Few men have lived life as full as late Italian Renaissance mannerist artist, Benvenuto Cellini. Born in 1500, Cellini would be thrilled that we still talk about his life five hundred years after his birth. After all, that is what he intended. That is why he began his autobiography at the age of fifty-eight, confident that history would remember him. And remember him we do, not only as a master goldsmith and sculptor, but as an author who wrote one of the most significant documents of the sixteenth century.

Cellini began his riveting tale by advising other potential authors on how to write their own autobiographies, first by informing their readers that they come from worthy stock and ancient origin. While most of us cannot claim to know our maternal grandparents twice removed, Cellini mentioned his parents, then went on to claim descent from an Italian man from a nearby town, Fioreno of Cellino, a captain in the guard of Julius Caesar sixteen hundred years past.

This Fioreno, Cellini claimed, camped his troops on the site of Florence with its fields of flowers, so Caesar named the place Florence partly for the flowers and partly to honor his captain. Most historians believe Florence, Florentia in Roman times, was named after the Roman festival of Floralia or Ludi Florales to honor Flora, the goddess of flowers. However, neither Caesar nor Flora was present to contradict the account of Cellini, so his version stands, at least in his own mind.

Commenting further on how pleased God was at his birth, Cellini told how he got his name--Benvenuto means welcome in Italian. While the musical name Benvenuto Cellini flows off the tongue with a satisfying feeling, Cellini rejected the career advice of his father that he become a great musician and composer. Unmindful that his flute playing sent his doting father into sighing, tearful ecstasy, Cellini forsook the hated flute to study as a goldsmith--and thus his adventures began.

Angered by his father at the age of sixteen Cellini left Florence for Rome, stopping by way of Lucca and Pisa. In Pisa he found a goldsmith willing to take him in as an apprentice. Returning to Florence for a brief visit, he met Italian sculptor, Piero Torrigiano. Showing a sketch he had drawn from copying the work of Michelangelo for the Florentine Signoria (The Battle of Cascina), he confided to Torrigiano that while the divine Michel Agnolo [sic] finished the Sistine Chapel ceiling, his genius never returned to its previous level in later life. Looking at the sketch Torrigiano told Cellini the story of how he had broken the nose of Michelangelo as a boy. Cellini already idolized Michelangelo by this time and disliked Torrigiano thereafter, but it is from the autobiography of Cellini that we know this story.

The exploits of Cellini are too numerous to relate. If the papal and civil authorities who encountered the arrogant and explosive artist kept rap sheets, Cellini would have a long one. He finally made it to Rome, where he engaged in an altercation with a young man whom he struck. The punishment being less stringent for delivering a slap rather than a blow, Cellini told the magistrates he only gave a slap, however, he was the only one punished and ordered to pay a fine.

Angered by this turn of events, Cellini went that night to the home of his tormentor where he stabbed him with a knife. Fleeing the scene, he encountered twelve family members of the young man who, according to Cellini, set upon him with an iron shovel, an iron pipe, an anvil, hammers and cudgels. A mighty battle ensued with Cellini wielding his knife, and afterward, the twelve searched among their dead and wounded only to find that, strangely, there were no dead and wounded. No one sustained any injuries except for the first man Cellini stabbed in the house. After such a story, it is not surprising then that Cellini claimed credit for his single-handed defense of Castle of San Angelo during the sack of Rome in 1526 as though no other defenders were needed.

Kings, dukes, and popes sought out Cellini for his exquisite craftsmanship, while villains, thieves, and necromancers knew him for far less noble purposes. The colorful exploits of Cellini chronicle the flavor of Italian Renaissance life with his unique perspective. If his account is true, it is surprising that Cellini had time for art. He died in Florence in 1571 at the age of 71 leaving behind a magnificent legacy of work.

Still in the news, Cellini's grandiose gold and enamel saltcellar executed in 1540 for the King of France and valued today at $60,000,000 was recovered recently after being stolen from a museum in Vienna. The art world continues to appreciate the work of Cellini, even if he does tell us himself of his greatness. No one blows his own horn louder than Benvenuto Cellini.