Benvenuto Cellini (1500–1571). Autobiography.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
LXVII
W
When I saw the unfortunate Benedetto stretched upon the ground, I thought at once of the peril I was in, considering the power of my enemies, and what might ensue from this disaster. Making off, I took refuge in the house of Messer Giovanni Gaddi, clerk of the Camera, with the intention of preparing as soon as possible to escape from Rome. He, however, advised me not to be in such a hurry, for it might turn out perhaps that the evil was not so great as I imagined; and calling Messer Annibal Caro, who lived with him, bade him go for information.
While these arrangements were being made, A Roman gentleman appeared, who belonged to the household of Cardinal de’ Medici, and had been sent by him. Taking Messer Giovanni and me apart, he told us that the Cardinal had reported to him what the Pope said, and that there was no way of helping me out of the scrape; it would be best for me to shun the first fury of the storm by flight, and not to risk myself in any house in Rome. Upon this gentleman’s departure, Messer Giovanni looked me in the face as though he were about to cry, and said: “Ah me! Ah woe is me! There is nothing I can do to aid you!” I replied: “By God’s means, I shall aid myself alone; only I request you to put one of your horses at my disposition.” They had already saddled a black Turkish horse, the finest and the best in Rome. I mounted with an arquebuse upon the saddle-bow, wound up in readiness to fire, if need were. When I reached Ponte Sisto, I found the whole of the Bargello’s guard there, both horse and foot. So, making a virtue of necessity, I put my horse boldly to a sharp trot, and with God’s grace, being somehow unperceived by them, passed freely through. Then, with all the speed I could, I took the road to Palombara, a fief of my lord Giovanbatista Savello, whence I sent the horse back to Messer Giovanni, without, however, thinking it well to inform him where I was. Lord Giovanbatista, after very kindly entertaining me two days, advised me to remove and go toward Naples till the storm blew over. So, providing me with company, he set me on the way to Naples.
While travelling, I met a sculptor of my acquaintance, who was going to San Germano to finish the tomb of Piero de’ Medici at Monte Cassino. His name was Solosmeo, and he gave me the news that on the very evening of the fray, Pope Clement sent one of his chamberlains to inquire how Tobbia was getting on. Finding him at work, unharmed, and without even knowing anything about the matter, the messenger went back and told the Pope, who turned round to Pompeo and said: “You are a good-for-nothing rascal; but I promise you well that you have stirred a snake up which will sting you, and serve you right!” Then he addressed himself to Cardinal de’ Medici, and commissioned him to look after me, adding that he should be very sorry to let me slip through his fingers. And so Solosmeo and I went on our way singing toward Monte Cassino, intending to pursue our journey thence in company toward Naples.