Wenceslas. But there is no denying that where the Italian was vulnerable was in just that foible which Balzac, in his penetrating way, hits off so well. He talked too much. He was of too impulsive a habit to make immortal statues. There was too much vehemence about him, he used too many gestures, and it seems the most natural thing in the world that his fame should be preserved in a work of literature rather than in a work of art. The Autobiography is his best monument, better even than the Perseus. Nevertheless, it is a mistake to allow this fact to obscure the very interesting question of his relation to Italian art. Too often has eagerness to get at the Autobiography inclined writers to pass indifferently over Cellini's achievements as a goldsmith and sculptor. It is true that M. Plon's book does not err im this direction, and that only eight years ago Mr. C. R. Ashbee took the pains to translate Cellini's technical "Trattati," and to print his version in luxurious form. But when the Autobiography is at all to the fore it seems to abate discussion of the things for which Cellini himself had, after all, the most concern. I think it is worth while, therefore, to speak of those things on the present occasion.
One of the most delightful of the many paradoxes of the Italian Renaissance is its treatment of the professional idea. Never was there a time in which men were keener on preserving the integrity of their various guilds; the youth apprenticed to anyone of the numerous branches of art that had then each its clearly
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