Cellini

My – my name – my name is
My name is Benvenuto Cellini – Benvenuto Cellini
And I was born on the night of All Saints Day in fifteen hundred
In the year fifteen hundred – and this is my story

From an early age, my father taught me
To play the flute and sing, fa-la-la-la
I hated that accursed music more than anything
From the start I cared only for the goldsmith’s art
Ev’ry bird whistle’s it’s own tune, whistle’s it’s own tune, whistle’s it’s own tune

When I met a young man called Francesco
Who learned the goldsmith’s trade, whose house was full of
Lovely works his grandfather Fra Filippo had made
With one heart we both set to learn the goldsmith’s art
Ev’ry bird whistle’s it’s own tune, whistle’s it’s own tune, whistle’s it’s own tune

One day two goldsmiths attacked me
But fear being something I’ve never known
I drew my stiletto, stabbed one in the chest
My father had not let the music rest
While I remained at home
Now I was forced to leave Florence for Rome

Upon entering that wondrous city
I set to work in days and I was so impassioned
That the works I fashioned won me endless praise
Until soon I was busy both by sun and moon
Ev’ry bird whistle’s it’s own tune, whistle’s it’s own tune, whistle’s it’s own tune
Whistle’s it’s own tune

A plague broke out in Rome, there was nothing we could do
Many thousands died each day, many friends of mine died too
Then the Constable of Bourbon, mid our prayers and our psalms
Marched his army on our city and the whole of Rome took arms
Then the world was overshadowed by plague and by war
And everything we saw was of plague and of war
was of plague and of war

I collected fifty men and set out, hoping to forestall
But arriving found their army had already scaled the wall
Though we fired and killed a few, this was just for show
We retreated through Saint Peters, by the church Saint Angelo
While the world was overshadowed by plague and by war
And everything we saw was of plague and of war
Was of plague and of war

Night came on, and from the castle battlements, alone
I saw all the pillaging and ransacking of Rome
That whole month we were besieged, I never once
Thought of my craft, which was forgotten in the music of the guns

Upon the peace, I rode for Florence ’cross the plague-spent countryside
Where I found my mother, father, all my family had died
Except my brother and one sister and so, before leaving
We met together, talked of life and spent a happy evening
While the world was overshadowed by plague and by war
But we could think no more of the plague and the war
Of the plague and the war
The plague and the war

Sing loud the beauty of life, sing loud the beauty of life
The beauty of life, sing loud

As soon as there was no more threat of war
The living ran around town greeting everyone
Sculptors, goldsmiths, painters met
Ev’ry evening drank and ate
and talked of all the new work we’d begun

Sing loud the beauty of life, sing loud the beauty of life
The beauty of life

The Pope had called me back to Rome to design the coins
And I felt then such thirst for learning
Of ev’ry metal, ev’ry stone
through which nature might be shown
its stems and branches all twisting and turning

Sing loud the beauty of life, sing loud the beauty of life
The beauty of life, sing loud

My brother was killed in a fight
And I made sure his murderer did not survive
I buried my brother that night
He was twenty-five
While I myself was never more alive

Sing loud the beauty of life, sing loud the beauty of life
Sing loud the beauty of life, sing loud

I studied necromancy from a friar
And one night several of us took up posts
Inside the Colosseum, then with fire
And dressed in all the necromancy gear
The priest called up by name demons and ghosts
He caused some legions of them to appear
He went too far, for suddenly these hosts
just turned upon us, some men knelt to pray
Our priest himself was gibbering with fear
As fiends approached, I thought our cause ill-starred
“We’re going to die” I heard Agnolo say
And farting loud he shat himself so hard
That all the ghouls and demons ran away
we stayed till matins rang at break of day

The old Pope died
I went off to Saint Peters, passing through the crowd
With my sword at my side
I kissed the Pope, and cried
For the small dead man within the shroud

Sing loud the beauty of life, sing loud the beauty of life
Sing loud the beauty of life, sing loud

Having worked throughout the night
I took a stroll as it got light
Along the Via Giulia at break of day
With a dagger to my chest
I was placed under arrest
I was cautioned to obey
and led away

So it was I was arrested
Beaten brutally, molested
Charged with stealing papal jewels, which was not the case
Having found me innocent
I got more imprisonment
while the new Pope thought up ways
To have me killed to save his face

Bells ring
Choirs sing
Above Rome
I sit alone

I only saw my prison warder
Who’d a kind of brain disorder
Wherein he imagined that he was a bat
And he wandered round for weeks
Giving little high-pitched squeaks
Though I tried, I could do nothing
For his suffering

So for months I worked out plans
Every night using my hands
I could loosen just one nail from the door
From each sheet tear off some thread
Which I’d hide inside the bed
It was several months before
I judged I had enough in store

Bells ring
Choirs sing
Above Rome
I sit alone

That last night in that jail
I removed the last nail
And climbed out above the tower
Fixed my long linen sheet
Slipped down some hundred feet
Summoning all of my power
I dragged one huge flagpole
Using this, scaled the wall
All this took some half an hour

Tied a sheet, slid so hard
Burned my hands, dodged a guard
And secured the last sheet well
Coming down castle wall
Hands would not grip at all
So that letting go I fell
Some time passed, I came to
Drenched in blood, frozen through
Thought at first I was in hell

Found that my head was gashed
And my right leg was smashed
But containing these defeats
I began to then crawl
Towards the city wall
Head and leg bound up in sheets
Once inside, a wild pack
Of dogs tried to attack
As I crawled into the back streets

By now all Rome was in uproar
Everybody saw
The linen ropes all fluttering against the sky
And amid all this disorder
From the tower my prison warder
With a chilling bat-like cry
Was hovering, about to fly

He perched
guards searched
Through Rome
I crawled for home
I crawled for home

I was recaptured and carried
To the worst dungeon that could be found
Full of tarantulas and worms
And flung on a wet piece of hemp on the ground
Glory to God on high

For just one hour in each day
I got the very faintest gleam of light
Month after month like this I lay
Till my teeth just fell out and my hair all turned white
Glory to God on high

My mind would dwell on human frailty
Marveling at simple men
Who could believe so fervently
Whatever they may need, God would answer them

Lifted a great wooden beam
And propped one end upon a kind of shelf
So it would fall and smash my skull
But, with all my will, I could not kill myself
Glory to God on high, on high

As I lay, somewhere between Heaven and Hell
A beautiful young man appeared, shining like a star, shimmering in my cell
And, as I stood, somewhere between lost and found
My breath escaped, it curled around
like a strange dark shroud and settled on the ground

As I stepped out, somewhere between hope and fear
The young man turned and walked away
In my panic that he would just disappear
I followed him, somewhere between space and time
All being dead, just being led
As he reached a stairway and began to climb

And as we rose, somewhere between night and day
Came warmer air, with smells of orange and citrus groves, where in my youth I’d play
So step by step, somewhere between shade and light
Two circles twined, as heart and mind
Until one last step revealed to me the sight

It was the sun, like a bath of liquid gold
And therein Christ and the Madonna, Cherubim and Seraphim
And, from the sunbeams spread all the heavenly host across the sky
Glory to God on high – glory to God on high – glory to God on high

Then one night, after a feast
At which the Pope had wined and dined too well
The French King’s envoy got me released
And, documents signed, I was led from my cell
Glory to God on – glory to God on – glory to God on high

I was eager to leave home, fearing what might yet occur
Riding north as far as Lyons, then on to Fontainebleu
I couldn’t wait to be working

I was the told to join the King’s train, while he reviewed my circumstance
For some weeks I trailed behind the court, trotting across France
I couldn’t wait to be working

Finally I was informed that arrangements had been made
And the fees were very generous, though I was never paid

The King granted me a castle in which to work and live
Which caused no end of trouble, since it wasn’t his to give
Then I’d just got set up, ready to begin
When the King and all his court came swanning in

The King, seeing me in overalls, said “a man as great as you
Should leave the work to others, just tell them what to do”
And when he left, I started working

I began sculpting silver statues
Of gods and goddesses, tried my hand
At working in bronze, next I designed
A salt cellar with two figures entwined
Representing the sea embracing the land
Soon these works were done and many more planned
I have often since longed to be back at my castle
In the realm of the French King

I gathered together goldsmiths, sculptors
Specialists in how to smelt and cast
Till the great walls sang with creativity
Parapets rang with the sounds of our industry

Each work more ambitious than the last
In this way four sweet years passed
And I’ve often since longed to be back at my castle
In the realm of the French King

I was made a Lord
Awarded papers of French nationality by that King’s grace
And I shall keep those documents with me
Wherever I go, no matter where I end my days

The entrance to Fontainebleu adorned
With satyrs, lizards, birds and plants
So many works, a silver vase
A huge statue of the great god Mars
I am grateful to have been given this chance
To complete these works by the King of France
And I’ve often since longed to be back at my castle
In the realm of the French King

Due to the war with those English devils
Seeing the stress the King was under
I decided to leave and as I rode through France
Heard the crackling of thunder
Hail the size of cannon balls fell
Trees were stripped and smashed away
Cattle were killed and it was dark
With flashes of fire, like Judgement Day

Riding through hell as the rain fell in torrents
The sun only shone as I entered my home town of Florence, Florence…

I went to see my sister and all her family
We spent days in celebration, till a mood came over me
I couldn’t wait to be working
To be working – To be working

Having been away so long
And though I was no longer young
I had to prove what I could do
By means of a petition
We then had the Duke commission me
To cast a massive statue
Cast a massive statue

So I cleared the trees and vines to make
A workshop large enough to take
A kiln to cast this statue in
Then weeks were taken ordering
The clay and bronze, till everything
Was ready to begin
Ready to begin

Though the Duke had promised me expenses, none were met
Old as I was, it seemed until I’d finished it, I’d be in debt

So I told myself my work was glowing and Perseus would be my best
In this way I kept going, fuelled by thoughts of future happiness

Using plaster first I made
The basic shape, then overlaid
In clay details of form and face
And covering it in wax I placed
A further layer of clay encased
It in a wooden brace
With the good Lord’s grace

I banked the earth up in a mound
And built a brick furnace around
I lit the fire and baked the clay
Then checked to see there were no cracks
That every single drop of wax
Had thus been drained away
Then at close of day

All my friends and all the experts dropped in one by one
To tell me why a work in bronze as vast as this could not be done

But I told myself my work was glowing and Perseus would be my best
In this way I kept going, fuelled by thoughts of future happiness

We threw the bronze inside the furnace
Heaped pine logs upon the fire
Hour after hour we fed the flames
Until we thought we’d all expire
Then the workshop caught alight
And fever forced me to retire

From my bedroom I could hear them
Try to get the roofing sealed
To stop the rain, then came a silence
Scared at what this lull concealed
I rushed downstairs, peered in the furnace
All the metal had congealed

Stormed my house for pewter
Adding it, the liquid shone like new
We stoked the fires then, despairing
Watched the furnace split in two
So I sealed the air vent, caused a vacuum
Bronze leapt in and filled the statue
Bronze leapt in and filled the statue
Bronze leapt in and filled the statue
Perseus – Perseus

When my shining statue was positioned in the square
The word went out and in an hour all of Florence gathered there
And the sonnets they attached were glowing, they praised my statue as the best
...I stood there for a while and enjoyed a moment’s happiness
Perseus
Perseus !

I’ve remained in Florence, taking care of my sister and my bride
Piera, she and I have had four children although one, Giovanni died late last year
There was never anyone so dear, in this life

I have been accused of vice and murder, my enemies say so
But, as a friend of truth in this world, know
That truth may not suffice so, although not immune
It was work which drove me night and noon
Ev’ry bird whistles its own tune

Now I must bare the effects of time with good grace
This is hard to face, but to the good
I have continued working when I could

Statues of Ganymede on the Eagle
Narcissus, Hyacinth and Apollo
The ivory carving of Christ on the cross
Born of my vision as I languished in prison all those years ago

I was appointed to strengthen the bastions of Florence
To safeguard our city’s glory
I’ve written books on the art of the goldsmith and sculptor
As well as this, my story

I was due to attend the funeral of my friend Michaelangelo
Whom I have always loved but, sick in bed, I was not well enough to go
and in my room
I fear this pleurisy will take me soon
Every bird whistles its own tune

Every bird whistles its own tune
Whistles its own tune
Whistles its own tune

My – my name – my name is
My name is Benvenuto Cellini – Benvenuto Cellini
And I was born on the night of All Saints Day in fifteen hundred
In the year fifteen hundred – and this was my story