the well or shaft for the movement of the cage or platform.

Another Medicis, Giulio, who became pope in 1553, with the title of Clement VII, was strenuous in his efforts to embellish the castle, being more eager to decorate and improve it than to strengthen it, although it was destined to receive some severe shocks during his reign. One of his works was to replace the angel destroyed by the gunpowder explosion, and a marble statue was provided by Raphael, son of Baccio da Monte-Lupo, who also added some fine decoration in stone work and scagliola in many of the principal rooms. Clement VII was often at issue with other European potentates and especially with the emperor Charles V, who declared war against him and invaded his dominions. Clement at first hoped that the people of Rome would support him in his resistance to the enemy, but was disappointed, and lingering too long in the Vatican, only escaped capture at the last moment by a hurried flight along the covered passage into his stronghold of St. Angelo. The Leonine city forthwith became the prey of the German troops, who overran the whole Borgo, sacking the houses of the cardinals and courtiers, pillaging the Vatican and robbing St. Peter’s of everything of value. They were checked only by the guns of St. Angelo, and withdrew at nightfall carrying off their booty. The next day the emperor made overtures and terms were arranged at a conference between them. It was only a truce of brief duration, for Clement soon became embroiled with the emperor Charles V and sided with the French against him. This brought on him a fresh and more serious attack from Duke Charles of Bourbon, who, although a cousin of the French king and constable of France, had transferred his services to Charles V.

The following episode in the chequered fortunes of St. Angelo is especially interesting, for it brings upon the scene that strange but remarkable character, Benvenuto Cellini, who was to a great extent the hero of the siege. We have fortunately an ample and graphic record of his adventurous life, by his own hand, in the autobiographical memoirs which Horace Walpole thought “more amusing than any novel” and which are indeed, as they have been styled, “the most entertaining and delightful work in the whole compass of Italian literature.” The learned historian Roscoe, who edited these memoirs, ably summarises the advantages enjoyed by the author. Benvenuto Cellini belonged to a golden age of the arts, essentially that of the Old Masters; he was intimately associated with Michael Angelo, Titian and the most eminent sculptors and painters of the time; he was on friendly terms with popes and monarchs, great princes, powerful statesmen, distinguished commanders, lordly ecclesiastics, and braving displeasure, held his head high, speaking his mind freely to all. We are admitted behind the scenes and see these historic personages in their private and domestic life, betraying themselves unconsciously at their worst, exposing their small vices, their meanness, pettiness, ingratitude, and yielding to their greater passions which often impelled them to cruelty, injustice, rank oppression and violent crime. Cellini’s presentment of people and things in his epoch is extraordinarily vivid and forcible; he was a prominent actor in many of the eventful episodes of that stormy period; he had the gift of language and the power to describe with vigour and precision the moving scenes of which he was an eye-witness and frequently participated in. He is conceited, self-sufficient, bombastic; he blows his own trumpet continually and is always full of vain-glorious satisfaction at the supreme excellence of his work and his triumph over all competitors. Of mercurial disposition he is quick to quarrel with any one, to resent offence, not always intended, but ever ready to justify his ebullitions of ill temper, sword in hand to face his enemies and fight all comers. Withal he was a genius of the first water; his productions, as fully proved by the work that survives, were fine specimens of his versatile artistic power, and we need only refer to his principal achievement, the great bronze statue of Perseus, which all the world admires to-day in the Galeria dei Lanzi of Florence. Cellini was a Florentine, a subject of the Medicis, born in the days of Lorenzo the Magnificent, and his father, an admirable artist in ivory, an engineer and a notable musician, was much favoured by that liberal patron of the arts. In his youth Benvenuto bound himself to a goldsmith, and according to Vasari, had “no equal in that branch for many years, nor in making fine figures of alto and basso relievo.... He set jewels and adorned them with admirable collets and diminutive figures so exquisitely formed and some of them so curious and fanciful that nothing finer can be conceived.” His father would have preferred that he should apply himself to music, but Benvenuto stuck to his trade and, as he tells us, “so great was my inclination to improve that in a few months I rivalled the most skilful journeyman in the business.... I continued however to play sometimes through complacence, either upon the flute or the horn, and I constantly drew tears and deep sighs from him when he heard me. From a feeling of filial piety I often gave him that satisfaction, endeavouring to persuade him that it also gave me particular pleasure.” Benvenuto being concerned with his brother in a serious affray, was banished from Florence and wandered through some of the northern cities following his trade, but returned and was invited to England in the employment of King Henry VII. He would not leave his native city, however, where he became the victim of envious rivals “who robbed and calumniated him, doing him the greatest injustice.” He says: “They declared loudly they would make me repent, but I, being a stranger to fear, little regarded their menaces.” A fierce quarrel soon followed, Benvenuto was injured and retaliated by striking one of his assailants to the ground where he lay motionless and insensible. Drawing a knife he cried: “Some one run for a confessor as there will be no necessity for a surgeon.” Benvenuto was arrested and carried before the council of eight, who would have sent him to prison, but through the good offices of friends only a penalty of a fine was imposed. His passionate temper would not suffer him to sink his differences, and running to his workshop, he took up a dagger, meaning to make short work of his adversaries. Single handed he attacked the whole family of the man who had been the originator of the quarrel. They were a dozen in number, all armed with cudgels, hammers and scraps of iron. “Rushing amongst them like a mad bull,” he says, “I threw down four or five and fell to the ground along with them, now aiming my dagger at one, now at another.” No fatal consequences ensued, however, for Benvenuto adds, “Upon looking about for the wounded and slain, it appeared that none of them had sustained any injury.” After this disturbance, Benvenuto knew that he must fly, for the authorities vowed vengeance. The magistrates assembled, decreed his immediate arrest, and threatened the severest penalties against any one who dared to grant him an asylum or be privy to his concealment. Cellini’s father pleaded for mercy and begged hard that his youthful but hot-headed son might be spared, but was peremptorily bidden to take himself off. There could be no safety for Benvenuto, who forthwith left the city, disguised as a friar accompanied by a lay brother. Outside the walls horses were provided, and the fugitive galloped away to Sienna on the road to Rome. At Sienna he encountered a messenger bringing the news that Cardinal Giulio Medicis had been elected pope and had taken the title of Clement VII.

Fortune smiled on Benvenuto Cellini when he reached the Holy City. He found plenty of work and many kindly patrons; he was permitted to sit at the feet of Michael Angelo, who was then engaged in the adornment of the Sistine Chapel, and was welcomed at the house of Agostino Chigi, who possessed many fine paintings of Raphael, which he was allowed to copy for use in his own designs. Work was plentiful. He received a commission to set some fine diamonds for a beautiful Roman lady and produced a perfect piece, which won him great fame and a substantial reward. Another order came from the bishop of Salamanca for a large silver vase to contain water. But in the midst of this congenial and profitable employment the claims of music once more interposed. By way of pleasing his aged father, he agreed to join the pope’s private band for a special chamber concert, and acquitted himself so well that Clement asked his name. Finding Benvenuto was the son of Giovanni Cellini of Florence, the pope proposed to take him into his service as a musician, but learning that he was an expert goldsmith and jeweller, promised him constant employment in that direction also. Meanwhile the commission for the bishop of Salamanca was being executed, but that proud and overbearing prelate offended Cellini by constantly demanding that the vase should be sent to him, that he might judge for himself what progress was being made. Cellini, quick-tempered as usual, refused to part with it without some payment on account, and the bishop essayed to take the vase by force. A crowd of Spaniards came down upon Cellini’s shop, but were faced by Benvenuto with a loaded fowling piece. “Miscreants! traitors! cut-throats!” he cried, “are the houses and shops of citizens to be assaulted in this manner? If any thief amongst you offers to approach this door, I will shoot him dead.” The disturbance brought out the neighbours to support Cellini, and he was assured that if he killed the Spanish dogs they would stand by him. Whereupon the Spaniards ran off in a terrible panic and reported the matter to their bishop. The prelate severely reprimanded them for attempting such an act of violence, but he was furiously angry with Benvenuto, and sent a message to him that if he did not bring the piece of plate directly, he would leave no part of his body entire but his ears. “The proud prelate’s menaces did not in the least terrify me,” writes Cellini, “and I sent him back word that I should immediately lay the whole affair before the pope.”

Having reached this climax, the matter settled down; the bishop’s anger subsided, and Benvenuto was assured that he would come to no harm if he acceded to the bishop’s request, but would be paid his price on delivery of the piece of plate. Accordingly he clothed himself in a coat of mail, armed himself with a dagger and, followed by a servant carrying the silver vase, proceeded to the bishop’s house where he was received in state; the servants were all drawn up around the bishop, who was himself seated in grim displeasure. Benvenuto was not in the least overawed and we may quote his words as he describes the end of the incident: “All this time I never once looked at him, or so much as answered a single word; at which his lordship seemed to discover more resentment than ever and having ordered pen, ink and paper, desired me to write him a receipt. I then looked him full in the face and told him that I would readily do so after I had received my money. The haughty bishop was then more exasperated than ever; but in tine, after a great deal of scolding and hectoring, I was paid and afterwards, having written an acquittance, left the place in high spirits.” The pope was highly delighted with this story when it reached him, and entirely approved of Cellini’s conduct, so that the bishop of Salamanca regretted and heartily repented what he had done. To make amends he sent word to Cellini, promising him more work, but the irrepressible goldsmith replied that he would undertake no further commissions unless he was paid in advance; an answer at which the pope laughed heartily when it was reported to him. Other patrons came forward; two cardinals, Cibo and Cornaro, ordered plate, and he designed a gold medal for a hat ornament which was esteemed a masterpiece of art. Under the advice of his friends he opened a shop and did an extensive business on his own account, adding to the other occupation that of seal engraver, a branch of art much in demand; for every cardinal had his own seal as large as the palm of a child ten years old, a costly affair and difficult in execution. Cellini applied himself with great assiduity to the work and mastered it. He also acquired the art of enamelling, a very delicate operation on account of the final use of fire which sometimes ruins and destroys the whole production. “I attached myself to it with the greatest ardour, and such was the pleasure I took in learning it that its greatest difficulties appeared delightful to me,” he says naÏvely, and goes on to give us an amusing insight into his transparently conceited character. “This was through the peculiar indulgence of the Author of nature, who had gifted me with a genius so happy that I could with the utmost ease learn anything I gave my mind to. These several branches are very different from each other; insomuch that the man who excels in one seldom or never attains to an equal degree of perfection in any of the rest; whereas I, having exerted myself with the utmost assiduity to be eminent in all these different arts, at last compassed my end.” To learn the art of “damascening” or inlaying the blades of daggers with steel or silver was yet another occupation of Cellini’s busy hours, which were indeed always full. Yet he still found time to quarrel with a comrade who insulted the Florentines, to slap his face and draw his sword and fight him. He took the plague and recovered from it. He pursued game upon the Campagna and opened up relations with the peasantry, who while working in the vineyards constantly dug up valuable curiosities, ancient medals, cameos and precious stones, which Cellini bought for a few baiocchi and sold to art loving cardinals. Some of these gems were remarkable; such as the emerald as large as a bean, cut into a dolphin’s head, and the topaz of the size of a large nut carved into the head of Minerva, and a cameo engraved with a figure of Hercules binding a triple headed Cerberus, of such admirable workmanship that Michael Angelo counted it the most beautiful specimen he had ever seen.

More serious business was at hand for Cellini. He was to be actively and usefully engaged in the defence of the castle of St. Angelo against the attack of Charles of Bourbon. The constable on behalf of Charles V, learned that Rome was without adequate garrison and suddenly advanced upon it in 1527. Cellini had already given proof of his military qualities and in the time of the rising of the Colonnas had been employed to protect a house in the city with a company he had himself raised. He was again entrusted with a detachment and posted on the city walls. It was his fortune to assist in repelling the assault made by the constable’s troops and to perform a remarkable service. Seeing a great gathering of the enemy at one point he discharged his arquebus at the crowd. “I discharged it,” he says, “with a deliberate aim at a person who seemed to be lifted above the rest, but the mist prevented me from distinguishing whether he was on horseback or on foot.” This chance shot of Cellini’s caused extraordinary confusion in the ranks of the assailants as it was proved to have slain the Duke of Bourbon, a fact borne out by other historians, who state that he was killed by a musket shot quite early in the siege.

The attack prospered notwithstanding, for the death of their leader, instead of disheartening his soldiers, roused them to increased effort. A thick fog prevailed and under cover of this the constable’s troops crossed the entrenchments and swarmed the ramparts with so much determination that the Romans threw down their arms, and, panic stricken, sought safety in headlong flight. Meanwhile Pope Clement, who had been at his prayers in the chapel of the Vatican, was roused from his knees by the terrible news that the city was practically captured. Without a moment’s pause he ran to the covered passage or corridor communicating with St. Angelo to take refuge in his castle. As he hurried along in frantic haste, he feared that his white robes might betray him to some marksman, so he drew his skirts over his head and in this garb safely reached the wicket gate. A number of cardinals and bishops went with him, eager to seek safety in this welcome retreat. They were safe enough inside, but without the city was given over to pillage and devastation by the savage and bloodthirsty troops. Men were massacred wholesale, women violated, and the air was rent with their shrieks mingled with the groans of the dying. The soldiers, Spaniards and Germans, maddened and infuriated, overran the streets, destroying the palaces, robbing the churches of their furniture and the altars of their relics and sacred ornaments. The horrors of that night of storm and sack are indescribable; the castle alone held out and afforded shelter to the pope and his cardinals, but it was ill-provisioned and could hardly hope to beat off the attack when the brutal soldiery, sated with spoil and slowly recovering from their wild orgies, began a regular siege.

Now Cellini came to the front and distinguished himself greatly. He had entered the castle with the other fugitives, and eager for active employment, joined a battery of guns under a Florentine named Giuliano. This man was in despair. From the battlements he could see his own house being pillaged, his wife and children in danger, and he did not dare to open fire but, “throwing his match upon the ground made piteous lamentations, tearing his hair and uttering the most doleful cries.” The energetic goldsmith promptly interposed, and calling upon others to assist, directed the guns where their fire would be the most effective and killed a considerable number of the enemy. After this Cellini continued to fire, which, he says, “made some cardinals and gentlemen bless me and extol my activity to the skies. Emboldened by this I used my utmost exertions; let it suffice that it was I that preserved the castle that morning.”

The pope, appreciating Cellini’s value, now permanently appointed him to an important post,—the command of “five great guns in the highest part of the castle, called ‘Dall Angiolo,’ which goes quite round the fortress and looks both towards the meadows and towards Rome.” He was in great heart and says: “I who was at times more inclined to arms than to my own profession, obeyed my orders with such alacrity that I had better success than if I had been following my own business.” Placed on this point of vantage, he could watch all that went on and constantly harass the enemy now in full possession of the city. His life was one of constant excitement and danger. He was knocked over by a ricocheting shot and as he lay prostrate but conscious, he heard the grieved bystanders cry aloud, “Alas! we have lost our best support.” Prompt help was given him. A friend who was near at hand, a musician, “having a better turn to physic than music,” made a slate red hot, sprinkled it with Greek wine and a handful of wormwood and applied it to Cellini’s heart. “Such was the efficacy of the wormwood that it immediately restored my vigour,” he writes, and continues: “I made an attempt to speak but found myself unable to articulate because some foolish soldiers had filled my mouth with earth thinking they had thereby given me the last sacrament ... but the earth did me a great deal more harm than the contusion.”

The Holy Father had already shown him especial favour on the occasion above mentioned, when he had done so much execution with his guns. Cellini, who always made the most of his opportunities, had taken advantage of Clement’s kindliness to ask a great favour. He says: “Falling upon my knees I intreated his Holiness to absolve me from the guilt of homicide, as likewise from other crimes which I had committed in that castle in the service of the Church. The pope, lifting up his hands, and making the sign of the cross over me, said that he blessed me and gave me his absolution for all the homicides that I had ever committed, or ever should commit, in the service of the Apostolic Church.” Cellini was much trusted by the pope, who conceived a great liking for him seeing that he always acquitted himself with prudence and sagacity. He was much pestered by officious people, especially the cardinals who hung about the battery in robes and scarlet hats and drew on them the enemy’s fire, and he states: “I often warned them not to come to me, but persuasion having no effect, I at last got them confined, by which I incurred their enmity and ill will.” Altercations nearly brought on a collision, and finally Cardinal Farnese sent his servants to seize Cellini, who turned his guns upon them and promised to open fire on any who dared to ascend the steps leading up to the battery. “Villains,” he cried, “if you do not instantly quit the place, or if any of you attempt to mount these stairs, I have two falconets ready charged with which I will blow you to dust!” Having vindicated his authority, Cellini resumed his proper business. He relates: “I now gave my whole attention to firing my guns, by which means I did signal execution, so that I had in a high degree acquired the favour and good graces of His Holiness. There passed not a day that I did not kill some of the army without the castle.” One day under the pope’s own eye he cut a swaggering Spanish colonel in half by a cleverly aimed long range shot. Again, after much thought, he devised a plan for annoying the enemy when they relieved the evening guard and passed in great strength through the gate of S. Spirito. The passage having become dangerous, cover had been devised by a traverse of a hundred barrels raised on the side of the castle, whereupon Cellini brought his whole battery to bear upon the barrels and threw them down, inflicting great loss of life. He repeated this several times and so disheartened the besiegers that they were disposed to mutiny and march off. Great execution was also done by making use of certain antique missiles he found in the armoury.

A lucky shot aimed at some unknown person in authority gained Cellini great credit. It proved to be the Prince of Orange, who had sacrificed his fortune and princely position to throw in his lot with the Emperor Charles V, and was now assisting the siege. As numbers of officers of high rank called at the inn to which the wounded prince had been conveyed, the pope “being a person of great sagacity” ordered his chief engineer to concentrate the whole artillery fire upon this inn, thinking that if he could sweep away all these leaders, the army on finding itself without guidance would probably disperse. But Cardinal Orsini, who had been a soldier in his early youth, violently objected to this scheme and came to high words with the pope about it, declaring that if the chiefs were killed, the soldiers being without leadership or control would surely storm the castle, carry it and put every one to the sword. Clement VII yielded helplessly to the peremptory advice of the masterful cardinal. But the impetuous Cellini by no means agreed; he did not await the order to spare the inn, but of his own motion opened fire with one gun which hit the house and caused great havoc amongst the crowd collected there, so that they were on the point of leaving the place. Cardinal Orsini was greatly incensed at Cellini’s insubordinate action, and clamoured to have him hanged or in some way put to death upon the spot. The pope, however, sided with the valiant goldsmith and defended him with great spirit and resolution.

Cellini was useful to the pope in another way and in his own particular line. Feeling himself in the toils and threatened with the loss of his most valuable possessions if not of his life, he sought Cellini’s aid in saving his jewels, both his own property and those of the papal regalia. Cellini was called into a very private apartment where the pope sat with his master of the horse and displayed before him the entire collection of these jewels,—a vast quantity of inestimable value. The pope desired him to remove all the stones from their settings, to put all the gold together and secrete the jewels by sewing them into the skirts of the pope’s robes. The gold, a hundred pounds’ weight, Cellini was to carry to his own chamber in a retired part of the topmost story, close by the battery he commanded, and there melt it down unseen. This feat he accomplished by constructing a small brick furnace, under which he fixed a little pot or dish to receive the gold as it was melted and run through after being thrown upon the live coals above. This was the origin of the grave accusation made against Cellini at a later date of having misappropriated a quantity of the state jewels, a false and mendacious charge, as he easily showed when arrested, but which was used unfairly to subject him to lengthened imprisonment in St. Angelo. This episode occurred during the reign of another pope, Paul III, who was no friend to Benvenuto Cellini.

The siege of St. Angelo by the Imperialists lasted for just one month and was combined with the most brutal ravages in Rome. The invaders were guilty of the most terrible excesses; rapine and slaughter constantly vexed the city, which soon sank into a state of deplorable ruin. For a time the pope entertained strong hopes of relief from the army of the league commanded by the Duke of Urbino, and beacon fires were constantly kept burning on the castle to indicate that it still held out. At one time succour seemed near at hand and the banners of Guido Rangoni were seen in the distance on Monte Mario, but they soon fell back and with them disappeared all hope of rescue. Clement now became the victim of abject and consuming fear; he was ready to accept any terms, however humiliating, provided his life was spared. With abundant tears he cried out that since fortune had brought him to such a pass he would make no further resistance, but would surrender himself and all his cardinals into the emperor’s hands. When such was the state of affairs, defence was vain, and on the 5th of June a capitulation was concluded on the hardest of terms. The pope agreed, first, to pay 100,000 ducats down, 50,000 more in twenty days, and a final 250,000 in two months; second, to give up the castle of St. Angelo with those of Civita Castellana and Civita Vecchia to the emperor; third, to remain a prisoner until the entire sum was liquidated; and fourth, to hand over the cities of Parma and Modena. Clement was, however, penniless and unable to meet a tithe of these onerous conditions. The cities and fortresses rejected the terms of capitulation and refused to open their gates. Vainly the church plate was melted and cardinals’ hats were sold to raise money. The sum required still fell short of the agreed ransom, and he was forced to remain in the castle as prisoner, guarded by Don Fernando de Alarcon with three Spanish and three German companies.

At length, in the beginning of October, the terms were modified and an arrangement finally concluded for the liberation of the pope. Clement was to deliver up all the fortresses in his possession, to raise what he could by the sale of twenty-seven cardinals’ hats and in other ways, and pay over this sum. On the evening of the 8th October, weary of the whole proceeding and even then doubting the good faith of his enemies, he disguised himself as a pedlar, threw a sack over his back, shrouded himself in a great cloak, pulled down his hat upon his brows and slipped out of the castle. Those who met him feigned not to recognise him. He went on foot through the city gates, and at a garden gate beyond he found a Spanish mule which had been sent by the Cardinal Colonna; on this he mounted and rode alone to Orvieto.

Benvenuto Cellini left the castle of St. Angelo at the end of the siege, and paid a visit to his native city, Florence, in which the plague had made terrible ravages and which had also passed through a revolution. The pope’s power and that of the Medicis family had been set aside for a republic. But Clement VII had no sooner made peace with the emperor and felt himself secure, than he vindicated his authority over Florence, which again became a hereditary principality. Benvenuto at first sided with his own people, but presently yielded to the overtures made him by the pope through a certain Jacobo della Barca, who was in high favour with Clement and who strongly advised him not to join a pack of senseless rebels who were acting against His Holiness.