stances would easily have made a brigand or a bravo, but always the artist. No book, it is probable, gives a better idea of the general atmosphere of the Italy of the sixteenth century; assuredly no other delineation is nearly so vivid. With truly Pepysian unconsciousness the writer depicts in himself the man of turbulent and impracticable character moving among princes and nobles, outraging their forbearance by every action of his life, and revenging himself for their exhausted patience by malicious truth or reckless calumny. The general fidelity of the picture, however, does not depend upon the accuracy of particular statements, and Cellini's untruths where his own vanity is concerned do not impair his claim to confidence as a delineator of his age. Of the literary merit of his performance it is needless to speak; if not at the very head of entertaining autobiographies, it is at least second to none. The English reader will be continually reminded of Haydon; although, however, Haydon's confidence in himself was no less robust than Cellini's, he had far less reason for it, nor, with all his vividness, is he the Italian's equal in graphic power.
One other prose-writer of the period, and perhaps only one, may be considered as much an author for all time as Vasari and Cellini. This is Baldassare Castiglione, whose Cortegiano depicts the ideal life of the agcomplished Italian courtier—a character of more importance in that day than he can be in ours. In Castiglione's time not only were the court and good society almost convertible expressions, but the relation of the courtier to the court was far more intimate than it can be now. It actually was his sphere, which he seldom forsook except when absent on military enterprises or public business; he was
