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Renaissance in Italy, Volume 1 (of 7) - The Age of the Despots by John Addington Symonds
page 259 of 583 (44%)

The literary qualities of these historians are very different, and seem
to be derived from essential differences in their characters. Pitti is
by far the most brilliant in style, concentrated in expression to the
point of epigram, and weighty in judgment. Nardi, though deficient in
some of the most attractive characteristics of the historian, is
invaluable for sincerity of intention and painstaking accuracy. The
philosophical, rhetorical, and dramatic passages which add so much
splendor to the works of Guicciardini are absent from the pages of
Nardi. He is anxious to present a clear picture of what happened; but he
cannot make it animated, and he never reflects at length upon the
matter of his history. At the same time he lacks the _naïiveté_ which
makes Corio, Allegretti, Infessura, and Matarazzo so amusing. He gossips
as little as Machiavelli, and has no profundity to make up for the want
of piquancy. The interest of his chronicle is greatest in the part which
concerns Savonarola, though even here the peculiarly reticent and
dubitative nature of the man is obvious. While he sympathizes with
Savonarola's political and moral reforms, he raises a doubt about his
inner sincerity, and does not approve of the attitude of the
Piagnoni.[1] In his estimation of men Nardi was remarkably cautious,
preferring always to give an external relation of events, instead of
analyzing motives or criticising character.[2] He is in especial silent
about bad men and criminal actions. Therefore, when he passes an adverse
judgment (as, for instance, upon Cesare Borgia), or notes a dark act (as
the _stuprum_ committed upon Astorre Manfredi), his corroboration of
historians more addicted to scandal is important. Segni is far more
lively than Nardi, while he is not less painstaking to be accurate. He
shows a partisan feeling, especially in his admiration for Niccolo
Capponi and his prejudice against Francesco Carducci, which gives the
relish of personality that Nardi's cautiously dry chronicle lacks.
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