Somewhere in France, Michel Montaigne was working on his immortal "Essays." Gibbon described him as the only man of liberality in the 16th century, aside from Henry IV. His honesty, his good will, and his probing nature have recieved the acclaim of posterity.
Somewhere in Italy, the same time, a more representative portrait was being painted -- the Autobiography of Cellini. While it has the same honesty, it lacks the grace (written in a colloquial style), the liberality, and the meditation of Montaigne. It is probably more represantative of the Renaissance man, and of modern man altogether. Reading Cellini, one comes to understand what Camus meant by the "culture of death" at work in Western history.
Written as a novel (seen, in fact, as a progenitor of the Romantic novel), the Life of Cellini is a remarkable glimpse into the Italy and France in the times of Michelangelo and the Medici. Characters like Francis I of France, Duke Cosimo, Pope Clement VII, and artists like Michelangelo and Titian come to life in brilliant colors. But one shouldn't mistake the intent of Cellini's book as painting a portrait of his times -- no man on earth was ever so in love with himself, and HE is the subject of this book (I had to cringe every time Cellini, about to describe something fantastic, stops and declares "... that is the work of historians. I am only concerned with my affairs..." and leaves off).
I can't say for sure, but the veracity of this book must be almost incontestable, for the most part. Cellini was simply too shameless to be too much of a liar. A few times he tests our credulity: "mistakenly" leaving France with the King's silver, an arbesque "accidentally" firing and killing a man, etc. For the most part, however, we get the whole truth, and in fact more than we wanted to know.
Despite the fame and prestige Cellini comes to, he is little more than a common street rogue and villian. In the course of the book, he murders three people in cold blood, each murder worse than the last (the third time he shoots a man in the throat over a saddle dispute... on Good Friday). He delights in describing his violence ("...I meant to get him the face, but he turned and I stabbed him under the ear."), and he revels in warfare, brawling, and the misfortune of his enemies. Aside from the three murders, there are innumerable foiled and aborted murder attempts. Cellini's sadism reaches new heights when he forces one of his laborers to marry a whore, then pays the woman for sex to humiliate the man. In his descriptions of his crimes, his many run-ins with the law, and his violent disposition, Cellini seems completely unaware of himself and without shame. In fact, the intent of the book is to show him as the virtu -- a hero of divine virtue in a world of lies and deceit.
The portrayal of King Francis alone makes this book worthwhile. He is everything historical events point him out to be. Generous, jovial, and shrewd. The descriptions of the years Cellini spent as Paul III's personal prisoner are another high point, unfortunately capped by the lengthy and horribly tedious poem, "Capitolo," where Cellini clumsily elaborates on his suffering.
As a history and an autobiography, there are few greater works. But aside from its historical and literary value, the Autobiography of Cellini was just fun to read. The audacity and conceit of this horrible man is almost comical, and the loose and efficient prose makes it a smooth read.
