h any fearless audacity might easily become
the stepping-stone to a supreme authority; and yet Machiavelli, whom the
world still holds as its ablest statesman--in principle--never in
practice rose above the level of a servant of civil and papal tyrannies,
and, when his end came, died in obscurity and almost in penury.

Theoretically, Machiavelli could rule the universe; but practically he
never attained to anything finer than a more or less advantageous change
of masters. To reign doctrinally may be all very well, but when it only
results in serving actually, it seems very much better to be obscure and
content without any trouble.

"Fumo di gloria non vale fumo di pipa."

I, for one, at any rate, am thoroughly convinced of that truth of
truths.

I hearkened to him sorrowful; for to my ignorant eyes the witch candle
of fame seemed a pure and perfect planet; and I felt that the planet
might have ruled his horoscope had he chosen.

Is there no glory at all worth having, then? I murmured.

He stretched himself where he rested amongst the arum-whitened grass,
and took his cigaretto from his mouth:

Well, there is one, perhaps. But it is to be had about once in five
centuries.

You know Or San Michele? It would have been a world's wonder had it
stood alone, and not been companioned with such wondrous rivals that its
own exceeding beauty scarce ever receives full justice.

Where the jasper of Giotto and the marble of Brunelleschi, where the
bronze of Ghiberti and the granite of Arnolfo rise everywhere in the
sunlit air to challenge vision and adoration, or San Michele fails of
its full meed from men. Yet, perchance, in all the width of Florence
there is not a nobler thing.

It is like some massive casket of silver oxydised by time; such a casket
as might have been made to hold the Tables of the Law by men to whose
faith Sinai was the holy and imperishable truth.

I know nothing of the rule or phrase of Architecture, but it seems to
me surely that that square-set strength, as of a fortress, towering
against the clouds, and catching the last light always on its fretted
parapet, and everywhere embossed and enriched with foliage, and tracery,
and the figures of saints, and the shadows of vast arches, and the light
of niches gold-starred and filled with divine forms, is a gift so
perfect to the whole world, that, passing it, one should need say a
prayer for great Taddeo's soul.

Surely, nowhere is the rugged, ch