former's thirst for popularity, nor the latter's middle-class respect—so free though he was—for the world and established order. He despised glory, he despised the world; and though he served the Popes, "it was under compulsion." Moreover, he did not hide the fact that "even the Popes wearied and sometimes annoyed him by talking to him and sending for him," and, "notwithstanding their order, he neglected to go, when he was not disposed to do so."[1]
"When a man is so formed by nature and education that he hates ceremonies and despises hypocrisy it is senseless not to let him live as he likes. If he asks you for nothing and does not seek your society, why do you seek his? Why do you wish to lower him to these trifles, which are incompatible with his retirement from the world? He who thinks of pleasing imbeciles rather than his genius is not a superior man."[2]
His relations with the world were, therefore, either wholly indispensable ones or those which were purely intellectual. He admitted no one to his fellowship; and popes, princes, men of letters and artists had little place in his life. Even with the small number of these for whom he felt real sympathy it was rare that he established a durable friendship. He loved his friends and was generous towards them; but his violence, pride and suspicion often turned those whom he had obliged the most into deadly enemies. One day he wrote this beautiful, sad letter:
"The poor ungrateful man is so fashioned by nature that if, in his distress, you come to his assistance he will
