Few writers have known Italy better than Stendhal: he was only
seventeen when he first rode south across the Alps in the wake of
Napoleon's armies, and he continued to travel and to live in Italy
until a few months before his death. Some of his visits lasted only
a few weeks, others continued for years, and he spent the last
decade of his life as French Consul in Civitavecchia - yet he was
never a tourist in the ordinary sense of the word. Italy, for
Stendhal, was never a mere treasure trove of ruins, museums and
galleries: it was the life of the country which fascinated him, its
spirit, the inner workings of its heart and mind. This picture - or
rather this living dream - of Italy he created is as fresh and
tantalizing today as it was almost two centuries ago.
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