watched with humorous attention Signor Bettinelli's pranks and
gambols, and they now resolved on doing something to sober him down a
bit. Two of the best scholars in the Academy, Signor Marco Forcellini
and the Abbe Dottore Natale dalle Laste, undertook the task of examining
his poem. They had little difficulty in proving that its author, while
seeking to pass for a giant of original genius, was nothing better than
the servile plagiarist of Ariosto and Boileau. This conclusion they put
forth in an essay, entitled "A criticism of the little poem _Le
Raccolte_." It seemed to us, however, that the essay was somewhat
serious in style for an Academy which aimed at playfulness. Accordingly,
I was commissioned to enliven it with an epistle in a lighter strain.
This epistle I wrote, as my poor brains dictated, but with perhaps too
much of boldness and asperity. The essay and the epistle were published
together in one volume. Meanwhile, my brother Gasparo, indignant that
Dante, whose resplendent genius has shed the light of glory upon Italy
through so many centuries, should become the butt of a mere seeker after
notoriety, wrote his _Defence of Dante_, which was also printed.
Intelligent judges allow that this book is full of truth, and that its
arguments are convincingly victorious over Bettinelli's arrogant and
puerile scoffings. I am therefore at liberty to say that my brother's
_Difesa di Dante_ is a really fine work.

What good came of these polemics? Very little, I am bound to say.
Novelties, whether they are really new or only seem to be so, have the
power of seducing and exciting innumerable intellects among the mass of
those who cannot grasp the truth, but who respond at once to clamorous
fanaticism. In number such folk infinitely exceed the small minority
who, remaining loyal to truth, seek her even at the bottom of the well
into which imposture plunges her.

I have always shared the hardihood of politicians, who dare to raise
their minds aloft, and look down from a height upon the lowly vale in
which humanity resides. But with this difference: They regard the
valley as inhabited by a swarm of insects, whom it is their art to sway,
oppress, and drive about in their own interest; nor do they stoop to
fraternise with these same insects until death reduces all to one
brotherhood. I regard the valley as peopled by creatures of my kith and
kindred, making observations on them, laughing at their grotesque
gestures, motions