profession in order to describe with brevity, if not in detail, some
incidents which have no bearing on my career as artist. On the morning
of Saint John's Day I happened to be dining with several men of our
nation, painters, sculptors, goldsmiths, amongst the most notable of
whom was Rosso and Gainfrancesco, the pupil of Raffaello. [1] I had
invited them without restraint or ceremony to the place of our meeting,
and they were all laughing and joking, as is natural when a crowd of men
come together to make merry on so great a festival. It chanced that a
light-brained swaggering young fellow passed by; he was a soldier of
Rienzo da Ceri, who, when he heard the noise that we were making, gave
vent to a string of opprobrious sarcasms upon the folk of Florence. [2]
I, who was the host of those great artists and men of worth, taking the
insult to myself, slipped out quietly without being observed, and went
up to him. I ought to say that he had a punk of his there, and was going
on with his stupid ribaldries to amuse her. When I met him, I asked if
he was the rash fellow who was speaking evil of the Florentines. He
answered at once: "I am that man." On this I raised my hand, struck him
in the face, and said: "And I am 'this' man." Then we each of us drew
our swords with spirit; but the fray had hardly begun when a crowd of
persons intervened, who rather took my part than not, hearing and seeing
that I was in the right.

On the following day a challenge to fight with him was brought me, which
I accepted very gladly, saying that I expected to complete this job far
quicker than those of the other art I practised. So I went at once to
confer with a fine old man called Bevilacqua, who was reputed to have
been the first sword of Italy, because he had fought more than twenty
serious duels and had always come off with honour. This excellent man
was a great friend of mine; he knew me as an artist and had also been
concerned as intermediary in certain ugly quarrels between me and