Dante’s Beach, Ravenna
When Machiavelli was tortured, then banished from Florence in 1513 to his modest farm in the Tuscan countryside, in the afternoons he used to ‘sink into vulgarity’, as he put it, and play cards and backgammon with the local men in the tavern next to his small house. Then, at the end of the evening: ‘I return to my house and enter my study; and at the door I take off the day’s clothing, covered with mud and dust, and put on garments regal and courtly; and reclothed appropriately, I enter the ancient courts of ancient men, where, received by them with affection, I feed on that food which only is mine and which I was born for, where I am not ashamed to speak with them and to ask them the reason for their actions; and they in their kindness answer me; and for four hours of time I do not feel boredom, I forget every trouble, I do not dread poverty, I am not frightened by death; entirely I give myself over to them.’
When I myself retire to what is known as my study after indulging in my own versions of vulgarity, such as going to Lidl, I strip off my cream-coloured collarless linen shirt and, topless, sit down at my desk in just my navy blue harem pants to stare out of my open window at the night.
