On Monday I dined with Signor Silvio Piccolomini, a man of well-known worth and especially skilled in the art of fence. Many subjects came up for discussion, as there was a large gathering of other gentlemen. He has a poor opinion of the art of fencing as practised by the Italian masters, such as Veniziana di Bologna, Patinostraro, and others. Indeed, the only one he favoured was a certain pupil of his own, who now lives at Brescia, where he teaches the art to the gentle-folk of the city. He declared that the ordinary teachers of fencing follow neither art nor rule, and he condemned especially the far-reaching lunge which leaves your sword at the mercy of your adversary, and the practice of making one assault after another and then coming to a pause. This, he declared, was entirely against all experience of sword-play. He was on the eve of printing a treatise on this subject. In speaking of warfare he made light of artillery, greatly to my satisfaction, and he praised Machiavelli’s work, _Della Guerra_, and was quite in agreement with the writer’s opinions. He declared that the most skilful military engineer living was one in the service of the Grand Duke in Florence. They have a fashion here of putting ice in the wine-cups, but of this I took very little, being uneasy in my body and troubled with pain in the side, besides passing an incredible quantity of gravel. My head still troubled me, and I could not get rid of the sensation of dulness and a certain indefinable heaviness over the brow, the cheeks, the teeth, the nose, and all parts. I imagined this discomfort arose from drinking the sweet, heady wines of the country, because my headache returned after I had drunk heartily of the Trebisiano. I must have been inflamed through travelling in the summer heat, and it needed a great quantity of the wine to quench my thirst on account of its sweetness. I have come to the conclusion that Florence has a good right to the title “La bella.”[68] I went out to-day alone to amuse myself by inspecting those ladies who may be seen by any one who may be so inclined. I saw those of the greatest note, but they were not of much account. Their lodgings are all in one part of the city, and are wretched even for what they are, being in no way equal to those of the Roman or Venetian courtesans, any more than their occupants can compare with the aforesaid ladies in beauty, or grace, or carriage. If any one of them is minded to dwell outside these bounds she must not make herself conspicuous, and must hide her real calling under some fictitious one. I went to see the workshops of the silk-spinners, where a woman by one turn of a wheel can set to work five hundred threads. On the Tuesday morning I passed a small red stone.