BENVENUTO CELLINI OFFENDS THE POPE.

When I made this speech, there was present that gentleman of Cardinal Santa Fiore’s with whom I had had words, and confirmed to the Pope all that had been told him! The Pope remained swelling with rage, and said nothing. Now I do not wish to fail in stating my reasons in a just and righteous manner. That gentleman of Santa Fiore’s came to me one day, and brought me a little ring all tarnished with quicksilver, saying, “Burnish this ring for me, and make haste about it.” I had a great many pieces of goldsmith’s work in hand, with most valuable jewels waiting to be set, and hearing myself, moreover, ordered about with so much assurance by a man whom I had never seen or spoken to before, answered that I had not a burnisher by me just then, and that he had better go to another. He, without any reason in the world, told me that I was an ass. To these words of his I replied that he did not speak the truth, and that I was a man, on every account worth more than he; but that, if he bothered me, I would certainly kick harder than any ass. He went straight to the cardinal, and made out that I had all but murdered him. Two days after this I was shooting behind the palace at a wild pigeon, which had its nest in a hole, very high up; and that same pigeon I had seen shot at by a goldsmith named Giovan Francesco della Tacca, a Milanese, who had never hit it. On the day when I was shooting, it had become shy, and scarcely showed its head; and because this Giovan Francesco and I were rival marksmen, certain gentlemen and friends of mine who were in my workshop pointed it out to me, and said, “That is Tacca’s pigeon which he has so often shot at. See, the poor bird has grown suspicious, and scarcely shows its head.” I looked up, and said, “It shows quite enough for 37me to hit it, if I only had time to take aim first.” Those gentlemen said that the man himself who invented the firelock could never hit it. I replied I was willing to wager a pitcher of the best Greek wine that I would do so; and, taking aim, and shooting from the arm, without any support for my piece, I did what I had promised, without thinking of the cardinal or anybody else; nay, I had the less reason to do so, as I believed the cardinal to be very much my patron. Thus may the world see what divers ways Fortune takes, when she wishes to be the ruin of a man. To return to the Pope: he remained, all swollen and sulky, brooding over what he had heard....

Benvenuto Cellini (1500–1570).