Besides "The Prince," Machiavelli wrote, at this time, his "Essays on the first Decade of Livy." These are considered by their author as his best work; an opinion confirmed by the learned Italians of the present day. They breathe a purely republican spirit, and have for their scope to demonstrate how the greatness of Rome resulted from the equal laws of the commonwealth, and the martial character of its citizens. He dedicated them to his friends Zanobi Buondelmonte, and Cosimo Rucellai, who were the patrons of the academy of the Rucellai gardens, a society set on foot by the father of Cosimo, for the support of the Platonic philosophy, and whose youthful followers were all devoted to liberty. "The Art of War" was also written at this time, as well as his two comedies, his "Belfegor," and "Life of Castruccio Castracani." The "Belfegor" has laid him open to the supposition that he was not happy in his married life: but there is no foundation for this notion. He was, early in life, married to Marietta Corsini, and had five children. He always mentions his wife with affection and respect in his letters, and gives tokens, in his will, of the perfect confidence he reposed in her. "Belfegor" has always been a popular tale: it is written with great spirit, and possesses the merit of novelty and wit. His comedies are thought highly of by the Italians. The "Mandragola," licentious as it is, was a great favourite. Leo X. caused the actors and scenic decorations to be brought from Florence to Rome, that he might see it represented; and Guicciardini invited the author to come to get it up at Modena, and tells him to bring with him a favourite singer and actress, named La Barbara, to give it more effect: so early in Italian history do we find mention of prime donne, and of the court paid to them. But all this diligent authorship did not satisfy the active mind of Machiavelli: he tried to school himself to content, and says, in one of his letters to Vettori, "I am arrived at not desiring any thing again with passion." But this was a deceit which he practised on himself. "If I saw you," he writes again to his friend, "I should fill your head with castles in the air; because fortune has so arranged, that, not being able to discourse concerning the silk trade, nor the woollen trade, nor of gains nor losses, I must talk of the art of government."--"While I read and re-read your disquisitions on politics, I forget my adversity, and appear to have entered again on those public affairs, in prosecuting which I vainly endured so much fatigue, and spent so much time."