Now, with our readers' permission, we will leave the Châtelet for a moment, and return to the Hôtel de Nesle.
The workmen responded quickly to Benvenuto's cries, and followed him to the foundry.
They all knew him as he appeared when at work; but never had they seen such an expression upon his face, never such a flame in his eyes. Whoever could have cast him in a mould at that moment, as he was on the point of casting his Jupiter, would have endowed the world with the noblest statue ever created by the genius of an artist.
Everything was ready: the wax model in its envelope of clay, girt round with iron bands, was awaiting in the furnace which surrounded it the hour of its life. The wood was all arranged: Benvenuto set fire to it in four different places, and as it was spruce, which the artist had been long collecting that it might be thoroughly dry, the fire quickly attacked every part of the furnace, and the mould was soon the centre of an immense blaze. The wax thereupon began to run out through the air-holes while the mould was baking: at the same time the workmen were digging a long ditch beside the furnace, into which the metal was to be poured in a state of fusion, for Benvenuto was anxious not to lose a moment, and to proceed to the casting as soon as the mould was thoroughly baked.
For a day and a half the wax trickled from the mould; for a day and a half, while the workmen divided into watches and took turn and turn about like the sailors on a man-of-war, Benvenuto was constantly on hand, hovering about the furnace, feeding the fire, encouraging the workmen. At last he found that the wax had all run out, and that the mould was thoroughly baked; this completed the second part of his work; the last part was the melting of the bronze and the casting of the statue. When that stage was reached the workmen, who were utterly unable to comprehend such superhuman strength and such an intensity of passion, endeavored to induce Benvenuto to take a few hours' rest; but that would mean so many hours added to Ascanio's captivity and the persecution of Colombe. Benvenuto refused. He seemed to be made of the same bronze of which he was about to make a god.
When the ditch was dug, he wound stout ropes about the mould, and with the aid of windlasses prepared for that purpose, he raised it with every possible precaution, swung it out over the ditch, and let it down slowly until it was on a level with the furnace. He fixed it firmly in place there by piling around it the dirt taken from the ditch, treading it down, and putting in place, as the dirt rose about the mould, the pieces of earthen pipe which were to serve as air-holes. All these preparations took the rest of the day. Night came. For forty-eight hours Benvenuto had not slept nor lain down, nor even sat down. The workmen implored, Scozzone scolded, but Benvenuto would hear none of it: he seemed to be sustained by some more than human power, and made no other reply to the entreaties and scolding than to assign to each workman his task, in the short, stern tone of an officer manœuvring his troops.
Benvenuto was determined to begin the casting at once: the energetic artist, who was accustomed to see all obstacles yield before him, exerted his imperious power upon himself; he ordered his body to act, and it obeyed, while his companions were obliged to withdraw, one after another, as in battle wounded soldiers leave the field and seek the hospital.
The casting furnace was ready: it was filled with round ingots of brass and copper, symmetrically piled one upon another, so that the heat could pass between them, and the fusion be effected more quickly and more completely. He set fire to the wood around it as in the case of the other furnace, and as it was mostly spruce, the resin which exuded from it, in conjunction with the combustible nature of the wood, soon made such a fierce flame that it rose higher than was anticipated, and lapped the roof of the foundry, which took fire at once, being of wood. At the sight of this conflagration, and more especially at the heat which it gave forth, all the artist's comrades, save Hermann, drew back; but Hermann and Benvenuto were a host in themselves. Each of them seized an axe and cut away at the wooden pillars which upheld the roof, and in an instant it fell in. Thereupon Hermann and Benvenuto with poles pushed the burning fragments into the furnace, and with the increased heat the metal began to melt.
But Benvenuto had at last reached the limit of his strength. For nearly sixty hours he had not slept, for twenty-four he had not eaten, and during the whole of that time he was the soul of the whole performance, the axis upon which the whole operation turned. A terrible fever took possession of him: a deathly pallor succeeded to his usual high color. In an atmosphere so intensely hot that no one could live beside him, he felt his limbs tremble and his teeth chatter as if he were amid the snows of Lapland. His companions remarked his condition and drew near to him. He tried to resist, to deny that he was beaten, for in his eyes it was a disgrace to yield even before the impossible; but at last he was fain to confess that his strength was failing him. Fortunately, the fusion was nearly accomplished: the most difficult part of the operation was past, and what remained to be done was mere mechanical work. He called Pagolo; Pagolo did not reply. But the workmen shouted his name in chorus and he at last appeared; he said that he had been praying for the successful issue of the casting.
"This is no time to pray!" cried Benvenuto, "and the Lord said, 'He who works prays.' This is the time for work, Pagolo. Hark ye: I feel that I am dying; but whether I die or not, my Jupiter must live. Pagolo, my friend, to thee I intrust the management of the casting, sure that thou canst do it as well as I, if thou wilt. Understand, Pagolo, the metal will soon be ready; thou canst not mistake the proper degree of heat. When it is red thou wilt give a sledge hammer to Hermann, and one to Simon-le-Gaucher.—My God! what was I saying? Ah, yes!—Then they must knock out the two plugs of the furnace; the metal will flow out, and if I am dead you will tell the king that he promised me a boon, and that you claim it in my name, and that it—is—O my God! I no longer remember. What was I to ask the king? Ah, yes!—Ascanio—Seigneur de Nesle—Colombe, the provost's daughter—D'Orbec—Madame d'Etampes—Ah! I am going mad!"
Benvenuto staggered and fell into Hermann's arms, who carried him off like a child to his room, while Pagolo, intrusted with the superintendence of the work, gave orders for it to go on.
Benvenuto was right: he was going mad, or rather a terrible delirium had taken possession of him. Scozzone, who doubtless had been praying as Pagolo had, hurried to his side; but Benvenuto continued to cry, "I am dying! I am dying! Ascanio! Ascanio! what will become of Ascanio?"
A thousand delirious visions were crowding in upon his brain: Ascanio, Colombe, Stefana, all appeared and disappeared like ghosts. In the throng which passed before his eyes was Pompeo the goldsmith, whom he slew with his dagger; and the keeper of the post-house at Sienna, whom he slew with his arquebus. Past and present were confounded in his brain. How it was Clement VII. who detained Ascanio in prison; again it was Cosmo I. who sought to force Colombe to marry D'Orbec. Then he would appeal to Queen Eleanora, thinking he was addressing Madame d'Etampes, and would implore and threaten her by turns. Then he would make sport of poor weeping Scozzone, and bid her beware lest Pagolo should break his neck clambering around on the cornices like a cat. Intervals of complete prostration would succeed these paroxysms, and it would seem as if he were at the point of death.
This agonizing state of affairs endured three hours. Benvenuto was in one of his periods of torpor when Pagolo suddenly rushed into the room, pale and agitated, crying:—
"May Jesus and the Virgin help us, master! for all is lost now, and we can look nowhere but to Heaven for help."
Worn out, half conscious, dying as he was, these words, like a sharp stiletto, reached the very bottom of his heart. The veil which clouded his intellect was torn away, and, like Lazarus rising at the voice of the Lord, he rose upon his bed, crying:—
"Who dares to say that all is lost when Benvenuto still lives?"
"Alas! I, master," said Pagolo.
"Double traitor!" cried Benvenuto, "is it written that thou shalt forever prove false to me? But never fear! Jesus and the Virgin whom you invoked just now are at hand, to bear aid to men of good will, and punish traitors!"
At that moment he heard the workmen lamenting and crying:—
"Benvenuto! Benvenuto!"
"He is here! he is here!" cried the artist, rushing from his room, pale of face, but with renewed strength and clearness of vision. "Here he is! and woe to them who have not done their duty!"
In two hounds Benvenuto was at the foundry; he found all the workmen, whom he had left so full of vigor and enthusiasm, in a state of utter stupefaction and dejection. Even Hermann the colossus seemed to be dying of fatigue; he was tottering on his legs and was compelled to lean against one of the supports of the roof which remained standing.
"Now listen to what I say," cried Benvenuto in an awful voice, falling into their midst like a thunderbolt. "I don't as yet know what has happened, but I swear to you beforehand that it can be remedied, whatever it may he,—upon my soul it can! Now that I am present, obey me on your lives! but obey passively, without a word, without a gesture, for the first man who hesitates I will kill.
"So much for the ill disposed.
"I have but one word to say to those who are disposed to do their duty: the liberty and happiness of Ascanio, your companion of whom you are all so fond, will follow the successful issue of this task. To work!"
With that Cellini approached the furnace to form his own opinion of what had taken place. The supply of wood had given out, and the metal had cooled, so that it had turned to cake, as the professional phrase goes.
Benvenuto at once determined that the disaster could be repaired. Pagolo's watchfulness had relaxed in all likelihood, and he had allowed the heat of the fire to abate: the thing to be done was to make the fire as hot as ever, and to reduce the metal to a liquid state once more.
"Wood!" cried Benvenuto, "wood! Go look for wood wherever it can possibly be found; go to the bakers, and buy it by the pound if necessary; bring every stick of wood that there is in the house to the smallest chip. Break in the doors of the Petit-Nesle, Hermann, if Dame Perrine doesn't choose to open them; everything in that direction is lawful prize, for it's an enemy's country. Wood! wood!"
To set the example Benvenuto seized an axe and attacked the two posts which were still standing: they soon fell with the last remnants of the roof, and Benvenuto at once pushed the whole mass into the fire: at the same time his comrades returned from all directions laden with wood.
"Ah!" cried Benvenuto, "now are you ready to obey me?"
"Yes! yes!" cried every voice, "yes! we will do whatever you bid us do, so long as we have a breath of life in our bodies."
"Select the oak then, and throw on nothing but oak at first: that burns more quickly, and consequently will repair the damage sooner."
Immediately oak began to rain down upon the fire, and Benvenuto was obliged to cry enough.
His energy infected all his comrades; his orders, even his gestures, were understood and executed on the instant. Pagolo alone muttered from time to time between his teeth:—
"You are trying to perform impossibilities, master: it is tempting Providence."
To which Cellini's only reply was a look which seemed to say, "Never fear; we have an account to settle hereafter."
Meanwhile, notwithstanding Pagolo's sinister predictions, the metal began to fuse anew, and to hasten the fusion Benvenuto at intervals threw a quantity of lead into the furnace, stirring up the lead and copper and brass with a long bar of iron, so that, to borrow his expression, the metal corpse began to come to life again. At sight of the progress that was making, Benvenuto was so elate that he was unconscious of fever or weakness; he too came to life once more.
At last the metal began to boil and seethe. Benvenuto at once opened the orifice of the mould and ordered the plugs of the furnace to be knocked out, which was done on the instant; but, as if this immense work was to be a veritable combat of Titans to the end, Benvenuto perceived, as soon as the plugs were removed, not only that the metal did not run freely enough, but that there was some question as to whether there was enough of it. Thereupon, with one of those heaven-sent inspirations which come to none but artists, he cried:—
"Let half of you remain here to feed the fire, and the rest follow me!"
With that he rushed into the house, followed by five of his men, and an instant later they all reappeared, laden with silver plate, pewter, bullion, and pieces of work half completed. Benvenuto himself set the example, and each one cast his precious burden into the furnace, which instantly devoured everything, bronze, lead, silver, rough pig-metal, and beautiful works of art, with the same indifference with which it would have devoured the artist himself if he had thrown himself in.
Thanks to this reinforcement of fusible matter, the metal became thoroughly liquefied, and, as if it repented of its momentary hesitation, began to flow freely. There ensued a period of breathless suspense, which became something very like terror when Benvenuto perceived that all of the bronze did not reach the orifice of the mould: he sounded with a long rod and found that the mould was entirely filled without exhausting the supply of metal.
Thereupon he fell upon his knees and thanked God: the work was finished which was to save Ascanio and Colombe: now would God permit that the result should fulfil his hopes?
It was impossible to know until the following day.
The night that followed was, as can readily be imagined, a night of agony, and, worn out as Benvenuto was, he slept for a very few moments only, and his sleep even for those few moments was far from being restful. His eyes were hardly closed before real objects gave place to imaginary ones. He saw his Jupiter, the king of the gods in beauty as well as power, as shapeless and deformed as his son Vulcan. In his dream he was unable to understand this catastrophe. Was it the fault of the mould! Was it the fault of the casting? Had he made a miscalculation? or was destiny making sport of him? At the sight his temples throbbed furiously, and he awoke with his heart jumping, and bathed in perspiration. For some time his mind was so confused that he could not separate fact from vision. At last, however, he remembered that his Jupiter was still hidden in the mould, like a child in its mother's womb. He recalled all the precautions he had taken. He implored God not only to make his work successful, but to do a merciful deed. Thereupon he became somewhat calmer, and fell asleep again—under the weight of the never-ending weariness which seemed to have laid hold on him forever—only to fall into a second dream as absurd and as terrifying as the first.
Day broke at last, and with its coming Benvenuto shook himself clear of all symptoms of drowsiness: in an instant he was on his feet and fully dressed, and hastened at once to the foundry.
The bronze was evidently still too hot to be exposed to the air, but Benvenuto was in such haste to ascertain what he had still to fear, or what he might hope, that he could not contain himself, and began to uncover the head. When he put his hand to the mould he was so pale that one would have thought him at the point of death.
"Are you still sick, master?" inquired a voice, which he recognized as Hermann's; "you vould do much petter to stay in your ped."
"You are wrong, Hermann, my boy," said Benvenuto, amazed to find him astir so early, "for I should die in my bed. But how happens it that you are out of bed at this hour?"
"I vas taking a valk," said Hermann, blushing to the whites of his eyes; "I like much to valk. Shall I help you, master?"
"No, no!" cried Benvenuto; "no one but myself is to touch the mould! Wait, wait!"
And he began gently to uncover the head. By a miraculous chance there was just the necessary amount of metal. If it had not occurred to him to throw all his silver plate and other objects into the furnace, the head would have been missing and the casting a failure.
Fortunately the head was not missing, and was wonderfully beautiful.
The sight of it encouraged Benvenuto to expose the other portions of the body one after another. Little by little the mould fell away like bark, and at last Jupiter, freed from head to foot from his trammels, appeared in all the majesty befitting the sovereign of Olympus. In no part of the work had the bronze betrayed the artist, and when the last morsel of clay fell away, all the workmen joined in a shout of admiration; for they had come out one by one and gathered about Cellini, who did not even notice their presence, so absorbed was he by the thoughts to which this complete success gave rise.
But at the shout, which made him too a god, he raised his head, and said with a proud smile:—
"We shall see if the King of France will refuse the first boon asked by the man who has made such a statue!"
The next instant, as if he repented his first impulse of pride, which was entirely characteristic of him, he fell upon his knees, and with clasped hands rendered thanks to the Lord aloud.
As he was finishing his prayer Scozzone ran out to say that Madame Jacques Aubry desired to speak to him in private, having a letter from her husband, which she could hand to none but Benvenuto.
Benvenuto made Scozzone repeat the name twice, for he had no idea that the student was in the hands of a lawful wife.
He obeyed the summons none the less, leaving his companions swollen with pride in their master's renown. Pagolo meanwhile, on scrutinizing the statue more closely, observed that there was an imperfection in the heel, some accident having prevented the metal from filling every part of the mould.